03/16/2026
I have acquired a beautiful box of doilies. Each one is like a small lace mandala of home.
When you really look closely at old doilies, it can be a bit breathtaking. Each one represents hours and hours of someoneās lifeāquiet evenings, patience, care, and a kind of devotion that isnāt very common anymore.
If you hold one up to the light, you can see how incredible they are. The thread travels in hundreds or thousands of tiny decisionsāloops, chains, tiny turnsāmade entirely by hand. I imagine someone sat there, with fancy teacup n saucer, counting stitches, pulling thread through thread, slowly watching a pattern bloom outward like a little lace flower.
In many ways theyāre like textile meditation. Iām in blissful state, Iām feeling the love š
Thereās also something beautiful about the feminine lineage in them. These pieces of lace often passed quietly from woman to womanāmothers, aunts, grandmothers, neighboursāwithout ceremony, yet they carry a whole history of care.
