The monsters in my basement👹
Battling (actual) monsters
One night a couple of weeks ago, I ran my garbage disposal and the drain kept spitting sudsy water back up into the sink. I gave it a few tries, letting the disposal gurgle on longer than usual, and then texted my landlords to tell them there was a problem.
“Is there anything stuck inside it?” the wife texted back. “Let it run for a while and if it’s still not working, we’ll call the plumber.”
I did what they asked and sent them a video of the regurgitating drain and the disposal sounding increasingly angry and told them I think they needed to send a plumber. Hoping they’d act quickly, I stressed that I’d be without a kitchen sink and they immediately lined someone up.
A young guy arrived early the next morning and poked around and said he thought someone needed to come to snake the thing. My daughter was staying with me for a few days so I left her in charge of waiting for the “snaker” so I could go to the office. Later she texted to say that apparently, the problem was more than the snake could handle.
By the time I got home late that afternoon, there were still guys in my basement who were finishing replacing about 20 feet of an old sewer pipe that ran along the ceiling towards the back of the basement where I have stored pretty much everything I owned and couldn’t find a place for in this rental. I’d bought about one million clear plastic boxes that came strapped together in 3-packs from Costco to pack non-essentials like my china, photo albums, and children’s books for my move that are all neatly stacked on pallets.
When I was considering where to go after I sold my house last summer, I really liked the idea of this rental not far from the beach. It was perfect in many ways, but the basement scared me. When my girlfriend and I looked at it while the previous renters were still living here, it was filled with a lot of boxes and random furniture and smelled like the whole jumbled lot of it was covered in mold spores. Damp. Musty. Gross.
There are a couple of random squiggles of black paint spray painted on the cement block walls that I joked to my daughter indicated that satanic rituals had been performed down there. Or if this was a horror movie, in the end, you’d find out they marked where scary creatures live inside the walls. Every time I had to go down after I moved in, I’d yell, “I’m coming down monsters! Please don’t kill me!”
I had, unfortunately, battled real monsters down there. One day I flipped on the lights, did my usual, “Don’t murder me!” routine, and began to head down the stairs when I was stopped in my tracks by two monsters, clinging to the wall at the bottom. I live in absolute terror of sprickets (spider crickets or cave crickets). And these two were huge. I ran back up the stairs and closed the door and decided I would never go down there again.
The absolute worst news about the basement is that is where the washer and dryer live. When I decided to move in, I made it my mission to de-gross the basement so that I wouldn’t be absolutely freaked out when I had to go down and do the wash. It was either that or just start throwing away my clothes after they were worn so I wouldn’t have to deal with cleaning any of them.
The landlord’s parents had removed a lot of old cardboard boxes down there, which really started to make a difference, as did running the dehumidifier 24/7. I took it a step further by bringing in an exterminator, buying lots of shelving for organizing, ordering air freshening gadgets from Amazon, and a big striped rug from IKEA for the laundry area.
I also realized a long-held dream and bought a Shop vac. I cleaned up old mouse poop and all the other strange bits of who-knows-what from under the crickety stairs and in the spooky dark corners. It makes me feel very powerful and prepared.
After this multi-step campaign, I’d go downstairs (but still, in deference, yell to the monsters) and would not be afraid or grossed out. I admired all my items stacked tucked on the shelves and the boxes stacked neatly on pallets toward the back. “This really isn’t so bad,” I told myself.
And then the sewer pipe began to leak and got some of the owner’s dumb junk (old mattress frames leaning on the wall, dressers filled with who-knows-what, and a TV with a giant back from like 2003) wet, and everything kind of smells again. The guys who replaced the pipe pushed everything around so now it’s all a jumbled mess. And there’s talk of replacing an even bigger sewer pipe (the real bad one to the street), but the timing of that is out of my hands. I put on my rain jacket the other day, which hangs on a hook near the basement stairs, and as I drove I could smell that musty smell emanating off of me.
All of this is to say, that even though I no longer own a home after 30 years as a homeowner, I am dealing with homeowner issues. And while I no longer have to pay for upgrades and repairs (positive), I also have no control over anything (negative). On the plus side, in September I got a new boiler for the heating system that I did not have to pay for. And I don’t have to finance weekly lawn mowing. But the downside is the landscapers are sub-par and don’t blow or edge or any of the services I received when I footed the bill.
