Stairs as a place of memory, intimacy - I love these ideas. And I have the same memories of laying in bed as a kid and listening to the creaky stairs being climbed and knowing exactly which family member it was by the cadence of their footfall. ❤️
'I noticed the paint was worn and darkened in spots along the rail where our hands would grip and then shift and grip again as we went up and down over the years'.
How you noticed by the rhythms who was on it. The unsaid things.
a transitory space, neither up nor down yes!
I did that (stupid) mattress sliding thing too, I was in college though. 🙃 It was great fun, but the mattresses were not so comfy and rather lumpy after.
Definitely an interesting, energetic and rather ignored part of the house, thanks for highlighting this liminal living space, David.
The stairs in my first childhood home were out of bounds as they led to the flat upstairs and we lived on the ground floor (first floor if you’re American!). It was a converted Victorian house so the only separation between us and the upstairs neighbours was the door at the top of the stairs that had a very flimsy lock.
We moved when I was five and this time we were the upstairs neighbours in another converted Victorian house. Those stairs where I would run up and down to visit our downstairs neighbours, a lovely old couple and their companion friend. Major Hart had been in the Army in India before WW2 and had bouts of recurrent malaria even into the 1970s. Mrs Hart taught me to knit. I would have small cups of tea with them and elegant biscuits, and watch the horse racing on TV with them on Saturdays.
Then we finally moved to our own house when I was nine. The house had no central heating and the stairs were the coldest part of the house - the phone was eventually installed at the foot of the stairs when I was thirteen and the bottom step became my chilly seat when talking to friends. I can still feel the threadbare carpet under my fingers!
Stairways are the most exciting place in an ordinary house. Our stairs were open to the foyer on one side. I used to drive my mom crazy by climbing them on the wrong side of the banister, finding footholds on the narrow lip of each step, scaling them like the side of a mountain :-)
Stairs as a place of memory, intimacy - I love these ideas. And I have the same memories of laying in bed as a kid and listening to the creaky stairs being climbed and knowing exactly which family member it was by the cadence of their footfall. ❤️
Great to hear Sarah! Thanks for reading and commenting 🙏
I was thinking of this piece while back home last week... 🖤
Oh cool 🙏 i feel privileged to have written something that has been given space in your mind. 😌
In my heart too :)
I love your poetry and your musings. Thanks for sharing this!
Thanks so much Brian 🙏
'I noticed the paint was worn and darkened in spots along the rail where our hands would grip and then shift and grip again as we went up and down over the years'.
How you noticed by the rhythms who was on it. The unsaid things.
a transitory space, neither up nor down yes!
I did that (stupid) mattress sliding thing too, I was in college though. 🙃 It was great fun, but the mattresses were not so comfy and rather lumpy after.
Definitely an interesting, energetic and rather ignored part of the house, thanks for highlighting this liminal living space, David.
I think there are two times in your life when jt is acceptable. Childhood and College ... at both times one is equally stupid 😂
What a lovely reflection on a simple thing! I love it!
And whether one wore shoes or not .. and the music that emanated from the bedroom
The stairs in my first childhood home were out of bounds as they led to the flat upstairs and we lived on the ground floor (first floor if you’re American!). It was a converted Victorian house so the only separation between us and the upstairs neighbours was the door at the top of the stairs that had a very flimsy lock.
We moved when I was five and this time we were the upstairs neighbours in another converted Victorian house. Those stairs where I would run up and down to visit our downstairs neighbours, a lovely old couple and their companion friend. Major Hart had been in the Army in India before WW2 and had bouts of recurrent malaria even into the 1970s. Mrs Hart taught me to knit. I would have small cups of tea with them and elegant biscuits, and watch the horse racing on TV with them on Saturdays.
Then we finally moved to our own house when I was nine. The house had no central heating and the stairs were the coldest part of the house - the phone was eventually installed at the foot of the stairs when I was thirteen and the bottom step became my chilly seat when talking to friends. I can still feel the threadbare carpet under my fingers!
Zivah! Incredible comment thanks so much for sharing this! Visceral memories 😌🙏
You’re very welcome! Thank you for helping me remember 😊
Stairways are the most exciting place in an ordinary house. Our stairs were open to the foyer on one side. I used to drive my mom crazy by climbing them on the wrong side of the banister, finding footholds on the narrow lip of each step, scaling them like the side of a mountain :-)
Oh i did that too.. used to pretend i was a ninja! 😂. I'm sure i almost pulled them down.
Thanks so much for commenting ☺️ 🙏