I cleaned the basement.
The basement fought back.
But I won. Oh, I won.
My house was built in 1919 and has a crumbly, dusty, "rustic" limestone basement. About all it's good for is holding the chest freezer, the cat litter boxes, the bins of Christmas decorations and about 15 years worth of accumulated junk and dust and debris.
For some reason, Saturday felt like the right time to tackle the project. When the basement cleaning muse visits, don't say no. That's my advice.
I was hauling an old, wobbly, rusty, heavy metal shelf up the stairs and out to the curb when the shelf tipped and came crashing down on my arm, knocking me backward and over a pile of old paint cans. "Ouch! Oh, darn!" I said. (ahem) You should see the bruise on the back of my knee, but it's kinda hard to take a picture of...
Even in my dazed and painful state, I managed to get 9 huge garbage bags of trash to the curb, along with a bunch of old mops (gross), some broken windows (I saved them why?) and two retired vacuums (when you have a cat as hairy as Harry, your vacuums work overtime). I also stuffed my truck with 6 bags of items to be donated to the thrift store.
Amy victorious indeed.