The Lace Maker's Hands - A Sleep Story with Peaceful Music - Rest: Sleepy Bedtime Stories

Episode Transcript
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Speaker 1 (00:01):
Good evening and welcome to Rest, your sanctuary for peaceful
sleep and relaxation. Whether you're escaping daily stresses or seeking
a nightly companion, you're in the right place. My name
is Jessica, and I'll be your host this evening. Before

(00:27):
we begin, why don't you turn off your screens and
turn down your volume. Now that's done, let's unwind and
help you ease into a blessed rest tonight. We are

(00:52):
stepping into a tale of patience, grace, and timeless artistry,
a story where delicate hands weave intricate patterns and quiet
devotion turns thread into lace. Before we begin, take a

(01:12):
moment to settle in. Find a comfortable spot in your bed,
snuggle under your blankets and feel the warmth gently cocooning you.
Breathe in deeply, and as you exhale, feel your body

(01:35):
sinking deeper into the comfort of your bed. Once more,
breathe in, and as you breathe out, let go of
any tension, allowing your mind to gently unwind. Now that

(01:58):
you're feeling relaxed, let your mind drift and follow my
voice as we enter a peaceful world where Aunt Lizzie's
hands work their quiet magic, stitching memories into lace. They

(02:20):
say hands are the first body part to reveal one's age,
and it was true. Eighty eight years were undeniably evident
on Auntie Lizzie's hands. Thick blue and purple veins protrude
in zig zag patterns, and loose skin spreads itself thinly

(02:44):
over her palm bones. But age was not the first thing.
Aunt Lizzie's hands whispered about her. When you saw them
at work, when they moved with precision and speed, as
if they had a life of their own, they declared

(03:08):
decades of graceful craftsmanship with every twist of her wrinkled fingers.
A lifetime spent weaving delicate patterns from thread was spoken aloud.
In the gentle art of lace making, Auntie Lizzie's hands

(03:30):
were renowned. The early morning sun is already high in
the sky. The wrens perched outside the window are singing
their first songs of the day, their bodies almost vibrating
with the intensity of their song. It is the perfect

(03:55):
day for artistry. But as you'll soon learn, lace making
is not something you just PLoP yourself down and do.
Oh no, no, no. Lace making begins long before you
sit at the pillow and weave. Still to this day,

(04:22):
Auntie Lizzie can hear Sister Madeleine's voice two commos, palagras Elizabeth.
Everything begins with grace. She as was often the case,
had been right, which is why she ran the finest

(04:44):
lace making school for girls in all of France. It
was there aunt Lizzie had learnt that lace making is
not just about the craft. It's about the state of mine,
mind and body. Sister Madeleine had always said that to

(05:06):
weave lace, one must first be presentable in appearance, one
must be elegant, and one must always be composed. Auntie
Lizzie smiles fondly at the memory of Sister Madeleine and
the boarding school she attended in her youth. The school,

(05:32):
nestled in a quaint village surrounded by blooming lavender fields,
was a place of calm and discipline. Each day followed
a steady rhythm blending education, lace making, and most importantly faith.

(05:56):
Auntie Lizzie can picture her beloved school clearly, a beautiful
historic building, its stone walls covered in ivy, with large
windows that allowed flaxen light to pour in. Inside the

(06:17):
halls echoed with quiet footsteps and girlish giggling. Each room
is filled with the scent of polished wood and fresh linens.
It was here, under the careful tutelage of Sister Madeleine,

(06:38):
that a young Elizabeth honed her talent for lace making.
Sister Madeleine, a sharp and dignified woman, was as much
an artist as she was a teacher. She would gather
the young girls in a sunlit room each morning, their

(07:01):
lace pillows waiting patiently for them by the windows, where
the light was best for intricate work. It was here
the girls were taught not just the technical skills of
lace making, but the importance of grace, patience, and mindfulness

(07:25):
in every movement. Before each lesson, they were reminded to
first appear presentable. Appearance mattered, not out of sheer vanity,
but because beauty and order in one's surroundings was sure

(07:47):
to be reflected in one's creation. Lace making was a
craft of elegance, and the girls were taught to approach
it as such. The atmosphere in Sister Madeleine's classroom was
always quiet and focused. The only sound was the soft

(08:11):
clinking of wooden bobbins. Tapping gently against each other as
the girl's diligently worked. It was in this tranquil setting
Auntie Lizzie learned to appreciate the beauty of slow, intentional work.

