Wednesday, November 13, 2013
You may ask why on earth I would want to drag around an afghan, but consider...no matter where I am, there is a bit of home. It keeps me warm when I don't have any control over the climate or indoor temps. If necessary, I can wrap it around me in the car. Or roll it up and use it for a pillow or cushion.
I'm very sensitive to odors. My blankie 'smells' right. Other blankets are too stiff or fuzzy or scratchy. Mine isn't. It's a defense and bulwark against that big hostile outer world.
We all have 'safety blankets'. Maybe it's a favorite pair of socks that don't match anything but make us feel better when we're wearing them. Or that one pair of boxers that feel exactly right. Our lucky tee-shirt. Those battered running shoes that should have been thrown out years ago.
My blanket combines a lot of sentiments and love. It's a gift, something created with care by my spouse who deliberately chose that particular color and texture of yarn. It's home.
I cuddle under it when I take a nap. When I'm feeling really crappy, it makes me secure so I rest better.
Some folks would say I'm too old for a safety blanket. I say I've just reached my stride and my blanket anchors me in an uncertain world. Every time I use it, I imbue it with another layer of love. That's magic.
When we give afghans to people we love, we always ask them to use them rather than keep them for display. That's why they're washable and dryable.
Someday I'll die. We all do. I'm sure there are a few things my kids and grandkids will want. But the blankie...well the blankie will stay with the hunk until he's gone. Because the blankie is love.