Pre-Skeeter. Locked out

The fortress
One day, when I was certain I didn't yet need any assistive devices (Skeeter was way in the future), I was emptying the garbage, when I heard the garage-to-house door lock behind me.  "No problem," I thought.  I'd just use the hidden spare key.  Then I remembered the old Hide-a-key case had been damaged and I hadn't gotten around to replacing it.  "No problem," I thought.  I'd just call one of my neighbors to help.  My cell phone was in the house.  I could hear Lucy barking--probably wondering why I hadn't yet come back in the house.  I had never trained her to open doors, so that wasn't an option.  After trying every door and window, I had to face up to having really locked myself out of the house. 

Would this help?
My next door neighbors' house was under construction and I could hear workmen.  I'd just stroll down there and borrow a phone from one of them.  But, my strolling days were over and I knew I would need at least my trekking poles.  Where were they?  In the freakin' house with my keys, the land line, my cell phone, the neighbors' numbers and Lucy.

I staggered downhill (at that point, doable, but not pretty) and borrowed a cell phone from a friendly workman.  I remembered the number for my friend and closest neighbor, but she worked for the city and wasn't home.  Next, I called the only other number I could remember--another friend's mobile phone.  She answered promptly (yahoo!) from a tennis tournament 150 miles away in central Oregon.
Nyah, nyah, nyah


Helpful neighbors,
but long distances
between houses
So why didn't I call Earl?  Two reasons: I wanted to exhaust the easy and/or close solutions to my dilemma first before calling someone who worked 15 miles away.  Secondly, I wasn't ready to fess up to being unable to figure out a solution.  So then why didn't I just go to one of several neighbors? Any one would have been happy to help–I just couldn't get to them.  Our neighborhood isn't set up well for someone with limited mobility.  That was an early clue that limited mobility was an issue. "Houston–we have a problem," I admitted.  Where was Skeeter?  Not built yet.

Fortunately, my next call to daughter Heidi and son-in-law Michael, was more successful.  Michael was at home, although Heidi had taken her daughter, Sarah, to swim lessons and wasn't.  Michael called Heidi and she rescued me an hour later.  Sarah had to come in her wet swimsuit.  Our son Jason and his family lived in Seattle at the time and were spared the entire incident.

The lesson:  Too many to count...









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