Keys

The New York Times home section has an article today that really spoke to me.

The meat of the article: people who don't lock the doors where they live. It spoke to me I suppose because I too never lock my door. Can't say that I have ever had a break-in. But why lock up, arm the alarm? If someone wants to find a way into your home, they most likely will. I have to admit to another thing I wasn't in the habit of locking, and that was my car (when I still had one.)

The sweet little enclave I lived in was pretty low key and my view point? My neighbors all drive nicer, flasher vehicles than I, so let them lock their vehicles. Keys just seem like another thing to worry about.

My Mini Cooper was so laden full of Lego's and trail mix who the fuck would want it was my mantra.

Keys to the castle, the key to my heart.
Key-lime pie I say because if you can't enjoy life without looking over your shoulder wondering and worrying who might be out to get your stuff , then maybe you just have too much stuff. Or watch too much Fox News, maybe both.

Did I mention the four bicycles stolen over the course of ten years living in San Francisco. All securely locked all snatched. Like I mentioned, If somebody wants it... Oh yes, I forgot about the Mercedes of baby buggies, pinched from the front of my flat in Barcelona on a sunny summer day- really, if you need to steal a baby buggy than you need it more than I.

I found an odd comforting feeling, reading the Times article. I suppose that it's nice to think that I'm not the only key-less wing nut on the continent. It helps to live in a building with a doorman these days, as my key-less habits die hard in Toronto where I do need a fob to unlock and allow access.

Wishful thinking on that key free way of life.