Hello, Kids and Other Readers,
Today, I want to share with you a somewhat quirky, favorite thing of mine.
Staircases.
Yes, staircases! I have never lived in a two-story house. I hope to build a second story onto my home someday so that I can have the overdue pleasure. Of course, I will have to add a unique staircase to proclaim the addition.
My love of staircases originated when I was a little girl. One summer day, I went with my grandmother to visit her sister, my grandaunt Edith. She and my granduncle Christy lived out in the countryside thirty minutes away from my house in San Diego. I can still smell faint cigar smoke mingled with the aroma of fresh-baked cherry pie that wafted through the house that day.
Once all the adults were busy talking in the living room, I disappeared to explore the house. Have you ever done that–or wanted to? Well, I found myself in the kitchen. Not too interesting until . . . I spied a faded green cotton curtain hanging from an arched doorway. I hoped a breeze, and nothing else, was causing the curtain to billow slightly back and forth. What could be behind there? Of course, I had to find out. Bravely, I approached–after checking that no adults were around–and ever so slowly, pulled back the cloth. What do you think I saw?
A staircase! A beautiful winding wooden staircase that went to I didn’t know where. Fascinating! There was even a small open window up near the landing to light my way. I was about to start climbing when I heard my grandmother call me. Everyone was waiting for me at the dining room table to begin lunch. Drat! No chance to explore. But maybe, that was a good thing. It left me to wonder and make believe what was at the top. Unknown rooms? Certainly. Pictures of my great-grandparents? Ancient cabinets full of treasures? A ghost or two dancing in the dust? Hopefully.
Even now as an adult, whenever I enter a person’s house where there is a staircase, I want to climb it to see what mysteries are on those upper floors. Of course, it’s not polite to explore without permission. And not too many people want me tramping around in their private spaces. Instead, I satisfy myself by traveling back in time to that little girl who visited Grandaunt Edith’s house and discovered the “hidden” staircase so many years ago. And I smile.
If you read my Botanic Hill Detectives mysteries, you will no doubt notice that most everyone in my stories lives in a house with one or more staircases. Now, you know why.
So, get a clue, Readers. Head up, up, and away! That’s where mysteries live.
