Sally Breslin: My Life: MY NEW CAREER...MUSHROOM FARMER!

Until a few weeks ago, I hadn’t ventured down into the damp, dark catacombs (a.k.a. my basement) in quite a while, mainly because there are eight-legged creatures of various dimensions lurking down there, just waiting to pounce on me or drop from the ceiling and land on my head. The last one of these creatures I had the pleasure of encountering was big enough to warrant its own zip code.

But I recently had no choice other than to head down into the pit from Hell…because of the smell.

I’m talking about mildew.

For weeks, I had been denying that the odor wafting up through the vents was anything other than the long-term effects of my bout with Covid, which did strange things to my sense of smell – like make my bowl of chicken soup smell like cheap perfume. But when two different friends who dropped by on separate occasions told me my house smelled like mildew, I realized I had no choice other than to investigate.

After I cautiously inched my way down the stairs, what I saw left me speechless (and those of you who personally know me realize that's a true rarity). Everything down there looked as if it had been attacked by someone wielding a giant can of fake snow, the kind you spray on Christmas trees and wreaths. It actually would have looked pretty, even festive...if it hadn't been clinging to things like my doll collection or the furniture stored down there.

The most shocking sight was an expensive 5'x7' rug I'd rolled up and dragged down there for safekeeping because I'd wanted to protect it from the wrath of my dogs, who seemed determined to torture it and then kill it. It made me wonder if it might have been made from something like recycled road-kill.

Anyway, it had so much mildew on it, it resembled a shag carpet.

MY ONCE-BEAUTIFUL RUG!

Panicking, I called one of those guys I’d seen on TV who talked about mold and mildew in basements and how, if you didn’t have it treated right away, you could die a slow and agonizingly painful death after your lungs shriveled up to the size of raisins.

The first guy who came over took one look at my basement, shook his head and said, “Everything that’s porous has to be thrown out – paper, cloth, wood, cardboard, and even the insulation on the ceiling. It all has to go. Then we’ll come in and get rid of all of the mold and mildew. You’ll also need a commercial-sized dehumidifier, the kind they use in warehouses, to control the humidity in a huge basement like this. Mold and mildew thrive on moisture. So if you keep the basement dry, you shouldn’t have this problem again.”

His estimate, without the oversized dehumidifier, was $6,800.

The second guy was much more thorough. He tested, he measured, he looked outside at the land and inspected the foundation. He then made his recommendations. “First and foremost, you have to keep the basement dry,” he said. “And I guarantee I can make your basement so dry, you’ll be able to turn it into an additional living space.”

The spiders, I thought, might have something to say about that.

“I highly recommend an interior perimeter drain at the base of all four walls. Then you should have two sump pumps, one at each end, along with a dehumidifying system that drains into them and is capable of reducing the humidity down here to below 50 percent (it was a sub-tropical 84 percent at the time...in December). Finally, I recommend waterproofing all four walls.”

“Should I open the windows down here to let some fresh air in?” I asked.

He vigorously shook his head. “No, you don’t want any mold spores or humidity that’s outside to get inside. Keep the windows closed. In fact, basements shouldn’t even have windows, in my opinion. Some, like yours, are so low, the ground water leaks in through them.”

So basically, he was trying to tell me my basement was like a giant sponge.

His estimate to fix all of my problems? A mere $28,000.

No problem. By my calculations, I should be able to save up enough money to hire him after I’ve been dead for about 20 years.

So how do I intend to do battle with all of the mildew when I have only a few hundred dollars to spare (and that’s if I eat Ramen noodles three times a day)?

I’ll continue this saga next week...

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Sally Breslin is a native New Englander and an award-winning syndicated humor columnist who has written regularly for newspapers and magazines all of her adult life. She is the author of several novels in a variety of genres, from humor and romance to science-fiction. Contact her at: sillysally@att.net

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