locked myself out of the house.
tell Terry. Ok? Thanks.)
my defense, the door is one of those multi-lock handle things.
A deadbolt is one part of it. The other part is a handle with
a locking mechanism that allows the door to be opened from the
inside even when locked. So, you can unlock the deadbolt and open
the door, walk outside and close the door, and then find the door
is pretty securely locked even when the deadbolt isnít engaged.
(Which I have tested and found to be true on multiple occasionsÖ
twice just this summer.)
like to offer up some defense, but I really donít have any. Itís
not like I ran out of the house to go someplace, realized when
I got to the car I had forgotten my keys and it was too late at
that point with the house locked behind me. Nope. This summer,
both times, I simply walked out the front door intending to water
the plants and flowers. The past incidents I remember included
similar wandering around doing stuff in the yard excursions. In
shortÖ yupÖ I locked myself out of the house in order to do things
that never involved leaving the yard. (This summer, it didnít
involve leaving the vicinity of the front door.)
part for me to accept is that this really isnít anything new.
our old house, I managed to lock myself out on multiple occasions
as well. I can vividly recall using trash cans one time to assist
me in getting over the secured fence gate so I could get into
the backyard. That was fun.
time, at our first house, I stepped outside on a winter evening.
Turned to go back in, reached for the storm door handle and pulled,
which in turn dragged the front door closed, and there I was,
for the most part, this is all just funny and silly and Iím an
idiot. But I am getting older. And as much as I donít want to
admit it, I often find myself wondering about the things that
might be a warning sign of something else. This is a story Iíve
shared before, but it likely applies, so here goesÖ
few months ago, I was making a cup of coffee. I had moved my cup
from the coffeemaker on one counter to the counter on our kitchen
island. I needed some half-and-half. I turned away from the island,
took literally two steps to the refrigerator, opened the door
and could not remember why I was looking in the fridge. Not a
clue. Closed the door, turned back around, saw the cup of coffee,
I find myself making sure I absolutely finish one job before starting
another. I have this feeling that if I stop cleaning the windows
in order to grab the can of paint with just a little bit left
from when we painted the bedroom so I can touchup that mark on
the wall I spotted, eventually this little thing will lead me
to that little thing which will lead to Windex on the counter,
an open can of paint on the bedroom floor, a ladder outside the
house near the bedroom window, the lawn mower next to an open
mailbox, and me a few feet away from any of it trying to repair
a broken fence rail. And the worst part? Iíll be working on the
fence while thinking about how I forgot to get some Italian bread
to go with dinner.
Iím not worried. Yet. (But thanks again for not telling Terry.
I appreciate that. As far as she knows, my memory is still pretty
good. Now if youíll excuse me, I forgot to get the chicken out
of the freezer for dinner.)