Nope, Mario, they're not buried in line, but abreast and perpendicular to the basement wall. The best reason I've heard so far is that someone used them for storing potatoes, but it was admittedly far-fetched. I'm coming to believe that they're simply deconstructionist art.

SRS, we're having work done to insure safety and the functionality of the place before we move it. Once we're in, the wall of bookcases and a new carpet go into the basement and then we're doing our own stuff. But the basement stairs, for instance, is carpeted on the steps and the walls with a dark red and black carpet; prior to the installation of lights on the stairway it looking like a ramp -- and I don't want anyone, including myself, hurt. And I ain't gonna do the electrical work that has been necessary, nope, but when we move in we'll be sure the place won't burn, at least from electrical faults.

Yeah, I'm afeared that when I start unpacking books I'll start reading them, too. Somewhere I have copies of James White's "Sector General" series and all of the Heinlein juveniles and a complete run of the "Calvin and Hobbes" cartoons and books on and of music, and history, and literature, and whole books of poems, and books on science, and books on religion, and books on art, and books on lots of stuff and it's gonna be like finding them new all over again.

Speaking of crafts and sewing, ah, I must confess that I live with a quilter. She is eying one (small) room just for fabric. Of course she also has a Pfaff sewing machine, a Sears machine, a Singer treadle machine, and a Singer Featherweight machine (in the original carrying case) -- and they all work. Her cutting table consists of a 36" wide door laid on sawhorses. And all I have is a tiny room, a miniscule space, not even room to extend my legs, wherein to do my things....