Dare I Say It? Fondling The Romance
This, my friends, is exactly how I feel on this warm Sunday evening. Tired puppy. I have droop. I have weary ache. I have good reason. Three days of hard running, spring cleaning & yard work, at least three big somethings crossed off the To Do list and four--count 'em!--FOUR chapters of The Book edited! This blond baby photo was taken by my friend Stacy and then glamorized (Sassorized?) by me. There is a place right between my shoulder blades that feels just like those puppy eyes melting closed. Did you know that one of the definitions of cuddle is to fondle in the arms? Oooooooh yeah. Fondle in the arms. I could use some of that right now. And right between the shoulder blades. Got a massage booked for Friday. Gonna get myself fondled in all the hurty places. I'm already moaning in advance.
My affinity for crowns has not abated in the slightest yet a new enchantment has settled in. Skeleton keys. There is something romantic that occurs to me when I encounter a skeleton key. It must be because they are nearly obsolete and it is their obsolescence that is romantic. Think about the reason you might a need a key and then think of the reasons you no longer need it. It is the release of the need to keep something locked up that sets the key and the lock and the treasure free. No secrets. Free admittance. Come in. Go out. See it all. Skeleton keys become separated from their locks because someone becomes separated from their need to maintain a barrier. This is more romantic to me than the things kept by keys and locks.
I only see the old fashioned skeleton keys this way because it is only these keys that symbolize old locks. Old doors. Old strongholds. I used to look at an old key and wonder to what sort of door or chest or drawer it belonged. I imagined mysteries. Now I look at an old skeleton key lost in the modern world and see that because it no longer has a companion door or chest or drawer it is a symbol of freedom and not mystery. It can never again lock anything away or lock anyone out. Old locks become sprung by some means even if their keys are lost so one way or another the things that get locked away are eventually liberated. No one saves these broken locks or doors yet curiously, the keys remain. They seem to be turning up everywhere these days.
An encounter with a skeleton key is an encounter with someone else's desire for privacy or protection. The key may have once been the tool of that desire but with time's passing it ultimately becomes the symbol of privacy or protection surrendered. That's the romance. All keepers of keys surrender them sooner or later. Someone gave up a stronghold, whether it happened by choice or death or some other event. The giving up of the need to retain the key is the enchantment for me. The richer mystery is not the treasure or the property or the boundary; it is whatever may have compelled that gesture of surrender. These old skeleton keys are the talismans of the romance. As unusual as it is for me say such a thing (maybe just because I am too tired to resist), right now I am fondling that romance.
(c) 2012, ACG
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