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| Down in the dank, dark, dreary recesses beneath the civilized portions of what one commonly refers to as "home" lies a mysterious realm, terra incognita, as fearful as the steamy jungle. The land of cement dust, exposed fluffy pink insulation, and mildewy college term papers.
It is embarrassing to be a modern techno-savvy woman and admit to terror of one's own basement. A new house's basement is not usually a concern, left broom clean by the former occupants. Ten years ago, when we bought our house, the basement was clean enough, although it was not entirely empty. In one corner of the basement, the prior owners left something that we came to call, "the House Juju," a shield, carved in the Phillipines from a single piece of mahogany. To carry the shield would require a person to have to grab the Juju by the tongue carved in its gaping mouth. When we discovered it, we thought it best to leave the House Juju strictly alone. To move it might lead to bad magic. We backed away slowly, lest we disturb its repose. And there it sat. Its shadowy gaze exerted a quiet influence over that corner of the basement. We piled our moving boxes over there, and promptly forgot about it lurking in the darkness behind. But soon my husband's workbench spewed out a thin film of sawdust that extended the no-fly zone to the middle of that half of the basement. The next year, we had a hurricane and were advised by the radio to pull into the basement any loose objects that could be caught in a high wind. We had no time for a thoughtful plan, so the old lawn furniture, still covered in leaves and mud that stuck to the slats in the rain took over yet another small piece of territory by the basement door. In a similar way, inch by inch of the basement was conquered by the spirit of the hidden House Juju, until a day about three weeks ago, when I realized that there was no longer safe passage from the end of the stairs to the laundry. So, dressed in pith helmet and khakis, armed with paper towels, a vacuum cleaner and contractor-sized trash bags, my husband was sent on .....Spider patrol. The deal was that he vacuumed out cardboard boxes. Once they were certified to be clear of spiders and dust dragons (no mere bunnies to be found in this thicket) I would then slash the boxes down with my trusty Swiss army knife. Wielding it very much like a very small machete, we would clear a path from which we could survey the underhouse landscape. The plan worked well enough. We carved a path over to the metal shelves and slogged our way through old printouts of source code, fifteen-year-old postcards and dried up Rustoleum cans, pitching the useless and the painful, saving true sentiment. Ultimately, we came at last, face to face again with the long forgotten House Juju. A vine had worked through the gap between the foundation and the framing for the house and twined around the crown of the shield's face. Spider webs hung behind the eye holes, and dust coated all the upward facing planes of the intricately carved surface. Bad magic indeed. Should you happen across your own House Juju, in whatever physical manifestation it may take in your own house, I highly recommend an immediate offering of Lemon Pledge. |
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