The Key to my Mental Health?

This afternoon I was about to head outside, having frittered away the morning on news, Facebook and a frustrating practice session at the keyboard/piano.

I dressed, masked up, laced up and grabbed some keys. I noted these weren’t my own set but figured my husband had taken mine by mistake.

The key went into the lock with its usual stubbornness, but this time it got stuck. I attacked the key with my usual stubbornness. The result is what you see here:


Since the door was still unlocked, I went back in and called my friend Helen, whose text about going outside had roused me from my piano funk. (I don’t mean funk in the musical sense, either; the piece was Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata,” sorta.)

My next instinct was to text my husband, but I didn’t want to bother him. The poor guy is finally taking a week off work, and I was happy to see that he was carrying his golf clubs when he left the building.

So I thought to myself, “Now, what would a responsible adult do in a situation like this?” As you might imagine, I ask myself that question a lot.

I decided that a responsible adult would call the doorman, who probably has a locksmith on call and definitely keeps extra copies of everyone’s keys.

So, naturally, I got one of those metal poultry skin-fastening thingies and started poking it into the lock, to see if I could pry the key remnant out.

It worked, no prying required.

Then, playtime. I unrolled my yoga mat and kept myself entertained for awhile. An instructor I follow online had demonstrated a new way to do a familiar pose, so I happily struggled with that until I got the hang of it.

At some point it occurred to me that we might have an extra copy of the apartment key. Genius that I am, I opened the drawer where all the keys and things end up. Between yoga poses, I held up each key next to the now-reunited half-keys for comparison. Nope.

There’s a drawer under the keys-and-stuff one, and something made me open it. You’ll never guess what I found inside: MY OWN KEYS!

Well, what do we have here?

I called Helen back, and we had the longest conversation we’ve had in the six months or so we’ve known each other. We decided that may have been because we weren’t being battered by the wind and there weren’t any cute kids, dogs or ducks to distract us.

At any rate (a favorite Helen phrase), the husband is back now, and I’ve written this blog post. It ended up being a happy indoor day that I wouldn’t have had if that key hadn’t broken.

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