Calgary,May 2021
You never know what can happen, says the old wisdom, and the old wisdom is right. I couldn’t have known what will happen after I read a silly sign on a bench in a city park. I am a normal, typical man approaching 50, in the midst of the midlife crisis, divorced and suffering from mild depressions. I like to walk in the city parks and read those signs on the park benches. They always start with “In the loving memory of …., who was a great mother, father, friend, who loved ….” etc. Cannot they come up with something new? What happened with all those who were not great mothers, fathers and friends? However, one day I did come across something new. The sign said:
“In a loving memory of my husband, whom alcohol killed the unusual way. For more information contact me at.…, and there was an e-mail address.
Whom alcohol killed the unusual way? It couldn’t be alcohol poisoning or drinking driving, that wouldn’t be unusual. What could it be? I was curious. The next time I walked by that bench I couldn’t resist and wrote down the address. Then, in the evening, I sent to whoever it was, the following e-mail:
“Dear lady,
I read your sign on the park bench and cannot resist to ask a question: What was the unusual way in which alcohol killed your husband?
Signed: Park Visitor”
The reply came promptly.
“Dear Park Visitor,
It is better to talk about it over the phone. Here is my number, ….”
I called, and after some small talk she said:
“To answer your question, my husband was killed by a huge wine bottle.”
“By a huge wine bottle? How?”
“It fell on his head.”
“From where?”
“From the ceiling.”
“Your husband was killed by a huge wine bottle which fell from the ceiling? Was there an earthquake?”
“No, there was no earthquake. The pulley which was attached to the ceiling broke.”
“You were using pulley to lift wine bottles to the ceiling?”
“Well, it all might sound very strange, but there is a perfectly good explanation for all of that. My husband was making wine in huge 25 litres wine bottles. After the wine was ready, the big bottle had to be lifted so that the wine could be siphoned into normal wine bottles. Normally we both would lift the big bottle to a high bench, but then I started to have problems with my hip and couldn’t help with the lifting. Since it was too heavy for one person, my husband made a pully to lift the bottle, but he wasn’t a handyman. The pulley broke just when he was under that bottle. So now you know.”
“This is an incredible story. Do you still make wine?”
“No, the pulley is broken.”
“Do you want me to come and fix it? I am good with my hands.”
“Yes, that would be nice. My address is ...”
Next Saturday afternoon I rang the bell at the door of the given address, and a nice lady of about my age opened. “Hello, come in. My name is Alain”, she said.
“John is my name. Please to meet you.”
She led me to the basement where the broken pulley was still hanging from the ceiling. I could see that her husband indeed was not a handyman, it looked very flimsy.
“You want me to fix it?” I asked again.
“Yes, but first we will taste the wine to see if it is worth continuing making it”
The wine was very good, and the basement was full of it. Alain should definitively continue making it.
“I can fix the pulley, but you still need two people to operate it. One holding the rope and the other moving the bottle. I volunteer to be the helper.”
“In that case I don’t need the pulley. Two of us can easily lift the bottle.”
“And what about your hip?”
“It is fixed now.”
So, from time to time, and with increasing frequency, I visit Alain for the wine making sessions. We go down to the basement, we lift the bottles and sometimes accidently bump into each other. Then we drink too much wine, I cannot drive, therefore I stay overnight. As I said at the beginning, you never know what could happen if you read a silly sign on the park bench. Especially, if it involves winemaking.