Where have all the keys gone, and all those single socks

I have a very good idea of exactly how my friend, who shall remain nameless for reasons which will become obvious in due course, felt when the front door of the house into which he was moving slammed shut.

This is of course not as good as he felt laughing at me when I walked into a tree on a hiking trail some time ago but that’s another story.

I wasn’t there when the door slammed so sadly, I could not get revenge by laughing back at him while he cursed but I can imagine how he felt, weary after a long day of moving from one country home to another three hours drive away, carrying the last boxful of stuff towards the house when suddenly: slam. Then that sinking feeling as he realised he was locked out.

I imagine he looked at the snow-capped mountains around him, felt the chill of the early evening breeze then ran frantically around the house looking for an open window, or one not sealed by burglar bars then resigned himself to the fact that he would have to break in to spend his first night in his new house.

That’s when he went into 'Chuck Norris on a drug bust mode' and kicked the back door open. But unlike Chuck who never gets hurt, my friend injured his leg in the process..

I know this because I have been there standing this side of a locked door, that is, while the keys were on the other side.

I have also had long engagements with coat hanger wire trying to open locked car doors and I have tried squeezing my aging body into small spaces to wriggle my way into places I have locked myself out of.

So now armed now with the wisdom of years, I secrete keys everywhere. I have even hidden keys in places I can’t remember. Like under my car for instance, wired to the frame somewhere. And many’s the day I have crawled around under the chassis out in the sticks somewhere looking for keys I have not lost.

And that’s the really annoying bit. I never lose things; I just can’t remember where I’ve put them. Except that is, all the spare keys in that box on that shelf somewhere. The really frustrating thing is that they never fit any the locked locks.

Keys I have also discovered are like socks and plastic container lids. Like most people I know, I have a lot of single socks and a lot of containers with no lids and also lots of keys that fit no locks.

Maybe Pete Seger could be inspired to write another song. Never mind where the flowers might have gone what about the keys, socks, lids, and locks (long time passing, long time ago!)

Later this week my friend called to say he had repaired the broken door and was sitting comfortably, nursing his bruised leg, while a log fire warmed him inside his new home.

The municipality which had earlier forgotten to connect him to the power grid had finally empowered him with light and Telkom had, after hours of frustrating cell phone calls, eventually delivered the squiggly little piece of wire, with the big ADSL connection, he needed to connect his computer to the little white plastic box they had glued precariously to the wall.

Eish! Country living, it seems, is not so relaxing after all.