While I was at my mother-in-law's house this weekend, I walked up and down the stairs. At first, just up and down the last three, and then, later, all the way up, and -- slowly, slowly -- all the way down, past the point where I'd fallen. And I learned something.
When I stand on one of our stair treads, with my foot pressed all the way back, the tips of my toes hang over the edge of the tread, just barely.
When I stand on one of those stair treads, my foot pressed all the way back, the front third of my foot hangs over the edge.
Coupled with the steep slope of the stairs, and the low handrail at the top -- I never really noticed before that I have to lean over the top step to grasp it as I start to come down -- it's quite a combination. And at times - say, the morning of the day after Christmas, before dawn, when you just want to get downstairs to use the bathroom so you can get back to bed, and you're more than a little sleepy -- it can send you to the hospital.
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The tiramisu turned out well. I'm trying to convince myself not to eat the leftovers. The chocolate chip cookies, I can give away. The brownies, I think I can freeze. But the tiramisu -- it calls to me..... even if I didn't master how to shave slivers of chocolate for the topping.
2 comments:
It sounds like the same exact steps my grandmother has in her house, strange.
I've always hated the luckily any falls have not been serious.
I told my wife that I frequently thought Someone's going to fall down these damn stairs some day...
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