Basements

After just being down in my basement, I have come to the conclusion that no one should have them.  There’s only one point in their favor and that’s if a tornado approaches.

For what does one use a basement, except storage.  Okay, some people are clever enough to turn their basements into play areas.  Could I have done that?  Well, in many instances it would have been a wading pool, as for the longest time we got water in the basement.  I have now paid an exorbitant amount to waterproof the basement, mainly because I am not a mop person, I’m getting old, and I’m tired of worrying every time it rains.  The waterproofing is allegedly guaranteed for the life of the house.  Not that I’m going to care after I’m dead.

When I had the house remodeled, I put everything down in the basement.  I was down there looking for glassware because I wanted to give it away.  If I hadn’t used it for years, it seems I don’t need it.  Could I find where I carefully wrapped all the wine glasses?  No, I couldn’t.

What I did find were my youngest son’s bins of books.  His excuse?  “When I have space.”  In other words, when I’m dead and the house has to be sold.  Blessings on my older son, as the only thing he has in the house is a shoebox full of baseball cards he collected as a teenager.  I’m sure they’re worth something, but do I have the energy to find out?

My husband, may I label him the ultimate hoarder?  He has moved to assisted living, I’m left with the detritus.  He saved test papers from high school on.  What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.  From bin to trash in one easy step.  Well, not so easy, three steps really and carrying them isn’t fun.

My husband and stamps:  My husband considered himself a stamp collector.  I only wish I had the money back from all his stamp purchases.  Down in the basement are two huge bins full of Israeli stamps, first issues and whatever. Do I know from stamps?  No, I don’t.  What I do know, aside from these collectables, is that there are two more bins full of new issues from the US Postal Service.  Does anyone write letters anymore needing stamps?  If so, I have all denominations you would ever need.  No one wants them.  They can’t be turned into cash.  They languish down there, unloved for eternity.  Or, yet again, until the house is cleared.

Photos, we took a few, which accounts for one bin of photographs of places we’ve been that no one has looked at for years.  And no one would be interested in them anyway.

I have to say that I do cherish the photos of my parents when they were young, but my children aren’t sentimental, they have everything on their phones anyway.  So I shall end up going through the photos and keeping ones with people we knew for my own enjoyment.  And then—trash.

Have I contributed to any of this mess?  Yes, I have.  Down in the basement are typewritten manuscripts before the age of personal computers.  I have thrown most of them, but some I’m hanging on to, thinking they could work with a bit of revision.

Also there are art supplies down there I really should get rid of.  I used to love taking art classes and going away a week in the summer for art camp.  But with the pandemic all that stopped.  And who knows if the paint is even good anymore.

What else is in that basement besides all the above crap and the furnace and water heater.  Well, there are two giant stained glass hanging chandeliers made by my father.  I used them at one time but no more.  They are so heavy I can’t possibly move them.  And there’s woodwork my brother graciously dumped on me.  I know he was being generous, but how many stools does a person need?

The fight against clutter will go on, I suppose, until I call the junk man, have an estate sale, or the inevitable, die.  Okay, let’s be more positive.  Maybe I’ll move instead?