I have been washing and gently bleaching all the beautiful, but soiled bits of lace and scraps salvaged from ancestor's farm after it was vandalized. It is amazing to see how beautiful and white it becomes once cleaned and hung to dry in the desert sun. I marvel too at the sheer variety of lace -- from wide cuts of embroidered batiste to the thinnest bands of tiny patterned lace. But when I started washing my great-great grandmother and great-great aunts' blouses, I realized that all that lace was sewn by hand, sometimes strip by strip, together to create the blouse, an elaborate geometrical design of subtle, intricate patterns, that viewed from a distance smoothed into a complete and seamless design. Satisfying, like a well written novel, a well cooked meal, a well planted garden, and other mysteries of the universe.