When I moved in, I went about upgrading things that I deemed unacceptable and not up to my standards. I updated old-timey Tiffany-style kitchen lighting with inexpensive fixtures I found at IKEA. I got rid of the super basic kitchen faucet for a cheap one that had a pull-down sprayer. I swapped out all the silver kitchen hardware that had been touched by so many renters’ crusty fingers with inexpensive black ones from Amazon. And my daughter put tile down on the bathroom floor to cover the stone-colored flooring that I knew I’d never be able to walk barefoot on. Oh, and I painted the front door and swapped all the hardware, including the janky old mailbox and outdoor light, because it brought me joy.
But now, I’ve stopped.
Last weekend, I finally had time to organize my closet, which was a big downgrade from my former walk-in situation. I folded and put things in boxes I’d bought at IKEA and thought about how to make it all look even better, and then thought: ENOUGH. It’s fine. Everything has a place, and it just doesn’t matter because it’s not forever. Really, nothing is.
On Monday morning, I decided to cap off that organized feeling by washing my sheets. I stripped my bed and started them in the wash with fancy nice smelling detergent, and when I went back down to put them in the dryer, I was confronted by another giant spider cricket at the bottom of the stairs.
He was blocking the path between me and my Shop vac, so I decided to run back upstairs and find heavy things to throw at the monster from the top of the stairs (I have never claimed to be smart). I threw the entire New York Times Sunday paper at him, a few bulky sections at a time, and then grabbed a big box of heavy trash bags off the back of the basement door and tossed that at him at well. The cricket seemed kind of covered, so I ran down the stairs in my Costco bathrobe and matching Kirkland slippers, to get the Shop vac. But when I turned it on and brought the sucker down on him, it got stuck on The New York Times Style section, giving the spider cricket time to spring away to hide behind nearby shelving.
I turned the Shop vac off and ran upstairs in my robe and slippers and felt the adrenaline pulsing and laughed at being so scared of a dumb bug. Eventually, I got up the nerve to get my sheets but only because I haven’t bought a second set yet. I might have lowered my standards significantly in the last six months, but I am not an animal.
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SUNDAY SHARES: Read, watch, cook, buy
Office chic. I went into the office this week and wore these black ballet flats from Everlane paired with cream utility pants and a black t-shirt tucked in from the Gap and felt quite chic. I cannot recommend the flats enough — they are a really nice leather and very comfortable. While pricey, you can either consider them an investment or wait for one of Everlane’s blowout sales leading up to and following the holidays.
Good sisters. I usually wait until I’ve finished watching (or reading) something to recommend, but I can’t stop talking about Bad Sisters on Apple TV. I’m about halfway through and I wish I could just sit and watch the next 5 episodes right now. It’s created by my hero Sharon Horgan, who stars as the eldest of five sisters living outside Dublin who take matters into their own hands when they can no longer put up with the abusive behavior of one sister’s husband. So, so good. Also, Horgan's earlier show, Catastrophe, was outstanding.
Forget Wordle. The word game I’m obsessed with is Spelling Bee (also through the NYTimes). To play, you must see how many words you can make with that day’s 7 letters. The catch is that they are presented in a hive shape, with one letter surrounded by the others and every word must contain that middle letter. And there’s always at least one panagram, that brings bonus points. On Monday, I reached “Genius” level and felt very pleased with myself (even though like the crossword puzzle, that’s probably the easiest day of the week). I shared my Times subscription with my younger daughter this summer so she could play, and some nights I log in when I’m sitting in bed to discover she’s already found 40 words. So my advice is start playing today but don’t share with people who are smarter than you.
Summer of Ann Patchett. I spent the month of August with the writer Ann Patchett. I mean, not IRL, but while listening to two of the audiobook versions of her novels. I started with The Dutch House, delightfully narrated by the actor Tom Hanks, and was so sad when it ended. So I started Commonwealth, narrated by the actor Hope Davis, and it was equally wonderful. Complicated family dynamics and children who grow up but remain trapped by things that went wrong in the past? Sign me up.
Do not order these. My mom sent me a bag of these very dangerous little individually wrapped almond butter cakes and it’s an absolute miracle that some are still in the bag one week later. Beyond delicious.
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