Finding the right living space was a major factor, given Randy’s profession, which he planned to continue pursuing. The shoemaker’s children, after all, mustn’t go barefoot. He and Mark shared similar tastes. Neither pined for historic Pinehurst properties, a good thing since most Old Town Taras and Georgians are spoken for. Better a bright, breezy Camelot that Randy could transform with ideas gained as an antique dealer, the kind who scours France and sends back shipping containers full of fascinating stuff.

How about two handsome armoires, one shelved for shoes, a rustic pine grandmother clock and statuesque lamp bases? But all the right stuff is just the beginning. Randy nods “yes” when asked if hanging photos and paintings isn’t an art itself: height, layout, subjects, frames. He measures and draws, then mocks up on the floor. Originality counts, like a bedroom wall hung with portraits of men, likely 19th century, with facial hair and pensive expressions.

“The guy in the middle reminds me of Poirot,” Randy says. “He makes me smile.”

Another bedroom pays homage to Randy’s mother and grandmother, their nearly life-sized portraits dominating intersecting walls. Color, even white, adds excitement, like the filmy white “veils” hanging off tall bedposts; the overstuffed quilt where two big dogs sleep; blankets woven with multi-colored threads; a chair upholstered in lime green, others covered in line drawings of rabbits on a white background — all different, all unusual, related only by their unpredictability.