Dream basement: empty

Ahhhh!

There is something wonderful about a job well done. The feeling of empowerment it gives you is something not easily acquired and thus the end result leaves you feeling spheres above where you were when you started.

Imagine with me please, a crowded overflowing basement with boxes, totes, and trash everywhere. In one corner is the laundry room, in another the office that was forgotten when this lovely laptop was gifted, and in the third corner is the foot of the staircase you came down to behold this black hole that claims the many neglected items within.

In the last corner, filling up three quarters of the basement and practically growing like a cardboard and plastic weed, are the majority of those totes and boxes. You sigh and start with them, knowing the fastest way to find what you want is to go through them one box/bin at a time. It's going to be long and grueling, but it has to be done, and now is better than never.

The first bin you find has forgotten, but never been used, scented candles. They are not what you need. You set it aside. The second bin has the wedding pictures and other displayable items unused in such a small house. It gets stacked on the first one.

The third bin holds promise as it has been properly labeled. A quick peek inside and you know it is some of the vast collection you are down here to dig up and reveal. It gets sent up the stairs in the arms of eager toddlers willing to help mommy in her silly pursuit among dead spiders and nose-tickling dust. The tail ends of the flu already have you coughing though, so it is nothing and you proceed to the next box.

Hubby stops by quickly and you explain you need some things for the event you are doing for church. He worries that you're going to hurt yourself, and takes several very large totes with what you want up the stairs for you. The girl's couldn't lift those... He leaves after a heavy admonition and rushes off to a computer job for a member in the ward. You know he won't get paid for this one, but are grateful he has the opportunity to serve as it will help some people who really need it.

Thirty seven totes and twenty four boxes later you collapse exhausted in the living room one floor above where you started. Twelve of the totes and one of the boxes have followed you up here. You look through them knowing you only need a few things from some of them and pack the rest into totes that will go back down to the cold basement. You keep the box and nine of the totes. These will serve you well at the event you are organizing.

After a few hours (you have the flu, so you need to have some real rest), you have fed the kids and are ready to reorganize the mess you left behind and venture once more into the large, chilly room. It looks a little emptier with the missing totes and boxes, but there are no paths among the mess and you know your work is cut out for you again. You were told not to do this by loving hubby-to stop once you got what you needed-, but you know he will be upset when he finds he can't reach the laundry room, so you proceed anyway.

You move one box into the only empty floor space left and are pleased that there is still just enough room for your feet on the cold cement. The house shoes protect you enough that you aren't shivering in the crisp October weather.

Another box is lifted and stacked neatly on top of the first. Those yearbooks and wedding bits won't be sought after for a while, so they are rightly against the furthest wall. They will be buried very well.

A few more boxes get put on top of them and then a few more. Precariously the stack is now six tall and roughly your height. You begin another stack, aware of the drain pipe you must not cover at the request of the land-people. A third stack completes the hollow circle and a large space as been cleared for it. The children are now in your way as they dance in the created space like faeries celebrating midsummer's night. You smile and continue to move around them.

After a few more hours, you have placed all the Christmas decorations on one side, the dishes that serve sixty in another nook, and the rest divided according to pleasure. Empty boxes are flattened, freeing up more space, but saved as you know this is not your home and may need to move eventually. They barely take up any space and are tucked between a wall and a few stacks of totes. You frown at the totes as you remember that most of them are filled with misshapen candles; heavy, and not the splendor they were when purchased. You pull a few out and have the girls take them upstairs to be used later. They do still smell wonderful and that at least pleases you.

You look around and decide to clean up all those papers your husband promised were important but had thrown precariously into toppling piles. The file cabinet is found and dragged out, and hours more are spent filing things properly.

Needing to be fed again, you take a break and prepare a small snack for the girls. You aren't hungry for anything the kitchen has to offer and head back down to your dungeon. Those papers exceed the file cabinet and end up getting stacked near the computer. Your husband can figure out later if they really were that important after all; you've had enough.

A few more moved boxes and some trash pick up, including fly-away dryer sheets from the laundry that gets hauled through, and you find you are done. the largest sigh painfully, but happily escapes your labored chest. You are pleased you are getting over the flu and decide the renewed energy you used was well spent.

After a little more rearranging, you have a small playground in the middle of that crowded basement. The horse rocker is set on pink carpet with large hibiscus flowers, and you smile pleasantly as you watch the girls take turns and play in the wide space. They have room to run this winter. The overhaul was definitely worth it.

Exhausted for the last time you fall into that same comfy seat in your living room. You feel like you are flying despite your aching body. A little advil and even that is not so bad. You have the girls get ready for bed while you take your breather.

Minutes later, the kids are kissed and tucked in with a small story to start their dreams with. Your day has been full, but you know you aren't done yet.

You head back down to the computer to edit at least one chapter in the last novel you finished. Then write two blogs on two different sites and make sure you critic a few blogs for that weird site you just signed up for a few days ago. You rub your eyes after about thirty or so and close the laptop with a yawn.

You think you are going to bed when your husband gets home. His late dinner and conversation follow. He has two interviews lined up for tomorrow and several calls from people today. A check is in the mail for the computer he serviced yesterday and you smile happily when you think that groceries will be bought this weekend.

He wanders downstairs for the printer as he makes sure his resume looks perfect. You attend to his virtual farm because he asks you to. He needs to harvest really badly. You start clicking away at the crops, trees, and animals as your sleepy mind drifts.

You find your forehead being kissed gently and open your eyes. The farm is done being harvested, but your husband is staring at you queerly.

"Yes?" you ask groggily.

"Have I told you lately how much I love you?" he asks tenderly, a look in his eye.

"Not tonight," you answer with a groan, rough cough, and yawn.

He chuckles. "Not what I meant, but okay." He's still smiling.

You're too tired to try to figure what the look means if it's not the other thing.

"I saw the basement," he says after a bemused second. "You did a great job, thank you."

You continue to look up at him blearily. "Oh yeah. Well you said you needed to store the bikes inside this winter, so...." You don't finish.

"Thank you," he repeats. He gives you a grateful smile, and moves back to his laptop to make sure everything is in order for the interviews tomorrow.

You wish him luck. He asks you to find him some dark blue dress socks for his suit and the right tie is lost. You shuffle around the house until they are located. He offhandedly mentions you're a finding things genie, but otherwise ignores the efforts.

You wander down to the basement with one more tote you found you didn't need and stop on the bottom step. You can't believe what you are seeing.

Such a sense of accomplishment on your part makes a very tired person cry silently. The things accomplished today really made a difference and you know you will sleep well tonight, even if you didn't have to take that nyquil to breathe properly.

After a moment of silence and an errant thought about why you have so much stuff, you put the tote snugly away and return upstairs with one last tired conclusion.

I should get better from the flu more often.

.................