Friday, February 22

not just slanted floor

There were twelve leading down into our unfinished basement but on quiet mornings we would skip the last two, that creaked loudly enough to spoil our fun, and tiptoe for the family room to watch cartoons. Made of sturdy, plain wooden boards they were polished and faded from our walking and running feet. With nothing covering the backs we would run up them at night to avoid the ghosts and monsters hiding in the woodpile underneath. My sister fell down them and broke her arm. My brother rolled down and sustained wood chips in his nose. I was secretly jealous of other families that had another set of stairs separating the main floor from all of the bedrooms. Families on TV never lived in bungalows; they always woke up on Christmas morning and trudged down the stairs rubbing their sleepy eyes as they peered over the railing at Santa's spoils.

Living at university I finally did get my wish however, it really just meant that if a fire started on this magical 'main floor' we would have to jump an extra story to avoid crispiness.

I don't have an eloquent way to end this little memory session about stairs. I'll just tell you my favourite kind of stairs. I love old stone and marble stairs in big old buildings (I guess big old buildings are the only ones with old marble stairs, I haven't seen them in private homes too often). Especially when these stairs have dips worn into them from all the traipsing over them taking away the matter a few atoms at a time.

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