After my grandmother passed away I inherited a portion of her large collection of books. Sometimes I’ll open one and trace my fingers over her name where she wrote it just inside the front cover. I don’t know what it is about a simple marking that evokes such strong emotions but seeing it written there in her hand, the same name that I gave my daughter, it makes me feel connected to her.
I’m writing over at Mothers of Daughters today about Christmas and cards and putting pen to paper. I’d love to invite you to click here to read it.
(Also, those are not my hands in that picture. My nails never look that pretty. My nails are a hot mess on account of all the crafting and general need to peel off any polish that I attempt to paint them with immediately after it dries. It’s a problem.)
