I have a favorite blanket. Don’t laugh. You probably do to. And if you don’t now, you once did. Deny it and I’ll just ask your momma, and she’ll show me picture after picture of you with your thumb in your mouth and your blanket over your shoulder. My own son was not only attached to a certain blanket, but he also had a favorite corner of the blanket. I can remember that blanket having to be restored several times and ultimately becoming a series of knots that simply held one piece to the other. My blanket is special for a few reasons. It’s only wide enough for me, it’s camo, it’s two layers of fleece, and my daughter made it for me. Just writing about it makes me want to stop what I’m doing and go get it.
If you think about it, blankets are prized possessions of many women today. Except this blanket is no longer in use. It is for safe-keeping and for remembering family and events. It is their mother’s or grandmother’s quilt. It was put together one piece at a time from swatches of clothing or fabric that had made its way to the rag pile. Part of a coat has been sewn to a strip of a worn-out shirt. The other side of that shirt is attached to the leftover seat of an old pair of blue jeans. A portion of a baseball jersey is attached to a sliver of your first pair of pajamas. Each piece seemingly no longer of any value on its own and…
For complete coverage, see the July 27th edition of The Lexington Progress.