How strange it was the first time I held the magic key in my hand. It’s the kind of key that you only see in old movies--long, heavy and dirty brass dark. It is a key evocative of magic. It is type of key that unlocks musty trunks and opens doors that hide unknown places. It is one more key clanking on a metal hoop of some spooky person. I wasn’t even sure I knew how a key like this worked. Turns out the lock is just as hefty and the key turns with a surprisingly loud and satisfying clunk.
No need to enter Bourdeilles’ medieval tower, renaissance chateau, delicious bakery or hear the babble of french language to enter into the magical world of lost time in France. Just take hold of that ancient key and unlock the front door to our house.
It is interesting to me that we have constantly updated and converted all of our locks in the states. Our house here is no older than a lot of homes there. But, with the exception of tours of historic homes, I can’t recall an old fashioned lock on a front door anywhere.
Tom loves what I hate about these relics-- they are unbelievably finicky. “Unlocking your door is all about carpal tunnel syndrome!” groaned a house guest. “No, it’s all about touch,” croons Tom. I think the answer lies between-- a hard but thoughtful kick usually finds success for me.
Using this magical key is part of the mystery of the entry into another world here in our little home.