Basement renovation: Here's why



So our basement is still one big collection of jackhammers, sawhorses and halogen lamps; we blow dust off of any food we're considering eating before we put it in our mouths, and we have learned to jump into the shower early, before all the work begins each day -- we never know when the water will be available.

But it's so worth it!  Because here is what our basement used to look like:



At some point, some previous owner put up plaid wallpaper that matches nothing. There is no excuse for this except maybe the early enthusiasm in the seventies for all things that could be seen as colonial and bicentennial, but somehow also gave off a "swinger" vibe, which overwhelmed supposedly intelligent people who should know better.  To complement this, navy blue wallpaper was applied to an adjoining wall.  There is so much wrong with this . . . .


Of course, being the procrastinating family, we complained about this ugly wallpaper for eleven years, while yawning and fixing ourselves more coffee.  It began to lose its sticky and peel from the walls before we did one thing about it.  But still.


So this level of our home boasted a bedroom, but no bathroom -- not even the so-called "powder room" so beloved by realtors everywhere.  Some previous homeowner somewhere along the way decided it would be way more fun and useful to require people who used the bedroom to climb two flights of stairs to take a shower; instead of a bathroom they installed a rustic, Daniel Boone-esque wet bar.  There's that navy blue wallpaper in the background.



Actually, after talking to friends we feel kind of lucky.  My Contractor and her husband are the proud owners of a 1970s tiki bar in the basement of their house -- palm frond roof and all.  We merely had to contend with striped wallpaper that was purchased -- on purpose! -- to match the plaid wallpaper used elsewhere in the room; apparently it could have been so much worse.  But still.  The wet bar had to go.  The down side is that the tall boy and his buddies will no longer have a mini-fridge to stash their contraband beer in -- but the tall boy would never do such a thing anyway,  so everybody is happy.

And!  All of the carpeting will be replaced, which is such fabulous news!


 You would be wrong if you thought that the entire family is nostalgic about these stains, which represent the maniacal temper tantrum I had when I discovered, the night before my sister and her family were to arrive for a visit, that the dog pee stains left by Toby, the Round Mound of Hound, may he rest in peace, were impervious to every product I tried.  That's when I dumped straight bleach on the carpet.  Which, in case you were wondering, does a great job on the urine-ish smell -- but is very unpredictable when it comes to knowing what color the carpet will end up.  A little tip from me to you.

Yep -- this basement renovation is a very good thing.

Snapshot: here's how hellhounds ring in the New Year

So while the husband and I, along with the tall boy and the sunny girl, got all dolled up and went out into the night on New Year's Eve, the girl in charge was feeling a little bit under the weather. She decided to stay home and snuggle up under a blanket and watch all the David Tennant "Doctor Who" episodes. The girl in charge knows how to handle illness.

But when she wandered downstairs for a snack, here's a photo of what she found: Watson, casually relaxing on top of his crate, with not a thought at all about eating that double tiered arrangement of cookies right by his head. No sirree -- not our sweet old Watson; he's just sitting there reading his Bible.

One question still remains: how did he get there?

And then I saw (red).

So remember way back when -- when I was so overjoyed to have found these fabulous red shoes? I loved these pretty, pretty loafers, people! I wore them all the time. Also -- when I bought some for myself, I also bought some for Coleen, and I bought some for my sister. I'm generous like that.

tangent: true fact -- my sister bought herself -- and me -- a fantastic bright red raincoat, at the same time that I bought myself -- and her -- these stunning red loafers. We traveled together soon after, when we visited our family in Texas and Oklahoma -- dressed identically in red raincoats and red loafers. We were like weird adult Doublemint twins. Or Rockettes without talent.

Well, here's how pathetically in love with these shoes I was when I discovered them: I bought -- for myself -- two pairs of the rockin' red flats. My theory was that I would eventually wear them out (scuff them up too badly, run the heels down, wear a hole in them somehow), so I would keep a pair stashed away so that I would never be without them.

Sad, ain't it?

So here we are, two years later, and it turns out I was right; I did wear out the delicious red shoes. At some point, some beverage was spilled on them; I have a vague memory of cooking oil splashing and staining them. But the true point of no return was that a hole developed in the lining of the shoes, so I got a blister every time I wore them. You are noticing, I'm sure, that I said "every time." So you are correct if you assume that I wore those bitches many times knowing that a blister would be my reward. I'm ridiculous like that.

But finally I decided it was time to set the rockin' red loafers aside, and replace them with the identical rockin' red loafers I had stashed away for just such a day as this. I wore the new shoes to work one day last month, and then came home and took them off. I left them by our front door, which turns out to have been a big mistake.

This is what happens when delicious red leather shoes are left where the hellhounds can get them.

People, I got to wear them once. Once.

So the good news is that I know what I'm serving as a main course for Thanksgiving dinner: forget the turkey. We're having roast beast.