It’s blankie season. I’m not saying I do have a blankie, but I am saying that sometimes I have trouble letting go of things; like my Doc Martens, or my favorite hoodie, or my children. So yah, I guess I kind of do have a blankie.
My grandparents got it for me in Mexico. Carbon dating is required to determine it’s age accurately, but I know for sure that it was before they moved here from Norwalk making that blanket at LEAST 35 years old. If my blanket was a pro sports star, announcers would regale how amazing it is that he/she could still function at the ancient age of 35.
It should be tattered or thread-bare to the point of near disintegration, but it’s not. It’s outlasted countless blankets, comforters, duvets, and the like. I don’t know who “hecho-ed” it in Mexico (you best read that Meh-hi-co). But whoever it was, they “hecho-ed” it real good.
It didn’t come with a fabric care tag, and as a result; I’m not entirely sure what it’s made of. It feels like wool, but it also feels like lead. You know that apron they put on you before taking your teeth x-ray? That’s the feeling of this blanket.
When Grammie and Grandpa got it for me, I wasn’t far out of my “everything-purple-and-unicorns” phase. That’s the phase right before goth for those tracking. I’m not sure if that’s why they chose the plaid purple pattern for me. Maybe someday I’ll cycle back to purple and unicorns, but for the last 3 decades, that blanket has matched nothing in my life. And I don’t care a bit. It’s such a woven miracle, my house should be designed around it.
It’s weird to have a blanket that was on your childhood bed show up in pictures a couple decades later on the shoulders of your own brood as we set off on some adventure. It’s the blanket that was taken to all events. It was counted on to make sure space was saved for my little posse to watch fireworks or to keep me from chattering teeth while sitting on metal bleachers watching football. It simply could not fail us.
The blanket did take a couple years off though. I couldn’t find it, and thought it was gone forever. Though I was bummed, I reminded myself that I own my things-they don’t own me. (This is the mantra I have to say any time I’m suppressing the urge to hoard something). It wasn’t until I reunited with the blanket that I realized how much I’d missed it. A fucking blanket. *eyeroll
I’ve made efforts to try to get the same weighty blanket goodness for the boys. Both in my own trips to Mexico, and in my parents’ annual Mexico medical trips. But those efforts haven’t produced any bedding of near the same caliber. Perhaps there was a wool embargo imposed after my blanket was made. Or perhaps they saw a problem in making blankets that will outlive their owners. It’s not the best business model.
I’m certain the plaid protector has plenty more adventures in it. Maybe it’ll shield my eyes later as I squirm at a violent Korean film. Or maybe it will just keep me warm as a design my new purple/unicorn decorating motif. Either way, I know it’s got my back (or my chilly legs).
Thanks for reading!
Bifocals and Barbells 