I like old keys. I always have. I also have a fascination with hotel silverware, but that’s a different post.
There’s the obvious symbolism of a key. It represents the entree into something precious, locked away, private.
Writers have used phrases like “the key to my heart”, “key to life”, or “keys to the past” for years. Things locked away are revealed with a key figuratively speaking, as if some gesture or emotion is so strong that we are wiling to open a door to ourselves and let someone, or something in. Really lovely.
But then there’s the more literal aspect of a key. A combination of crevices that together open a locked door.
I really like that. There’s artistry there and mystery.
I have collected keys for a while, and like the hotel silver, I feel they link me to people that have come before. People from a time I’ll never fully understand with challenges and struggles not unlike my own, but staged during a different time.
Not celebrities, or well known politicians, that are paraded around for everyone to see wether we want to or not, but regular people.
Families on vacation, businessmen with safe deposit boxes, janitors in huge libraries.
I imagine stories of where these keys led, how they were lost and if any of them hold scandal, intrigue.
What if one of my keys was a key that was lost forever and somewhere in the past, if someone had just had my key their life would have changed? Sigh…I get goosebumps thinking about it.
So now these keys sit in my office and yes, they look nice, but it’s the energy I love. Sounds crazy, but it’s there.
There are stories in these keys I will never know, but as with many unknown things in this life, humans have the power to just make it up. Love that too.
In this age of plastic key cards, what will we leave behind?
Is some writer somewhere going to be sitting in her office with an old Hilton key card wondering about some conference I went to 75 years ago?
Maybe, but those plastic things will not look nearly as cool as my keys.
My thoughts from the laundry room. Lock Up.