My grandson, Zane, and I went to the Fireman's Carnival about ten years ago. We had loads of fun at all the booths until we walked by the Ferris wheel. Zane said, "Grammy how about going for a ride?" I replied with a flat out, "No!"
You see, I have a fear of heights. I have no problem flying in an airplane or climbing trees, but I hate climbing ladders, and I'm especially terrified of sitting in an open box attached to a circular moving device, which is at least five stories high, and the open box I'm sitting in, is rocking back forth in the wind. Plus it makes my stomach queasy after a couple of hot dogs and cotton candy.
Because Zane is my grandson, and because I wanted him to have a good time, I gave in and went on the Ferris wheel ride. Big mistake. This was the evening the Ferris wheel broke down for over 30 minutes and we were stuck at the very top swaying back and forth in the breeze. Zane thought it was cool, I was fazed to the max. The cotton candy and hot dogs were doing flips in my stomach and my mental state wasn't so hot.
The only redeeming things were watching the sun go down from a height of 264 feet and the lights come up in the surrounding village and watching Zane have a fun time. Those three things were actually magical. The best part is I didn't throw up.
When the big wheel was repaired it whirred to life, and before long Zane and I were safely on the ground. We were reimbursed the price of the Ferris wheel ride, took our reimbursement and reinvested it in a couple of candy apples.
Alphabet Thursday letter ("F") is brought to you by Jenny Matlock.
