Hindsight Is 20/20, or, Home Sweet Money Pit

This evening after we put the kids to bed, my husband and I sneaked downstairs together for a repeat of last night's little rendezvous -- a romantic adventure for two mopping the gallons of murky water that had seeped into one room of our basement.

Since we moved in last September, I have, like a brilliant detective, solved one after another the mysteries of the peculiar items the previous occupant left in the shed. First there were the tarps. Three of them. Each one folded neatly and placed on a shelf. They had smears of dried mud on them. First I just thought the previous owner had a tarp fetish. But why, then, would he have left them here? By November, we had figured it out. The dozen or more oak trees on our property drop a lot of leaves, and one of the easiest ways to get rid of them (as we learned from watching neighbors) is to rake them onto a tarp and drag them down over the hill.

First mystery solved.

Then there was the mystery of the snow shovels. There were two in the shed in the backyard. For snow, right? Ah, one would think so, except that another snow shovel had been left in the garage near the front of the house. November solved that mystery for us, also, when we realized the leaves in the backyard were too numerous to rake. The top layers could be dealt with more easily with snow shovels, until only a reasonably rake-able layer was left.

Second mystery solved.

Most peculiar of all to us was the large, industrial size, heavy duty, custodian's mop bucket on wheels with the built-in mop squeegee. Last night solved that mystery. We wheeled the sucker out to sop up the mess in our basement.

Third mystery solved.

Let this be a lesson to you. If the previous occupant of your new home leaves you a mop bucket on wheels, expect to use it. Our home inspector gave us some clues, too, that we didn't understand until now. As he walked through the extraordinarily clean basement, he said with what struck me as a bit of sarcasm, "Oh, a fresh paint job. Well isn't that nice."

This is the same inspector who spent such a long time looking at the floor around the base of the toilet. He pressed on it with his foot. He got down on all fours. He went to the basement and shone a flashlight up underneath the bathroom floor. Finally, he muttered, "Eh, yeah, it's okay." Well, last month we had to replace the seal around the base of the toilet, and the plumber announced that although the subflooring around it was fine, the wood floor beneath the linoleum was rotten. I guess that's what "Eh, yeah, it's okay" means. Next time I'm going to get a home inspector who comes right out and says things instead of leaving little clues. I've had enough of this detective business.

I hesitate even to mention this, but I also found in the shed a peculiar box with wooden stakes, holy water, crosses, and a nearly empty can of Vampire-B-Gone. Hm. Wonder what that could mean.