Soon after moving to our current home more than a quarter of a century ago, I fitted a handrail to help my ageing father and mother-in-law get up and down stairs. They hauled themselves up, breathless, unbending backs and aching knees, and eased themselves down, woodwork and bone groaning as one.
I remember bringing it home on top of the car, which was a bit risky because at 14 feet long (4.25 metres) it stuck out both front and back. It’s a pig’s ear handrail – a reference to the cross-sectional shape, not the quality of fitting.
Sadly, my father and mother-in-law no longer need it. I fitted it for them. Even in my darkest moments, I never thought it would be for me.
It seems you never had many dark moments.
ReplyDeleteO the mind, mind has mountains; cliffs of fall
DeleteFrightful, sheer, no-man-fathomed. Hold them cheap
May who ne'er hung there.
Nice to see you keep your copies of the Harry Potter books in a bookshelf at the top of your stairs.
ReplyDeleteI thought they were my son's, cluttering up the bookcase. Good. If they're mine I can take them to the charity shop.
Delete