i have a complicated and unusual relationship with the things i have around me. i like to feel their organic shift and rhythm. if something is stained or torn or chipped, i certainly don't stop loving it. i often love it more. and i am comfortable with a way of life that is odd for
many. i'm drawn to the look of abandoned houses. and my personal aesthetic has much of that worn quality in it. i love my garden overgrown and wild. i love the chipped paint on my front door. i love the vines growing along the walls of our house. i love our bare floors. our old original wood framed windows with the 150 year old wavy bubbly glass. we have a rusty mailbox i found at an architecture salvage place. i love the original paint and it's creaky, rusty hinge. i love things as old as they can be. our doorbell is an old boxing ring bell that echoes through the neighborhood whenever anyone yanks the chain. 
and tom loves and accepts all these odd little quirks of mine. dusty books and chips of paint. photographs of strangers. rusty metal and stone. i'm lucky his suburban soul is drawn to my undefinable soul.
