Creaks and Sqeaks
Another day is done. I walk through my house, pulling down shades and closing doors. The floor squeaks beneath my feet, reminding me of how many times I have walked this path, closing the house for the evening. Now it is on to bed. I climb the stairs, anticipating which one will squeak this evening. My bones creak. They are telling me it has been another tiring day. Perhaps, once again, I have done just a little more than I am supposed to.
I am careful as I walk down the hallway to my bedroom. I know there are many squeaks in this hall, and my little grandson is sleeping. He seems to hear every little creak and squeak as you come down the hall. I gingerly navigate the hall and miss those squeaky boards but, alas, once again I hit one or two. He stirs but, luckily, does not wake.
As I open my closet door to get my nightgown, the door squeaks. I pause to think about how often I have opened and closed this door, all the different outfits bought and then given away. All the pounds that have come, gone, and come back once again.
I wash my face until it is squeaky clean and brush my teeth. I am ready to put my cares aside for the day. I sit on the edge of the bed and pause to remember all the many gifts given me today: good friends, neighbors, and family; a lovely home; a beautiful country; and my faith in God and humanity.
I turn out the light and pull my creaky body into bed. I lay there and think of how truly blessed I am. I roll over and close my eyes. My bed squeaks one last time reminding me how much I love the sounds of my home.