My Great Grandmother smoked like a chimney. She used to carry around an ashtray in the front pocket of her housecoat, so she’d never be without a place to ash. In the later years of her life, she started suffering from Alzheimer’s. One day, she simply forgot she smoked and never did it again.
This cigarette holder belonged to her.
A little gilded throne for woodland romance
My Great Gran had a lot of lace. Table cloths and doilies and couch covers and coasters. Here’s part of her collection. They remind me of snowflakes, each one unique and precise.
Whenever I think of lace, I think of noodles. I read in a novel that lace makers were forced subsist on a diet of noodles and the few other foods that wouldn’t imprint their scent on their product.