I got an email from Gelson’s yesterday that advertised “RECIPES TO RING IN THE NEW YEAR!” One of the recipes was:
A decades-older friend of mine once said to me “you’ll never feel like there’s an occasion special enough to drink the good champagne, so just open it and drink it now. Now is special.”
I’ve taken that to heart, and it’s rare that a bottle, whether it’s the workhorse (the Gruet ‘89 is my go-to, and it’s always on sale at BevMo) or a fancier, gifted bottle, lives in my fridge for longer than a few months. So opening champagne is a thing I’m quite familiar with. In fact, it’s probably my most-requested role at parties (remember parties?)
I clicked through, just to make sure I wasn’t missing anything new in champagne technology. But it was all there. Remove the foil and the cage. Keep your thumb over the cork while you get a tea towel. Place the towel over the cork, and holding it firmly, twist the bottle, not the cork.
I read the instructions aloud to Nicholas. Twist the bottle, not the cork? he asked.
I think it’s because you can’t control the cork, I told him. It pops from the pressure. You can control the bottle, but you can only hope to contain the cork.
The end of the year lends itself to tidy summations, big proclamations, and a fuck-you to the 365 days previous. Or in 2020’s case, 366 days, as it was a leap year. This year happened slowly and then all at once. We paddled through the collective trauma of a pandemic. Staying-at-home meant sitting with ourselves, forcing us into taking emotional inventory, and even a personal reckoning. (Or three.)
However, this was the lesson I learned in 2019, when I discovered that I didn’t have to be a hat-wearing dog in a house on fire. Everything wasn’t fine. I wasn’t fine. My marriage wasn’t fine. A lifetime spent of trying to control the cork resulted in my life completely exploding. It was messy. It was hurtful. It was necessary.
Falling apart was a freedom I had never allowed myself, and it was only from that blank slate that I was able to rebuild. To figure out what I wanted. To understand that I could only control what was within my grasp, and no more.
Twist the bottle, not the cork.
There is no bright side to a pandemic. But when you realize that comfort and safety are an illusion, it’s less terrifying to be bold. My ex decided to move across the country. I decided to keep the house by myself. We hugged goodbye and went our separate ways. All that was left was the paperwork.
Twist the bottle, not the cork.
I finally turned to the house and made a list of things that needed to be done. I bought a drill and tools, and set about crossing things off the list. I patched holes, fixed shower leaks, re-tracked doors, repaired toilets, dug up stumps, hung wallpaper, refinished furniture, built planters and installed outdoor lightning.
Twist the bottle, not the cork.
I started feeding the burly black cat who wanders the block (Ron Swanson) as well as the Feral Cat Who Lives Under the House (also known as Kitten.) After five months, she was joined by another ginger cat. While I’d talk to them, I never made a move to get close, respecting their space. But three weeks ago she ran up to me, demanding to be pet. Now both of them come when called and demand affection before tucking into their twice-daily meals.
I also purchased a squirrel feeder to help out the skinny squirrel who drinks out of the water bowl in my backyard. The past two days I’ve watched him skittering across the length of my fence, secreting away an entire feeder full peanuts. Sometimes he’ll stop mid-way to shell and eat one. Sometimes he’ll stop to flick his tail, a signal to other squirrels to back off. Hopefully he’ll remember where he’s stashed all of his winter goodies, or else I’m bound to have a peanut grove come spring. (I’m pretty sure that’s how peanuts work.) Between Olive, three cats and a squirrel I’ve become the Goth Snow White I’ve always wanted to be.
Twist the bottle, not the cork.
I miss a lot about the world, but I’ve spent the last year trying to put into practice the things I learned about myself in 2019. I know that from the outside, things haven’t made sense to a lot of people who know me. I’m aware some of my friends don’t like the decisions I’ve made. I get it. But if 2020 has taught us anything, it’s that we have one goddamned life. And I’m going to wring whatever goodness out of it that I can. I hope that you will, too.
Twist the bottle, not the cork.
You are my favorite part of 2020.
Boom. I'm glad I'm not the only one who felt like 2020 was the time to practice everything I had started to learn in 2019. Happy New Year! I thought 2021 was going to be about patience and priorities but then January 6 happened. Priorities, yes. Patience? not so much. Thanks for being awesome. \m/