Old homes are palimpsests—each crack holds a secret. I work with a surgeon’s precision and a poet’s tenderness, uncovering the soul beneath sagging beams and faded paint. That colonial-era archway? We’ll expose its original curves. The cramped kitchen? I’ll steal space from the greedy hallway, then line the shelves with spice jars like jewels. And when we hit a snag (we will), I’ll be there—sleeves rolled up, arguing with the mason over lime plaster recipes at dawn. Because restoration isn’t about erasing history; it’s about letting it sing again, louder.