Beneath the family history stairs (see previous blog) is a tiny bathroom that slants all the way to the bottom of the staircase. The toilet is ancient but sturdy. As a child, I would sit and study the map of New England that was taped to the underside of the stairs. The map disappeared years ago. In the 1990's (before I fancied myself an artist), I tried to paint a beach scene. Where the map once ruled, there are now big, anatomically incorrect, footprints. I should correct the images, or at the very least paint a Baedeker open in the nearby sand, but I won't. They show me how far I've come.