a worn spot on stone stairs.

The building I work in is nearly 100 years old.  This causes some issues (the Facilities crew tells me that 100-year-old plumbing all kinds of not fun), but mostly I think it's wonderful.  Not only do our collections preserve history for future generations, our very building is a record of how museums have grown and changed since the early 20th century.  One side of our main hall houses taxidermy animal dioramas that haven't changed since we opened our doors in 1921 while the other side of the hall boast exhibits with time lapse photography, touch screen technology, and virtual cave-painting.  It's kind of amazing.

And of all the amazing things in this building that's been absorbing history for over 90 years, my favorite spot is a side stairwell with a worn spot on the second landing.

The stairwell in question is outside my office, and I walk up and down it several times a day to meet visitors, get the mail, or grab lunch.  It doesn't lead anywhere too special, and it's not a central route to anywhere in the museum.  The fact that it's not particularly well-travelled makes the worn spot even more special to me.  The stairs are original to the building, and carved from a dense grey stone.  (I'll have to find a docent tomorrow to ask exactly what type of stone it is.  The docents will know, they know everything.)  [ed. According to Dennis, it's limestone, local to the Chicago region. I knew the docents would know!] Right near the railing on the second landing there's a slight depression in the stone right where your foot hits as you turn to continue down the final flight of stairs.  It's not deep--in fact, you can only see it when the lighting hits it just right and reveals that shallow bowl in the stone--but I love it.  I love it because that spot has been worn away by thousands of people walking down these stairs over the last century.  No single person created it, but it's a reminder of our collective existence--a record of our time here at the museum.  This little depression has been caused by the minute scraping of governesses in high boots in the early part of the century, and by shuffling school kids in their shoes that light up when they run.  Folks who came to this museum once left a tiny mark when they went down that stairway, and it's a part of the same mark made by a curator who walked that route every day for 43 years.  Each of us who takes that stairway wears the stone down the tiniest fraction.  Each of us leaves just a little reminder that we were here.

In a building as vast as this one, a building designed to house and explain artifacts from the earliest days of this planet, I take comfort in the fact that there's a tiny record of me here.  When I leave, that worn little scuff will remain, and it will grow minutely as others shuffle down the side stairway.  Most of the people who contribute to it won't notice, but together we've all left a little bit of ourselves behind.  That makes me happy.

And knowing that I'll be leaving here sooner rather than later, I maybe drag my feet a little more than necessary turning 'round that banister...just to leave that tiny fraction more of myself here in this building that's seen so much.