The other day I found a book if you could call it that, with its pages barely hanging on, I asked the dealer how much? French Husband looked at the book, looked at me, looked at the dealer and shrugged.
He doesn't get the attraction to things on their last leg.
He doesn't understand that kind of reckless beauty.
His knees don't buckle at the sight of old junky stuff with a price tag.
BUT he does get me. He shrugged, saying, "I am certain it is going to look better the moment you take it home."
French Husband lets me do what I want with our home. He likes how I do what I do. Sure sometimes he pitches a fit about some little thing, like why he can't put a hammock in the living room, or why the piles of whatever he doesn't want to be put away cannot take residence on the stairs, or why I had to move his several stacks of magazines by his bedside ten inches to the right so I could vacuum underneath them.
Like I have said a million times to that guy of mine: We both have our passions, we both have different hobbies that make us who we are. He likes to jump off mountains, go down caves, ride with the wind and fly in the sky… and I like to create a home with falling apart old things from the brocante.
He gets his toys.
I get the house.
I get to hear about his adventures without getting dirty or bruised.
He gets to come home, sit on a rickety chair, eat off a chipped plate and sleep on linen bedsheets.
Harmony comes with give and take….. and a few odds and ends.
How do you create harmony at home?
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