The Staircase

Every Sunday at noon I walk down the guesthouse's staircase to my brother's house for lunch. It's the one day of the week we don't do any work and where I get to have someone else cook and clean up for me.

One of my tasks is to keep this staircase clean. It doesn't matter if I sweep up during the week or on the weekends, when I descend the steps holding my mom's hand, she invariably says: "this staircase is so dirty. When we had a gardner, he used to keep this spotless and clear. We need to speak to your brother about hiring someone to clean it."

I know I am a Zen master as NOT ONCE have I replied or made any comments.

(It doesn't matter how thorough I am with my sweeping, there's a large cherry tree above the staircase that enjoys dropping leaves as soon as I turn my back.)