The Attic and the Basement

918 had four stories, if you include the basement and the attic. At the top on the front of the house there was a gable with two small square windows (see the photo here). Behind that gable was a "servant's" room. Actually, someone did live there for a time. I was very young, but I understand that a "D.P." lived there, named Julia, and she did work for us. D.P.s were Displaced Persons, refugees from World War II. Poet could tell you more about Julia, but I know only her name and the face that one sister used to make to imitate her.

The room was floored in linoleum, as were all the bedrooms. there was an iron bedstead with one of those simple springs and a thin cotton-stuffed mattress with blue and white striped ticking. I adored that room and spent many hours playing that I was grownup and living on my own up there.

Outside the room was a dim mostly empty attic. The wood of the high roof was visible, kind of reddish brown. It was very airy up there, especially compared to present-day attics. In the center were the stairs. They were very narrow and steep, each stair covered with thin rubber with ridges for safety; but for some reason our parents stored things on the stairs, even though just at the top was a lot of room.

Facing the front of the house, there were extra dining room chairs stored to the right, in the very darkest part of the attic. That part was scary. To the left of the room there was some storage that was in use. That is where the wicker baby bassinet sat for many years.

On the back side of the attic were two very large cisterns, rusty and empty, which had been used to capture rainwater. I always thought that was an excellent idea, and wondered why they had stopped doing that, and why those giant tubs were left embedded in the floor of the attic. Our parents did not do much with things that were not in their way, so I guess they did not see the point of removing the things. They were invisible to daily life. We were warned to stay out of the cisterns, and we did. They looked fragile. Maybe we would have fallen through to the bathroom! Looking back, I think we could have fallen into one of them and not been able to get out.

The basement was built of granite stones, and in the center was an enormous oil-burning furnace with large round ducts reaching out of the top in all directions. I think it had been coal-burning at one time. There was a coal storage area and what had been a coal chute.

There was a particular smell to the basement, of earth and stone and concrete and water and mold. For a long time, Mom did laundry down there, using a wringer washer. There was a hole in the concrete that served as a drain. How depressing that must have been! It was dark, grey dank and grim down there. During the Great Remodeling a washer AND DRYER were put in up in the kitchen, where there was light and air. It was quite a change for Mom, and I am sure she was very pleased.

There were old photographs of unknown dead relatives down in the basement, which we finally took away after Mom and Dad moved to a retirement home. Neither Mom nor Dad could remember who some of them were!

Mom used to make currant jelly up in the kitchen (from currants we picked from our bushes in the back yard), but after she poured the wax on the top of the clear red jelly, she stored the little jelly glasses in the basement on shelves.

In one corner was the "rec" (recreation) room, also known as a rumpus room. It had the old benches from the breakfast nook and a corner cupboard in it. When Poet was a teenager, it became the spot for a lot of parties. We younger ones liked to race around the house, down into the basement, into the rec room, and climb out the high window onto the grass beside the lilacs, only to race around once again.