Down In The Basement

Iris repeated her instructions because apparently my blank stare said it all.

“You take the magnet. You take the ashes. You pick up metal.” And with that, she handed me an Egg-McMuffin size magnet, a small hand shovel, a sifting bucket, and pointed to the wheel-barrel full of ash.

I’m in the basement. I love this place. One gets to the basement by moving a squeky big wooden door at the top level and winding down a stone staircase that slants to the left. The walls are the same stone and also leaning. The bowed ceiling is low especially at what seem to be key spots where I typically forget to duck. The basement has several rooms, connected by a floor that is in most part missing. Wooden planks are used to prevent one from falling into several large holes.

It smells divine down there, of apples and a wine barrel. Most of the rooms are cool, except for the room I am in which holds a furnace – hence the ashes. Next to me are worker’s jackets an assortment of boots, stacked firewood and old stone.

With magnet in one hand and small shovel in another, I begin to sift through the soot hoping to attract metal. And metal I did attract..the metal in the shovel! With each pass over the ash filled shovel, the shovel swung its way to the magnet and blew soot in my face. Surely there is a trick to the metal extraction that I was missing.

But with the thought, something in last night’s tasty dinner of beef marrow soup did not agree with me. *Urgently*, I dropped everything and made way to the bathroom two stories up. I skipped along the planks, passed the storage of preserves and wine bottles, bumped my head on the overhanging ceiling, rushed up the slanted staircase, opened the big wooden door, untied and discarded my Sorel snow shoes, ran up another flight of stairs, peeled off the long jacket, pulled down the insulated pants, and as I was approaching the final long-underwear layer.. suffice it to say.. I ran out of time.

Sitting on the blessed toilet, I smiled on catching sight of the other porcelain bowl to the left of me . Finally, it was clear to me why the old homes loved their bidets.