Remembering Basements

Last evening I decided I should start to look at things and categorize those items that we should pack for our journey South.  We won’t be needing everything as we have to make a stop back here in mid March for dental and doctors’ appointments.  So I pushed myself off the easy chair to descend to the basement.  Now here the anomoly–the basement.  Ours came totally finished with drywall, paint, a fireplace, and carpeting, not to mention a half-bath.  The builders also included surround sound so you would have the theatre effect.  When we purchased the house it was called the game room, or family room.  Now you must realize there is only me and the wife living in the abode, so utilization by the family was an oxymoron.  So think about this!  I’m going to leave my wife who is watching the 50 inch HD television.  I’m going to leave the comforts of the refrigerator and pantry cabinet full  of goodies.  I am going to saunter down a set of steps to be “by myself” in the basement so I can watch television on a smaller version without the foodstuffs from the kitchen.  And to top this all off, the room added and extra 20k to the purchase of the home.  Here I am, off on a tangent again. Basements have to be the third greatest feature of American life. They are wonderful due to the fact that they are so amazingly, so spaciously, unnecessary.  But I know basements because I grew up with them.  Most American basements are the same. There’s always a trickle of water coming from some unknown source that meanders it’s way across the floor, a clothesline that hangs between two nails but is rarely used, and a dank smell of which its origin is never found but conjures senses of old leather and used newspapers, along with some things that should have been aired out but never were.  Basements are so enormous to normal requirements, in fact, that we almost never visit them. Every dad who ever adventures into the basement pauses to think, “gee, we should do something with all this space. A pool table, or perhaps a wet bar, or even a pinball machine would enhance this. But its just a pipe dream of things you intend to do, like learning Spanish someday or take up home yoga, and never do.  And think back when you were a child.  How fearful you would be to venture down those steps, wary that someone at the top would shut the door and lock it,  jump in the car for Chicago, and never return for you.  No, basements are deeply and inescapably scary, and that’s why they’re always featured in spooky movies.  And then along comes a shadow of Joan Crawford cast on the far wall, wielding an axe. This is why even dads don’t go down there very often