One of the great features of our apartment building is that it comes equipped with a cellar. It’s an attractive addition to a small apartment – or at least it could be. Before you even open the cellar door your nasal passages start sending out warning signals that something isn’t quite right. Upon opening the door, you are immediately struck by the noxious odour of sodden earth and mildew. Along the walls crawl furry black trails of mold that appear to be completely undeterred by the crumbling condition of the damp foundation. The low ceiling is draped with sticky masses of spider webbing; like an ornately woven fabric, haphazardly encrusted with hundreds of ghostly-white spider carcasses. The air is foul with the smell of rotting wood, cardboard, and other remains from the people who used to take shelter in the unused space.
The building’s main water pipe runs through our cellar, and has leaked since long before we moved in. We tried once to point out the leak to a worker from the city water company, but the full bucket of water in our designated room, and the steady drip from the pipe only garnered a bemused look. “There’s no problem,” he said, and walked away as though I was clueless as to how these things were supposed to work.
We recently decided that the extra space the cellar would afford us would be worth the effort of making some repairs. With the help of our friend Vaidas, who has an unusual flair for getting things done, we found a starving student who needs some extra cash and has the skills to fix up our dungeon. Arturas got to work cleaning, plastering, and repairing our space, and cleverly used one of our old doors to make a more secure entry to the room. He is hard working and, despite our efforts, he lives off Coke and potato chips which he somehow manages to consume down there, despite the smell.
In our effort to get the leaking pipe in the cellar fixed, we left the cellar door open one day, in case the plumbers came and wanted to get in. This seemed like a reasonable thing to do. The next day, however, we discovered that not only was our leaking pipe still leaking, but Arturas’ tools had been stolen. When he rang our doorbell to tell us the news, he was the most awful shade of green. Poor thing. He was exhausted from a long day at school, and was understandably shaken over the loss of his tools. Still, we wanted him to be assured that it was our responsibility, and his things would be replaced. Nathan and Arturas walked down to the big hardware store, where they picked out shiny new tools to replace the old ones. Thankfully, the thought of new tools brought some colour back to Arturas’ face, and he was revived enough to make the twenty minute walk to his apartment; he and Nathan both loaded down with Black and Decker boxes.
I choose to see our little adventure thus far as a right of passage in a new culture. Mistakes made and lessons learned are all part of the process. Besides, seeing the “new tools” look on someone’s face is priceless, and it just might have been all worth it for that one moment.
One of the contraptions we have dreamt about for the last year is a bed. While our bedroom is too small for a standard bed, our foam mattress squishes nicely between the walls, and is comfortable enough - as long as you don’t whack your head on the concrete wall. We always knew we were sleeping on a wealth of storage space, but finding materials and building a bed was difficult to orchestrate. Thanks to our friend Kel’s provision of a vehicle, and Mark’s generosity in loaning us his zippy circular saw, last week we were finally able to bring home and slice up enough lumber to create the bed of our dreams. With 22” in height of useable space, there is enough room underneath to have a tea party. Alternately, the space can be used to store an abundance of boxes, suitcases, and other loose bits. And while climbing in and out of our double-decker bed requires some agility, we are thrilled to have some storage space. I am particularly excited that I don’t have to stare at the suitcases in the living room anymore!
The P.S. to our bed-building adventure is that we had enough left over wood to build a new shelf for the kitchen. The additional space under the bed gave us room to store the boxes that had been in the kitchen, and we can finally get rid of the wobbly folding table that the microwave was perched on. While more of a utilitarian feature than a work of art, the new shelf gives us a place to keep food goods, and it holds up the microwave.