We were sitting around yesterday after coming in from a long snowy walk on the lake shore and wondering what to do with the rest of the day.
Checking the entry hall table, however, it appeared that someone must have picked up the keys to our rental car by mistake and disappeared off skiing with them. That was the only possible solution. The entry hall table is where the keys live (in case anyone needs to move a car. Im learning MUCH about group holidays this week) and they werent there, so that must have been what happened. Because My Beloved certainly wouldnt have had them with him on our snowy walk. That would have been a really really silly idea.
So we sat and we did many things instead (like sitting down in front of the fire and reading and things) and were quite surprised when people came back from the big hearty activities and said that no, as it turns out, they hadnt walked off with the keys by mistake at all. In fact, they had no idea where the keys to our rental car might be – the only keys, please note.
So we turned our bedroom upside down, and checked all the whole house thoroughly, the entryway, the drive went through the rubbish in the kitchen in case wed thrown them away by mistake and, all the while, kept repeating the mantra that they MUST be in the house somewhere, they simply must. Because them not being in the house at all was simply unthinkable. Thats where they would be. They would be in the house. So, trusting that wed find them next day when it was light and we could lift up all the furniture, we went to bed.
The next morning, I found the keys, which was great.
What was not so great – not even remotely great, in fact, was that I found them remotely, while in bed looking through the pictures Id put up on flickr the night before of My Beloved making angels in the snow.
Oh, THATS where the car keys are
We said. And sighed. Deeply.
And then donned 15 layers of clothes and ran out into the snow.
The new snow.
Because the snow had fallen, overnight. Snow on snow. Snooooow on snow.
There had been a few feet of snow already, but overnight, since we had last been there, frolicking and making angels, there had been four new inches of snow. Which made it a little difficult to see where the keys might lie. We knew that when we found a good snow-angel-making spot, we had walked past a boathouse and hadnt quite reached a log that we later sat on, but other than that, we couldnt be completely sure. And there were no other distinguishing landmarks, because of the aforementioned snow.
Leaving us with a search area that looked like this:
Knees wet and half-frozen, snow sneaking up my sleeves and down my collar, I worked on one patch of untrodden snow at a time, kneeling on it, sweeping the newer powder back and forth, occasionally sinking hip-deep into the rest. My Beloved sat thoughtfully on a rock nearby, mostly, trying to logic the keys out of the snow, trying to retrace our steps and therefore magically draw the things out of the ground.
Long story short – or shortish, or at least not as long as it could be if I was REALLY milking it – I found them. Proving I may actually be part-bloodhound, I followed some buried sledge-tracks until I found a spot where a very faint curve of snow suggested there may once have been an attempted snow angel.
And, below the surface, only the tiniest bit of keyring wire sticking up, they were buried.
As you can imagine, I was very smug about this, and insisted on being extremely pampered for the rest of the day, which, frankly, is the least I deserved. Because I am the best at finding things, and I win.
And I dont know why I got so excited about it.
Its just: well, its been a year of spectacularly shitty luck, to be honest. And this was just something suggesting that maybe, possibly, next year might be a little more lucky.