We've been getting a lot of lessons in finding the silver lining on our clouds lately. For example, it's probably good that most of the electrical wires in the house were torn out to be sold for scrap before we got here, because we probably would have tried to use the breaker box as it was, thereby causing a horrendous fire and burning down our home. Cloud: trespassing; burglary; not being able to see. Silver lining: not being dead.
And so it was with our basement, which we sort of assumed would be accessed from the outside, you know, like the root cellar in the Wizard of Oz, on account of the fact that is it was listed as a Michigan basement with a dirt floor and all. Upon arriving (doesn't every surprising revelation I share with you start with "upon arriving"?) we discovered that not only was there access from the kitchen straight down to the (dirt floored) basement
left Tommy alone to do all that fixin' and an enormous storm blew in. The kind of storm that he had never seen in his life, which was so intense that he was sure the whole house would be gone by the time he returned (from his bath in the sink of the public restroom at McDonald's). Happily, the house was still standing. In 6 inches of water. Not the main floor (thank you 8lb 6oz little baby Jesus in your flaxen diaper!) but rather, that fine specimen of a basement, whose walls were so cavey-inny that the mass quantities of water from the storm (some call it "rain") that soaked into the ground around our house promptly shot through these spaces in the cinder blocks onto the floor of the basement to end all basements.