Is this staring me in the face?
If it is, I'm lost.
As are several more keys.
The day following my lost-and-then-found-in-the-apron key adventure, Melinda (for whom I work) suffered a key disappearance after opening the trunk of her car. Between the car and the kitchen, her keys did their magic act. And no white bunny of fortune to point us in the right direction. We looked:
1) in the car
2) in the street
3) in the garden
4) on the porch
5) under the porch
6) in the kitchen
7) under the kitchen
A *poof* of disappearance.
And today, the secret hidden spare also went missing, with the last remaining set of keys inside the house and both Melinda and I outside the house.
No, it wasn't in my apron.
It wasn't in my jacket pocket.
It wasn't anywhere.
It isn't anywhere. And although that's technically impossible, it's what I believe. It is GONE. Whoosh.
The locksmith arrived while we both shivered in the October chill, and told us that he recently went to a job on Norman Street. His first name is Norman. The next street over was the same name as his last name. What are the odds of this? He said he was able to take a photo with both street signs visible. Cool.
Then he waxed philosophical on the value of locksmiths, and said that a previous governor, Gary Locke, enacted a Locksmith Appreciation Day. I asked Norman if that had anything to do with the fact that the governor's last name was, well, Locke.
"Well!" He said. "I hadn't considered that!"
He also said that, in light of the fact that Melinda's assistant called the locksmith and not Melinda-the-homeowner-herself, he (Norman) could be charged with a felony if this wasn't indeed Melinda's home. A quick show of ID remedied that worry. I mean, what if we were two middle-aged woman burglars sitting out in the cold trying to gain access to someone else's house? Cherish the thought.
But the thought I'm cherishing -- or not -- at the moment, is this ongoing theme of lost keys.
The opening of doors.
The opening of new doors.
The reaching for the unreachable.
It's a cliche, and threatens to smack me in the head, this symbolism. But sometimes synchronicity isn't just synchronicity.