Stories from the Stringam Family Ranches of Southern Alberta

From the 50s and 60s to today . . .

Friday, March 11, 2016

The Knose Knows

The nose is okay. The teeth . . .
Okay, yes, I had been told never to do it.
In fact, I had been threatened with certain death punishment if I did do it.
But it was my favourite indoor thing to do!
I was four. I admit it, my world was small.
My family was living in the ranch house on the Stringam ranch.
Two bedrooms downstairs.
And . . . umm . . . two bedrooms up? (I think. Counting past four made my mind crazy. And it was dark and scary up there.)
I had my own room on the ground floor.
I had recently graduated from my little ‘kitty’ bed to my own giant, iron bed.
My giant, iron bouncy bed.
You can probably see where this is going . . .
During the night, bouncy iron beds are good for sleeping.
During the day, they make perfect trampolines.
Yeah. My mom didn’t get it, either.
She would come into my room.
Kiss me awake.
Make the bed.
And leave.
Probably the part where she ‘left’ was her biggest mistake.
Or making the bed.
It’s a toss-up.
There was this remarkably smooth surface.
That was incredibly bouncy.
It was a no-brainer. Literally.
So I did.
Bounce, that is.
Boing. Boing. Boing.
First, on my knees.
Then, graduating to my feet.
Oh, you can really catch air when you use all of you!
This is fun!
“Diane! Are you jumping on the bed?”
Stopping. “Umm . . . no!”
“Don’t jump on the bed! You’ll get hurt!”
I looked around at my lovely, soft friend. Pffff! How could I possibly get hurt?
Boing. Boing.
How did she know?!
Man, that woman could see through walls!
I sat there for a moment.
Then I heard the kitchen door close.
Mom had stepped outside for some reason.
My time had come!!!
Boing. Boing. Boing. Boiing. Booiing. Booiinng. Booiinngg!
Okay, now I was really flying!
You remember when I mentioned that mine was an iron bed?
Well, this is where that fact comes into play.
And FYI? If noses and iron come into contact?
Noses lose.
It took a moment for me to realize that something had happened.
Because something had definitely happened.
“Ahhhhhh!!! Moooooommmm!!!!” I can’t quite produce it here. Think of something high-pitched and piercing. Like an air raid siren.
Mom ran into the room and wrapped her erring daughter in warm, loving, Kleenex-bearing arms.
My little nose was shattered at the point of contact. The bridge.
I sported two very black eyes and a sore snout for many, many days.
I’d like to say I learned my lesson.
And I did. Sort of.
After my wounds had healed, and when Mom wasn’t looking, I still jumped on the bed.
But I hung onto the iron headboard.
That way, it couldn't leap out at me unexpectedly.
Because they do that.
I'm happy to report that today, over 56 years later, I no longer jump on beds. The ceiling is simply too close for comfort.
But I do jump on trampolines.
Oddly enough, whenever I do, my nose hurts.
It remembers.


  1. Your poor nose ... glad you had no long term effects besides having a nose with bad memories.

  2. My little sister and I had twin beds. We bounced from one to the other. One day my sister missed the other entirely and made a very noisy crash landing on the floor. Big sister in big trouble!

  3. Oh your poor, poor snoz.
    I did a faceplant into the floor (and broke a front tooth) running in a sleeping bag. A forbidden and painful run...

    1. Ow - this hurt even to read about it - ow ow

  4. That made my eyes start watering as soon as I read it! Ouch!


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