Yesterday I decided to open a bottle of wine when I got home.
The Pelee Island Pinot Grigio in the fridge had a screw top, and no matter what I tried, I couldn’t open it. I could spin the cap through 360 degrees, but it wouldn’t detach from the label below the ridges, so it just went round and round. I tried cutting the breakaway bit, but that didn’t help. I decided to get a couple of wrenches from the basement, to pry them apart. I was getting desperate…
Running up the 2 flights of stairs from the basement to the kitchen, I slipped. My left hand slid quickly into the 3” gap between the bannister and the wall, and bent. Painfully. I yelled, I swore, I picked up the wrenches and returned to the wine bottle. Unable to use my left hand, I gripped the bottle under my arm and pried the cap off. Without using the wrench. Then I picked out a cigar, poured the first of 4 glasses of wine, and headed outside to relax. Poking and squeezing at my hand, I don’t think it’s broken. Just badly, badly, bruised.
At around 2:30 this morning, I awoke to the thunderous sound of a low-flying helicopter. To my surprise, it wasn’t getting louder or quieter. It must have been hovering very close to my house. After a couple of minutes, I climbed around Wife and looked out the window, assuming that it must be the police searching for someone. I didn’t see anything moving, but the deafening noise and wind were getting tiresome. I grabbed a pair of shorts, and in a moment of paranoia made sure that all our doors were locked. After ten minutes or so, the helicopter flew away. I haven’t seen anything in the news about this, but that’s not abnormal for police issues in my neighbourhood.
Then I realized that I couldn’t get back to sleep, so I sat in the living room for an hour reading. Wife slept through the entire thing, she questions whether it was an elaborate dream or not. But really she just sleeps the sleep of the dead. Except for the snoring.