The house is usually silent when I wake, walk downstairs, fire up the computer and write my post. So it’s important to be quiet.

Those squeaky stairs, for instance, how to avoid them? The girls had this down pat. Because it was to their advantage to ascend and descend without sound or detection, they memorized which steps were noisy and which were not. Even the two daughters who no longer live here, I bet they could tell you exactly which steps to avoid. And the one who’s still here, well, it goes without saying.

So why is it then that every morning I put my foot —not in — but on it?  It’s not from lack of knowledge or sensitivity or caring. Perhaps a stubborn fondness for transparency?

Once again, then, I vow to count the stairs, to remember which ones squeak and which ones don’t, to move silently through the house.

(Not our stairs — I wish they were.)