I can smell the beginning of springtime in the city; trees are blooming with fragile pink flowers, surly bicycle messengers have risen from their winter rainy slump, and I’ve been eating lunch in Union Square with my shirt sleeves rolled up rakishly. It is time for spring cleaning, but rather than break out the suds, I’ll revive my pillowcases with some cross-stitched borders; a 14th century band sprinkled with fleurs-de-lys will provide a touch of chic to my tired bed linens (graphing courtesy of the talented needlesmith, Rosemary Stecher)