I don’t know why, but I have always been fascinated with
locks and keys. I love a vintage skeleton key and I wouldn’t mind having an
old-fashioned key hole on my front door (if it were safe, of course).
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| I loved, LOVED, this thing. Bless the 80's. |
When I was a kid though, I didn’t think of doors or old
keys, but I did love anything that could lock – from diaries to mini lockers to
weird 80’s toys that looked like snails but were really secret safes.
Seriously, I had
one and adored it. I cannot tell you what I had in this snail
but I assure you, it needed to be kept secure (as most childhood treasures do).
Along with the undercover snail, I had quite a collection of
diaries. As a young girl, I relished having a diary (or 10). I think I just
liked the idea of having somewhere to keep my private thoughts. One might forget
what it’s like to be 9 and think that there are no private thoughts for one
that age. If one were to think this however, one would be wrong.
Something wonderful happened when I locked my treasure in my
snail or wrote a thought (sadly, it was often about a crush) in my diary: a
sense of importance. The very nature of needing a lock created a sense that
whatever was inside would be sought, but should not be found by just anyone. I
also think that in a time in my life when things felt unsteady, somehow a
cheap, plastic lock gave me an odd sense of security (Fort Knox it was).
It’s easy to smile at little girl me with her false sense of
security based on little locks, and think how distantly adorable that is. But,
if I take a good look at not-so-little-girl me, I know I have new little locks
in place, many of the metaphorical variety, that give me that same sense of
security – false though it may be.
