Fun Monday Redux: Don't Leave Home Without It.

This week's fun monday is hosted by Karina. Here is the assignment: I want to see your security blankets. No, not the kind Linus carries around with him in the Charlie Brown cartoons, although, if you have one of those, by all means share it. What I want to see are the items you just cannot leave home without. What is it that if you leave your house without, you feel naked, incomplete, not quite right?


THE FIRST TIME I LOCKED MYSELF OUT OF THE HOUSE was on dec. 1, 1993. i was home eating pizza and drinking beer with my pal J.G. after work. J.G. was mesmerizing me with stories about her complicated and elaborate romantic life. she had a busy life. in a word, the girl was juggling. hell, she was juggling while walking backwards on a tightrope above several hungry man-eating tigers.

at 10 p.m. we switched on the news and saw that a northwest airlink flight had crashed near hibbing; without any discussion we gathered up our stuff and headed back to the newsroom to help with the story.

here's the thing about my duluth house: every lock had a different key. rather than carry a janitor-sized key ring, i carried only one key--the one to the front door deadlock. unfortunately for me, as she was pulling my front door shut, J.G. gave the knob lock a twist. when i got home some hours later, i unlocked the deadbolt, reached for the knob--and it wouldn't turn. it was locked.

i stood on the front porch in the sharp dark cold of the december midnight and stared forlornly through the window. my living room looked warm and welcoming. Toby sat inside, wagging his tail, waiting for me to come back in.

there was nothing else to do; I took up a shovel and broke a window.

THE SECOND TIME I LOCKED MYSELF OUT OF THE HOUSE was not too long after that. It was snowing hard, and I had a telephone interview at 10 a.m. for a freelance piece i was working on. I dashed outside to get the newspaper and pulled the front door shut to keep snow from blowing into the house. But somehow--and this time I can't blame J.G., because she wasn't there--the knob lock had been twisted. the door locked firmly behind me.

I stood on the porch in my pajamas and a sweatshirt in a swirling snowstorm, shaking the knob and gritting my teeth. i could not believe this was happening to me again. what an idiot! i said, and nobody argued. Inside, on the other side of the door, toby sat patiently, wagging his tail, waiting for me to come back in.

i couldn't bring myself to break another window; i had only just gotten the first one fixed. instead, i dashed through the snow in my slippers to ask the neighbors if i could use their phone to call a locksmith. the house was full of college guys, many of whom were still asleep. one of them woke up--he was sleeping on the couch--and said he'd help. he came over and carefully cut away all the putty from one of the front-door windows. he removed the window, reached inside, and unlocked the door. and then, while i hastily conducted my telephone interview, he painstakingly puttied the window back in place.

i was so embarrassed by the whole incident i never thanked him in person. instead, i just furtively left a 12-pack of beer on his porch with a note.

THE THIRD TIME I LOCKED MYSELF OUT OF THE HOUSE doug and i did it together. we set out for the morning walk with the dogs, and somehow i thought he had a house key, and he thought i had a house key, but actually neither of us did. when we got home, carpenters were waiting outside to work on our new kitchen. i waited for doug to open the door, and doug waited for me to open the door, and it quickly became apparent that we were stranded. this time toby was on the same side of the door, wagging his tail, waiting for us all to go inside.

i sheepishly asked one of the carpenters if i could borrow his cell phone to call a locksmith. but he had a better idea. he whipped out his X-acto knife and sliced a quick slash in the screen of our front porch window. then he reached in and unlocked the door.

three is the magic number. after being locked out of my house three times, i now never ever leave without a house key. seriously. even if i'm just taking out the garbage. what's more, i pat myself down repeatedly on walks, like someone with a bad twitch. key still there? yep, it's still there. ok! let's keep going!

i have even been known (and burglars might want to take note here) to take along not just a key, but a backup key in a different pocket, just in case, and still leave the back door unlocked anyway. just in case.