(08:33):
Each stitch, each twist of linen thread, each practice of patience,
precision and quiet devotion, was a step in creating something
fragile yet enduring. With Sister Madeleine's poised face fresh in

(08:58):
Auntie Lizzie's mind, she gets ready for the task ahead
with great care. First, she fastens her pearl earrings and
dabs a little jasmine oil behind her ears. She selects
a simple outfit, something comfortable yet refined. Her hands move

(09:26):
up to pin her milky hair, sweeping it back neatly
and securing it in place. Next, it is time for
a camer mile tea steaming and soothing. She takes a
few SIPs, letting the herbs soothe her, preparing her for

(09:52):
the delicate work ahead. Then she walks over to the
arched window and opens it, letting the fresh air and
sunlight filter into the room. The space instantly feels brighter,

(10:13):
alive with countryside air and early morning light. Just one
last important thing to do before she can pick up
her bobbins. Auntie Lizzie closes her eyes and folds her
hands in prayer, just as she was taught by Sister

(10:37):
Madeleine all those years ago. The prayer is a simple one,
but she speaks it with complete reverence, not trapere. We
give these hands to thee. We surrender them into your keep.

(11:00):
As we now sit to make this lace, refine our
craft with your grace. Amen. Now that her hands have
been surrendered to their maker, she can begin. Auntie Lizzie
sits by her sunlit window, her hands slightly hesitant and

(11:26):
on shore as she begins crafting. On the table lies
a piece of duel, soft and translucent, ready to be
transformed into a chantilly lace edged veil for her great niece.

(11:46):
When Rose had asked her aunt to pull her hands
out of retirement, Auntie Lizzie had almost said no, But
only almost. You see, her hands had rested for years.
She hadn't touched a lace pillow in years. She wouldn't

(12:10):
remember how the rhythms and techniques were probably lost to her.
Making something as special as her great niece's wedding veil
would demand patience and skill that she was not sure
she still possessed. But little Rose had never asked for

(12:33):
anything of her, nothing except this one thing. From the
time Rose was a small child, she had watched her
aunt breathe life into lace with wide eyed fascination. She

(12:54):
would sit on the floor by Auntie Lizzie's feet, gazing
up the graceful movement of the bobbins, entranced by the
dainty lace slowly taking form, and she would say, one day,
Auntie Lizzie, I want you to make me a veil,

(13:17):
just like the ones from your picture books. Auntie Lizzie
would scoff lovingly, thinking it was nothing more than a
child's fleeting fairytale dream. But exactly six months ago, Rose
had come to her aunt with a hopeful smile and

(13:41):
a box of sticky baked goods, reminding her of the
promise made long ago. Auntie Lizzie reluctantly agreed. It took
her months to draw the perfect desire for the lace veil.

(14:02):
When she was finally satisfied and had exhausted four sketch books,
she had shown it to Rose. An intricate floral pattern
would edge the two layer veil. The soft lace edging
would be fine textured and beautifully sheer, with small eyelash

(14:28):
like extensions at the edge. It was romantic, ethereal, and classic,
all the characteristics Auntie Lizzie saw when she looked at
her niece. The moment Rose saw it, her eyes welled

(14:49):
up with tears. She swiped at them, quickly, knowing how
Auntie Lizzie felt about outward sentiment, but the tears continued
to fall all the same. Auntie Lizzie had simply patted
Rose's hand and waited in silence for the crying to subside. Rose,

