The Basement
Torpedoes Away!
It’s increasingly depressing writing about the U.S. political scene and military affairs, so today’s article represents a psychic break for me. I hope you enjoy it.
The Sun is a monthly magazine of writing, photography, poetry, and the like. They have a monthly feature where they ask readers to submit entries on a theme. “The basement” was one such theme, so I wrote this short piece, which sadly didn’t pass muster for the magazine. But I kinda like it so I’m posting it here.
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I grew up in a triple-decker in Massachusetts where the basement was my father’s domain. It contained the refuse of his fears from the Great Depression (my dad, born in 1917, knew hunger and want in the 1930s). He would discard nothing that might possibly have a future use, if only as spare parts. Broken-down toasters cavorted with torpedo-shaped vacuum cleaners. Odd bric-a-brac jostled on shelves and tables as random planks of wood competed for space in the rafters. Tattered flags from before World War II slowly moldered away. A wooden tool cabinet contained a bewildering assortment of screws, springs, nuts, and vintage hand drills. For a young kid like me, it was a wonderland.
In the darkest corner of the basement was a creepy barrel with holes. It crouched near a colossal oil-burning furnace. But everything was transformed when on the coldest days in the depths of winter we hung our clothes down there to dry. Something about seeing those familiar shapes transformed the basement—even that nasty old perforated burn barrel—into a welcoming place.
Compared to my father’s, my basement today is neat, orderly, airy. But it lacks soul.
On a different subject: ColdType, a publication that sometimes carries my writing, has recently been banned by Facebook, no specific reason given.
Check out the latest issue here, and consider subscribing:
https://www.coldtype.net/Assets23/PDFs/ColdType260August2024.pdf
We also had a basement, which we accessed on the outside via a large wooden door. It housed the oil furnace. The other most interesting aspect was a small step up area that led to some shelves under outside glass, almost like a mini greenhouse. My father loved his garden and the basement area was where we grew tomatoes, peppers, eggplant from seed. Burpee seeds, chosen from their colorful catalog. The little plants were in peat pots and eventually they were transferred to a cold frame where they were hardened off before planting. I helped. Good memories.