Time-delay

So, it was brough to my attention last night that, while I relayed the tale of last Sunday's adventure on my Facebook, I did not blog about it over here. That is true. Part of the reason was my going over my internet limit part-way through the week, and the other part was sheer laziness. That's not good.

So to recap - last Saturday I got myself all morosed up over some stupid comment a girl I used to know made, and then I chopped wood to make myself feel better. You had to be there, I guess.

So, the next morning, I decided to chop more wood. I really like my axe - it makes splitting logs a breeze. I split a whole bunch, and then stacked them at the back of the garage. I was impressed with the end result of my work, and I decided I needed to take a photo to prove to the people back home that I am becoming a tough and independent wilderness woman. (Because there is some doubt about my transformation.)

So I went upstairs (changing out of my shoes and into my slippers), grabbed my camera, and went back downstairs. I took pictures of the stacked firewood (with bonus pictures of the kindling pile), sighed with smug contentment, and went back upstairs to the couch to bask in the warmth of the fire I had started before my wood chopping.

Well, that is, I intended to to go back upstairs to do that stuff. Unfortunately, I couldn't open the door into the house. The door had closed behind me, locking me in the garage. You see, it turns out that the door had always been locked, but it had opened and closed many times - I figured it was one of those things where the house had shifted (kind of like my back door that doesn't open).

So, I was locked in the garage. In my slippers. Luckily, a few weeks earlier I had figured out the bizarre contraption that opened the outside garage door, so I was not completely trapped, but I spent several claustrophobic minutes trying to open the door into the house. There was no joy there, so I opened the outer door and tried to work out my options.

There was no way I could see to get back in. The front door was locked, as it always is, and there was no way to get the back door open. My only hope was that my next door neighbour Pat was home, and that she still had a key to the house (she looks after my landlord's properties in town). But that meant I had to walk down my driveway, up the street, and up Pat's driveway (all of which were incredibly muddy) in my black satin grandma slippers.

The long and short of it is...I got back in the house, nothing burned down, and I have learned an important lesson about checking the door between the house and the garage carefully before letting it close behind me.



Here is the picture of my firewood pile that got me locked in a garage.