Kiss My Knits!

Brioche stitch hat eats brain. Film at eleven.

Last week, my daughter was playing in a gigantic puddle that forms beside our driveway whenever it rains. She suddenly stopped and looked down, saying, “What is this?”

It was a car key. But it wasn’t a key to my car or my husband’s, or the cars we had before these. It may have fit my old sky-blue Mercury Lynx, or the old Ford Fairmont Futura affectionately nicknamed “The Tank” I had in high school and college. Or it may have been a key to one of my parents’ cars. I tend to think it looks like one of mine, but why I think that, I have no idea.

The key must have been dropped by the driveway at least 12 years ago and buried over time. This week, I imagine the rains uncovered it for my daughter’s alert eyes to spot, even though it had weathered to the same shade as our red Carolina clay.

It makes me wonder what other things thought lost may turn up again.