Hello friends!
My grandmother’s hands were always busy.
She stitched.
She tatted.
She knitted.
She crocheted.
Thread was her language - a peaceful place she could return to again and again.
Her home was filled with delicate lace doilies - resting on dressers, tables, and sideboards - adding a touch of winter magic to every room. After she passed, my sister became the keeper of her stash: a large bag of doilies, unfinished projects, table runners, linens, and tiny treasures made by her hands.
When my own love of slow stitching began to grow, the bag was passed to me - as though those threads had been waiting their turn.
My sister holds the heritage too; she is an amazing quilter. One of my favourite things she’s made is a prize-winning winter quilt that comes out each year - rooftops adorned with bits of our grandma’s crocheted pieces, and tiny touches of lace sprinkled around the border - all from that same stash.
The past sewn right into the present.
Among the treasures from the stash were some delicate lace doilies. They are starched and shaped into snowflake ornaments, and tied with a simple string. And this year, during a recent visit, she gifted these precious keepsakes to me.
You can imagine my delight.
Now they hang on my tree - not simply as decoration, but as a lineage of love. And it’s no coincidence that I hung one just below the word blessed - it’s exactly how I feel receiving these pieces of our heritage.
Our Grandma’s creativity still decorating our holidays
Her love still showing up in small, beautiful ways
Her hands still woven into our family story
Celtic women have long expressed their heritage through the work of their hands - craft as art, as necessity, as ritual, as storytelling. The stitches they made weren’t just practical…
they were reminders of who we are.
So when I see those lace snowflakes, I’m reminded:
My love of slow stitching didn’t start with me.
It was handed down - loop by loop, thread by thread -
from the women who came before me.
And now I get to witness the curiosity of both my daughter and granddaughters - the way stitching is calling to them too. New hands discovering old magic.
I keep telling my daughter the story of the snowflakes, so she’ll know when I’m gone, and they are handed to her. She reminds me - you’ve told me that - 2 times now. 😉
A Simple Entry Point for You
Look around your home with soft eyes.
Is there something handmade that has traveled through generations?
Perhaps…
• a quilt, scarf, or blanket
• a crocheted ornament
• a piece of embroidery
• a table runner or dish towel
• a garment someone made
• a strand of beads or a brooch
• handwriting in thread or ink
Hold it for a moment and ask:
“Whose hands made this?”
“What part of them lives on in me?”
Sometimes, our heritage is not loud or ancient or easily traced.
Sometimes, it’s simply a skill we carry without question -
a natural instinct to create beauty from the everyday.
If You Want to Go Deeper
Try one tiny, creative act this week:
• Starch and hang a crocheted piece
• Repair something lovingly worn
• Set a handmade item in a place of honour
• Make one small stitch - and see what awakens
Craft itself can be a memory ritual.
A Blessing for the Hands That Came Before
May the threads that formed your story
continue to hold you gently.
May you recognize your heritage
each time your hands create something
small and beautiful.
Next week we’ll explore recipes and their roots. I’ll share the story of the cranberry-coloured tin filled with Christmas.
Wouldn't Grandma be thrilled if she had known how precious these things became to us?🥰