The Hot Air Balloon Ride
27th September, 2006
by Moni Schilller
When Nicky turned four, I decided to hire a proper nanny to take care of him in our home. He had been babysat by the neighbour for the past couple of years, which was very convenient. Then, the husband decided he would rather live in Mexico by himself, so she and her kids had to move.
After placing a Babysitter Wanted ad in the paper, I hired Judy, who reminded me of Liz Taylor. She was in her early fifties, and had long lashes and red nails. Judy didn’t seem anything like Mary Poppins, but she was always there on time, and the house was always tidy, so I felt fine about it.
After ten months she left to move to Vancouver, and I asked Nicky, “So what did you think of having a nanny?” At the time he still had a lisp, so replied, “That wath a ath-hole baby-thitter.” So adorable, even then.
However, at the end of her employ, she asked her ex-husband if he would give us a hot air balloon ride for free. He said that he would, so on a sunny Saturday morning we met them in a park. As it turned out, the ride was free because a new person was being trained, and they require a certain number of hours before being licensed. We all hopped into the balloon, and the rope was released and suddenly we were floating above the houses. It was all quite nerve-wracking, as at that moment I remembered my fear of heights.
I usually forget these things until I am at the precipice. When we went to Disneyland I was in one of those crushing line-ups to a popular ride. I was reading signs posted along the way saying, “Those with fear of heights, claustrophobia, high blood pressure, etc. should not ride.” This was the point at which I would just start to silently pray that I would live to see the exit doors.
So there we were, floating above Rutland in a hot air balloon. There was a little square hole a few inches off the floor of the balloon, so Nicky used this to put his feet into it so that he could really hang over the edge of the balloon and absorb the view. I felt dizzy and sick. I began to pray that the end of the ride was going to be coming soon.
Because the wind had started to kick up a bit, the balloonist started to head for a field in which to set down. Hmmm, I wondered. How in the world do they get these things to descend? Would you believe, they simply deflate the balloon, and the basket goes down to the ground, happily assisted by Mother Gravity. Whump, we hit the ground, and the ground crew started running toward us, trying to grab the roiling basket. Due to the wind, we would hit the ground, but then the deflated balloon would get caught by a gust of it, and we’d be picked up again and flown a few feet off the ground for several metres. All of the ballooning personnel were out of the balloon, and it was just the four of us sitting there as though we were in one of those giant tea cups on a ride in Disneyland.
“Jump!, Jump!” my four and seven year-old children were told on one of the bounces. Up we would go a few feet, and then, Whump, down to the ground. Believe, me, we got the hell out of the balloon.
They said to Denis, “Stay in the balloon, your weight will help us be able to hold it down.” So the kids and I had the mirthful experience of watching Denis all alone in the balloon being dragged along, helplessly. The crew finally wrestled the balloon down, and Denis got out of the basket. They then had a small spread of crackers and cheese for us to eat, which we did with trembling fingers. After a minute or two we said we had to go, and we made our shaky way back home, kissing the driveway when we arrived.