Big Adventures—and Realizations—in the Basement

Appreciating myself preparing for a night of bad weather

Photo by Kate Stone Matheson on Unsplash

Driving to fitness class the other morning I listened to the weather forecast. It was just more of what I’d been hearing over the last 24 hours about a savage system sweeping across the country’s midsection and coming our way. High winds, heavy rain, tornadoes—the works. Even worse, all this weather was expected to blow in overnight.

When I got back home from class, I set about gathering a few things to make a nest for myself in the basement—a mattress topper that my daughter was no longer using, the bedside table from my room, a pillow, a couple of quilts and a blanket I’d had stashed in a bathroom cabinet, and a set of earplugs to block out the noise of the storm and sirens. It was several trips up and down the steps but since I’d just come from fitness class I was game to keep the moving momentum going.

In the basement I already had a metal cot frame that I was using to store some boxes along with a rug and a few bolts of upholstery fabric. I moved the boxes to some shelving but I left the rug and the fabric where they were. Getting them upstairs would have been cumbersome—the rug is about eight feet long and hefty—and I really didn’t have enough room for them elsewhere in the basement, what with the furnace, water heater, and washer and dryer taking up most of the available real estate.

After I cleared the boxes I laid the topper on the rug and fabrics and made a trial run. The rug and the rolls of fabric created some undulation but the topper was so thick and dense and cushy that this didn’t matter. The topper was still plenty comfortable. In fact, I sank so deeply and snuggly into the depression between the rug and the rolls of fabric that I wondered for a moment if I would be able to get out. Hmm, I thought. But with some moderate effort I was able to scooch myself off the side.

Back on my feet I covered the topper with the quilts and the blanket, plumped the pillow and laid it at the end near the steps, and then moved my bedside table to the small space between the furnace and the water heater, careful not to tip it into the nearby well of the sump pump. It was pretty close quarters, really, but it all worked. When I finished I took a picture and sent it to some friends.

“Look where I am sleeping tonight!” I said. “LOL,” one of them responded, along with the thumbs-up and clapping hands emojis. The other came back with two flame-red exclamation points and the laughing emoji that has tears springing from its eyes. I responded with the flexed-arm emoji.

Despite the impending bad weather, I was finding a lot to enjoy and appreciate about this enterprise, however small, domestic, or ordinary it may have been. The change of routine engaged me. So did the practical and logistical challenges of moving things around to adapt to the new circumstances. I like making things fit and flow. I like fine-tuning and streamlining my space. It was nice to work that mental muscle.

Another bonus was feeling sensible. I have not always been as proactive as I should be regarding inclement weather. But this time I was getting my act together and taking reasonable precautions. That made me feel good, like, I got this—look at me go! If there were an emoji showing a person patting herself on her back, I would have sent it to myself. I also felt clever for hanging onto that topper and the quilts and blanket instead of having given them away. They came in handy helping me craft my new crib.

As the day continued and then as evening approached, I thought of a few other things that would be good to have with me in the basement. I should have my phone and its charger, of course. Maybe I should even have my wallet and car key. And a flashlight as a backup for the one in my phone.

I also starting thinking about what I would have included 40 years ago—probably some make-up and other toiletries, an outfit or two, some pop culture magazines, a tape deck or my Walkman. Appearance, entertainment—I would have all my youthful preoccupations covered in case the house and its contents were blown away. Standing amid the debris, I’d still look good and be up-to-date on all the latest music and movies.

But now, in middle age, what do I gather? My meds, my Miralax, a set of baggy sweats, and a book. And it’s lights out by nine at the latest. This realization could have dismayed me. But it didn’t. Instead I felt refreshed and renewed—by the novelty of the situation, by my resourcefulness and improvisation in adjusting to it. Fortified, forty years on.

After I settled into the topper and pulled up the quilts and the blanket, I reached for my phone, unlocked the screen, opened the camera, and then recorded a video, panning across the darkness to the tiny blinking green light of the smoke alarm attached to one of the beams near above the dryer. I stopped recording and sent it to my friends.

“Movie night!” I typed, and then I laughed at being so silly, cracking myself up—bunked out in the basement, filming the dark, with my meds and my Miralax in a bin on top of the washing machine. Then I switched on my phone’s flashlight, read until I felt my eyes closing, shut my book, and slept like a rock.

To learn more about the fitness class I attend, please see Fitness Class—and Feeling Good.

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