“Nothing would sleep in that cellar, dank as a ditch, / Bulbs broke out of boxes hunting for chinks in the dark, // . . . Nothing would give up life: / Even the dirt kept breathing a small breath.”
I don't ski, but I'm pretty sure the stairs were an homage to Corbet's Couloir. We survived the descent and were rewarded with endless 70s wood paneling, a tattered drop-down ceiling, a questionably lumpy floor, and several vacations worth of workout equipment all awash in blinding fluorescent light.
"It doesn't smell so bad," Kir casually noted.
Yup. We had smelled and seen much worse.
The basement needed work. We knew that going in. There was a beam that needed to be reinforced and original lead pipes that had to be replaced. The inspector pointed out "eroded mortar" in the only observable bit of the cellar wall.
Our basement had tales to tell, and others to coyly leave unsaid.
Take, for example, the time our contractor Mario called one evening during the week he and his team were pre-demoing the house for asbestos abatement. Mario called Kir. That alone was odd. I was point person.
So why was he all of a sudden calling Kir?
His team had found a gun stashed in the drop-down ceiling. He was calling to let us know that he was taking care of everything with the police. Mario is so awesome at reading the room that he intuitively knew that I would not be as chill as Kir with that info.
I thought the upside was that I had an amazing story to share with my friend during our morning run. And all the jokes. It's too easy, right? I mean, how on earth does someone forget to pack their gun? Why on earth does someone store a gun in the ceiling!? In the basement!!?? It's not exactly conveniently accessible during a home invasion or zombie apocalypse.
But, nooooooo. My friend was not moved to histrionic displays of disbelief. She was chill. Kir-level chill.
Apparently finding guns during renovations is a super common thing. She told me how her friend found guns when she dug up her cement yard, and how a neighbor a few doors down found a mini arsenal in the walls during a reno. In fact, Mario had told Kir that he had handled this sort of situation a bunch. Kir forgot to mention that to me.
The basement continues to give.
Mario calmly invited Sarah and I down during a site visit a couple weeks ago. "There's something I need to show you," is always a sign of interesting times ahead, especially if it's in a dank cellar and extra especially if it's uttered by your contractor.
The glorious 70s panelling had hid four walls of very much eroded mortar. Our foundation was begging for repointing.
When Mario said it'd only take a week or two, and would be done while other work continued, I was relieved. I was scared of the monetary costs, for sure, but more anxious about the impact on our schedule. Money can be earned and saved. Time is always spent or lost. A solid foundation is non-negotiable.
I'm told from this point on there are no more surprises in store.
Flapdoodle!
Obviously, this cellar has more tales to tell. After all, only the best things happen when tweens and teens hang out in renovated basements. I learned that a long time ago once upon the suburbs.
Xo Rosie
“WHAT / EVER / YOU / DO / DON’T / GIVE / UP”