Up and down, up and down, the sorting and repacking and hauling away has finally achieved the end result: a spotless basement cellar, waiting to be rented out next week.
On the phone I’ve been keeping Mom in the loop. Her wisdom and detachment at age 100 is admirable. “Take it all as it comes,” she says.
“But this is getting so stressful. I’m getting wrinkles from all this work!”
“Where are the wrinkles,” she said.
“My forehead, around my eyes…”
“Well, sounds to me like they’re in the right places!”
When I was starting to hear rumors that the restaurant on the ground floor needed extra storage space, it slowly made a light come on inside my head. They’re making a killing with that restaurant, and their below-ground workspace/kitchen is completely adjacent to my spot. So I decided: we’re going to play ‘Let’s make a deal!’
The point is, that cellar could be turned into a moneymaking golden goose. Trying to be persuasive, I said to Jacques, “Let’s face it, we like money!” to which he replied, more accurately, “Let’s face it, you like SPENDING money!”
But during this project, I’ve discovered that emptying a basement cellar that has been a catch-all for twenty five years reveals a lot about one’s self, one’s persistence at completing a task, and about the things that one once thought of as important. I realized slowly that our cellar was mostly, apart from the wine collection, full of meaningless, useless junk, or things that can be recycled.
Of course, some things can’t possibly be stored in a damp environment dating from Medieval times (the building was built in the 1830s on historic ground and habitations from long ago in the Marais district) – so our trunks full of signed opera pictures of course, or our overflowing bookshelves, or the canvasses painted by Jacques up until 2012, for example, are all in an outside rental space we’ve had for years in the suburbs. Anything packed in cardboard can only be down there for a few weeks. Storing clothing down there is out of the question.
So to give you an idea of winding up and down there on that treacherous, poorly lit stairway to that underground environment, reminiscent to me of ‘The Madwoman of Chaillot,’ today while brushing down the limestone walls I had the feeling of restoring single-handedly Notre Dame Cathedral, as the stone walls crumbled to dust before my eyes. And those crumbs only meant more sweeping to get it all just right.
On the other hand, countless wine bottles were still happily lined up down there on special racks attached to the walls, away from light and temperature shifts, and are ideally preserved. They are dated from 1978, 1980, and other significant moments in life, mostly at least twenty years ago. They’ve been brought up here, are safely shelved and destined to be enjoyed quickly. But now I have come to realize that it had begun to be a lost habit to go down there to bring up a couple of fine bottles for a dinner party, where nowadays it just seems simpler to stop by the local dealer or a supermarket for what we need that night. The “special occasions” seem to be rarer these days, it’s hard to explain, maybe we go out more. And somehow it was always comforting to think of these happy bottles down there, quietly aging, comfortably and silently waiting in their long, dusty rows.
So finally, this weekend most of the other affairs, old cans of paint, extra wooden cuttings from flooring or remodeling projects, old dishes, small appliances, were either resold, given away, or hauled away by the city pickup service this afternoon. In fact, Jacques just gave me a ring from street side: “Ça y est,” he reassured me, “They took everything!”
I couldn’t have possibly heard better, more relieving news, at the end this very dusty but excellent learning experience. And now is rightfully the moment where the big wine-tasting begins!
To your health!
PS : Tonight’s tasting: Bourgogne, Les Boismuriers, Vougeot premier cru, 2001. What can I say, upon tasting, it was quite worth the wait!