(15:16):
once composed and filled with gratitude, hugged her. Auntie Lizzie
tightly kissed her on the cheek and whispered her continuous thanks.
Auntie Lizzie sewed her off with a soft oh, hush, now, child,

(15:37):
brushing off the affection with her usual manner. She wasn't
raised on all this emotion, but the warmth of the
moment lingered quietly and melted her heart all the same.
She was getting soft in her old age. Oh. Auntie

(16:00):
Lizzie wasn't one for affection or flowery words, as she
called them. She loved Rose deeply, she may not be
the type to express it out loud, but as she
gently ran her hands across the lace pillow, she knew

(16:22):
that the veil would say the words she could not.
She began slowly, breathing in the cool morning air as
she carefully pinned the pricking pattern onto the pillow, a
series of tiny holes marking the path the lace would take.

(16:45):
Each hole represented a point where the threads would cross
and intertwine. She reached for the first pin, holding it
between her fingers before pressing it into the fabric with care,
marking the start of the lace. Edging with the pins

(17:08):
in place, her fingers selected the first few bobbins, each
one carefully wound with fine silk thread that shimmered subtly
when caught in the light. She cradled the bobbins in
her palm as her fingers began the rhythmic work of

(17:32):
twisting and crossing. The wooden bobbins tapped against each other
softly as she worked. Auntie Lizzie's movements were deliberate, each
motion smooth and careful. There was no rush, no urgency.

(17:56):
The finest lace can only be made in slowness. The
silk threads slowly began to weave together, forming the first
delicate strands of Shantilly lace. Time seemed to slow down

(18:17):
as the lace took shape, stitch by stitch, twist by twist,
the threads fine and light, as air purroueted between her fingers,
crossing over and under gently looping around the pins she

(18:41):
had placed. Auntie Lizzie worked in silence. The only sound
her steady breathing, the soft clinking of bobbins, and the
occasional wren song floating through the windows. Slowly, the floral

(19:03):
motifs began to emerge, their curves and loops, forming the
soft outlines of flowers and leaves. The designs, wispy and exquisite,
seemed to float on the fine netting background. Auntie Lizzie

(19:26):
paused from time to time, her fingers brushing lightly over
the lace she had already woven, feeling the smooth texture
of the strands, ensuring that each stitch was just right.
The light continued to shift as the hours passed, casting

(19:52):
a pleasant glow over her work, but the lace maker's
hands continue viewed their slow, graceful rhythm, blissfully unaware of
the passing time. Occasionally she adjusted the tension in the

(20:13):
threads she knew that every small adjustment mattered, that the
lace would only be as perfect as the patience she
poured into it. As the day wore on, the lace
edging began to grow. Inch by inch. The flowers and

(20:39):
finds she had woven with care now seemed to bloom
across the fabric. Each delicate stitch a quiet prayer for
Rose's future, a future filled with love and laughter and
the warmth of a long and happy marriage, just as

(21:04):
she herself has known. The late afternoon sunlight shifts, gradually
softening into a warm, reddish hue. Auntie Lizzie pauses her hands,
finally still after hours of work. She stretches her fingers,

(21:30):
feeling the pleasant tingle from her labor, and savors the
familiar ache with deliberate care. She sets the bobbins down,
her eyes tracing the length of the chantilly lace that
now graces the pillow. Though the veil's edge is not

(21:55):
yet finished, the work she has done for today is enough.
There is no rush. She has tomorrow, and the day
after and the day after that. The lace will wait

(22:15):
for her. Auntie Lizzie gently covers the shan tilly lace,
tucking it in safely beneath a soft cloth. She places
the pillow by the window, where the last traces of
daylight linger. She stands, smoothing her dress with a quiet

(22:42):
sigh of satisfaction. For a moment she lingers, admiring her creation,
and then with a gentle turn, she steps away, leaving
the lace to rest until tomorrow. Have a blessed rest,

(23:11):
sweet dreams, good night,

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The Lace Maker's Hands - A Sleep Story with Peaceful Music

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