I just wish I could say that I hurt it diving to field a ground ball or even that I fell off my bike trying to make that sharp bend in the trail in the woods at too high a speed in a desperate effort to win that all-important 6,215th race against my brothers. But no, unfortunately, those days are way in the past.
No, I hurt my knee when I banged it off a door that was caught on a loose rug. It was caught and wouldn't budge, but I didn't know that when I galloped down the stairs at top speed in order to retrieve that much needed ... bottle of wine.
I didn't have time for doors, especially doors that were partly open but not open enough to squeeze through. I descended 7 stairs in two steps and flicked the door with my outstretched left hand and presumed it would be wide open by the time the rest of me arrived. Alas, it was not.
My left knee took the brunt of the blow as I walloped it off the side of the door. I was hurt. And stunned. It took me a few seconds to realize that I'd have to hop the rest of the way to the wine, which is what I did as guttural, Yosemite Sam-like noises poured forth from deep within me. It was only when I got to the wine that I fully grasped the truth of my situation – that I had a bottle of wine, but the opener was back upstairs AND I was in a lot of pain.
For a few brief seconds I wondered if I was too old 'for this.' You see, I just had one of those 'milestone' birthdays (I'm not saying which, but I was born the same year as Shea Stadium opened), which possibly sowed that seed of doubt. Happily, that moment passed.
Yes I am too old to play baseball. Yes I'm too old to race my brothers on my bicycle. (Although I daresay that if someone put the four of us on bikes and said, “Who can get to the far end of the trail first?” we would still all kill ourselves AND each other in a bid to be first.)
But I am not too old to give my all in pursuit of a bottle of wine. I figure that when that day does come my time on this Earth will be nearing an end. I hope I am never too old to chase wine.
There was no real damage to my leg other than the bruise, which is now just about gone. Within a few minutes of that initial bang I was able to hobble upstairs with my wine. The first glass was strictly medicinal, I told myself, as I poured out the second. The pain was definitely easing by then.
By the next day it was just a little sore and now, six days later, it's but a yellowish spot on my knee and a fading memory.
It did leave one lasting mark, however. I learned a very valuable lesson – always have a bottle opener on you. You never know what calamity might befall you and prevent you from getting to the opener when you most desperately need it.
