I think the first key in my collection might have been one that belonged to my grandmother; tarnished brass with a rounded top and a tiny flourish:

And then I started collecting more of them. Perhaps I should rephrase that… the keys started finding me. The second one I bought was at an odd sort of yard sale, from a local order of nuns that was moving out of their convent. The key just sat there, unattached to anything that might be remotely lockable. I remember handing over my dollar to the nun behind the table.

“A key is such a mystery,” I said jokingly. “You’ll never know it belonged to.” I think she looked at me kind of funny. But I ended up carrying that key in my pocket for a long time, perhaps as sort of a talisman.

It feels rather Alice in Wonderland, doesn’t it? What did it lock? What did it hide? I love the mystery of homeless keys. There could be a treasure behind any one of these:

And once I’ve accumulated enough of them I hope to do something like this:

It’s going to take me awhile to get there. But that’s the thing about collections, right? They have to grow…