Restocking the fridge last night, as I emerged from our basement with an armful of beverages, a can of Coke dropped and began spurting and fizzing. The aftermath was a CSI-esque splatter pattern that speckled the floor (and the walls as we discovered this morning).
While mopping up and cleaning up the mess, a low blood-sugar event had me go to the fridge for a drink of juice. A tremor in my hand caused the glass to slip and while I did manage to catch the glass before it crashed, I did manage to spill its contents all over me. Hormonally upset to begin with, I slammed the glass on the counter in frustration whereupon Shelley sent me off to eat some junk food and calm down.
While heading upstairs to change my clothes, I heard a thud in the kitchen and I hurried in to find that Shelley had slipped on the still-wet floor. After getting into dry clothes, I slipped on a book that had been left on the stairs, making the last few steps a bit of an adventure.
Then, this morning during communion, while the cloth cover was being removed from the altar, the wine (grape juice) spilled. In slow-motion, we watched as the chalice tipped and tumbled, offering forth its symbolic bloodshed in a literal fashion. We still managed to commune; and really what kind of family gathering doesn't involve spillage of some sort?
It's been a half-day now without incident, here's hoping more stable times are ahead.