We have a fetish for old shutters.
The Russian - who spent years of his childhood on a farm in relative poverty - does not really get that. Loving something old and rusty seems an existential oxymoron to him; you work hard to provide a home that neither leaks nor lets in thieves, and then you drag the dilapidated home to decorate it.
The Dreamer - as he calls her (and not necessarily with any amount of affection) - spent years in the city. She likes comfort and ease (no camping, please) but finds something beautiful in the ancient.
The Russian and the Dreamer went to church on Sunday. They pulled up and parked in the lot, joined the service-goers in the courtyard for a cool drink (cool being artistic-license in this case. The Swiss do not drink things cool - room temperature on a 104° day is quite appropriate. Be grateful you have something to choke down.)
They looked around. The Dreamer fidgeted.
"Is it the courtyard?" he asked. "It's too clean for you, isn't it?"
There was not a leaf in sight; not a bit of anything on the ground. Clean to the point of obsession; mental-illness clean.
I am a lucky Dreamer. I married the Russian. We have old shutters and leaves on the ground. He is willing to betray his roots. ;)