Sometimes I think life is like a page scraped thin—still bearing the ghost-ink of every story we’ve ever lived, even as we write new lines over the old ones. There’s a word for that. Palimpsest.

I don’t know if you’ve heard, but quilts are having a moment. Correction: quilts have always been having a moment, but now the rest of the design world has finally caught up. They’re cozy. They’re soulful. They’re a rebellion against bland interiors and a love letter to craft. And they’re a reminder that a home should feel like it’s wrapped around you.

I should probably confess upfront: Edinburgh isn’t just a city I lived in. It’s family. I met my (now) husband while living in Scotland—a lumber jack with a poet’s soul, like all Scottish men should be. Though we’ve built a life across the ocean, a huge piece of me is still tucked into the folds of Edinburgh’s Georgian crescents and shadowy closes.

Let’s talk about the cruel trick that architecture and physics sometimes play on us: You fall in love with a room. Gorgeous bones. Dreamy trim. Perfect for your vintage furniture. But it’s north-facing. And suddenly every paint color you try looks… weird.

I spend an unreasonable amount of my life thinking about paint. Because when you love old houses, paint isn’t just color. It’s history. Mood. Light. Texture. It’s the difference between a room feeling like a cheap hotel or a place with soul. But here’s the thing: not all paint is created equal.