I’m always intrigued by what motivates people to choose the homes that they do – especially when it’s an older, resale house that needs a lot of work.
Throw aside the practical issues of affordability, location and space and you generally end up with an interesting relationship where the house is more than just a structure … it becomes human-like. Some aspect about the house touched deep enough to compel its new owner to action and to long-term commitment – despite its obvious quirks and faults, despite the fact that like us, it’s imperfect.
Even more curious are the many ways that relationship can play out over time. We’ll tolerate substandard plumbing, electricity and heating – and surrender our own level of comfort – in the same, good-natured way we might tolerate a child’s naiveté. We’ll forsake the companionship of our friends and family – often our own spouses – because we’re swept up in the perfect affair. The house feeds our ego because it clearly needs us, and we feel great about ourselves because we’re constantly rewarded for our efforts to beautify and adorn our ‘mistresses’. We feel personal pride when we (and others) look around our homes much like a parent might feel pride in their child’s accomplishments. They reflect us, each small detail an extension of our personality and preference, and a nod to our abilities.
Other generations may lay claim to having built these walls, but we are its guardians in a time when everything’s disposable, when it’s perhaps most vulnerable.
Strange is our belief that if we nurse our old house back from years of neglect and give it back its beauty, it will one day care for us – our loving years of improvements and maintenance having made it strong enough to ensure us shelter and familiarity when we are old and tired.

We give our house renewal, in the hopes that it will outlive us.