We all have heard of the KEYS OF THE KINGDOM movie, the FLORIDA KEYS, or Hemingway’s KEY LARGO and KEY WEST adventures. Well, I have an old story, albeit with a new slant. This one is entitled “THE CAR KEYS”.
Last Saturday was what I describe as a “normal” hectic day. The day we pull the boat from the big lake and put it away for the season. It means readying the trailer and trailing down to the the Lake Michigan ramps, retrieving the boat from its slip, loading it and bringing it back for winter storage. It takes a bit of doing and requires some formidable help. This time, in the company of son, Kevin, brot in law, Ray, and dependable buddy, Stan.
In the process, I encountered the usual glitches, which required several scamps to the basement, workbench, garage and toolbox. After an hour or so of preparation, we were ready to depart on our mission. But, lo and behold, my “CAR KEYS” were nowhere to be found. The ring not only held the car key, but also various other keys of substantial importance (at least to me, if not the rest of the world). I did have the keys when I hooked up the trailer, so they had to be somewhere near.
An intense search commenced by all present. Many items were found in the car, like loose change, candy wrappers, assorted used napkins, pine needles (white, red and scotch), eleven maps (mostly outdated), but no keys. A search of the house and yard yielded nothing, so we used a spare car key and went on our primary mission. The boat was retrieved, brought home for a power bath and taken to its spot of seasonal repose.
Then the search for the vanishing keys commenced. One has no idea how many places keys could hide, until one starts a search. But all to no avail.
I was about to call “missing persons” or place an “amber alert”, when the door opened and in popped my sweet Granddaughter, Erika. After vocalizing my dilemma, she “casually” asked “DID YOU CHECK THE GARBAGE BASKET UNDER THE SINK?” She, just as casually, reach into the can and, “VOILA”, pulled out the KEYS.
Now, an entire entourage searched every nook and cranny, and Erika pulls keys from the garbage bag. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought they were in her sweater pocket. Nah, she wouldn’t do that to me. She’s just psychic. Psychic or not, thank you Honey.
