Ok, so this one wraps up the sentimental quilt trilogy. The last quilt I will tell you about was given to me when I was eight or so. Made by Nan, the same grandma that made the first quilt I wrote about.
This quilt was red, white, and blue. She had drawn in (most likely with a stencil) each state’s name, the number of the state, the year the state joined the United States, the state bird, the state flower, and an image of the state with the location of the capital with a star on it. Thinking of it now, I can tell that it took her a ton of work to produce it. And patriotic? Nothing could make you feel the love of country more than being wrapped in the warmth of two hundred-plus years of freedom.
This quilt was with me throughout the years, all through Elementary school. When I moved back into my dad’s house as a teenager, it was my blanket throughout high school. I upgraded sometime later but always held onto it. It was a good one to pull out in the winter when you wanted an extra layer to brace against the cold.
Soon after my son was born, my stepdad commented on the blanket, knowing the work that must have gone into it and what it meant to me. He said he would pay for it to be dry-cleaned so I could wrap it up and save it for the future to be passed on to my son. I saw the logic in this, and it was a very kind gesture, so I let him do it.
I then had an adorable and clean blanket in my closet, nicely folded and wrapped in plastic.
And there it stayed for a long time.
By choice, I never used much space in my closet, and even then, my wife’s things tended to spill over to my side. The patriotic quilt became somewhat of a nuisance since I would have more space were I to get rid of it. But it was too precious an heirloom, though. So there it stayed.
However, if you recall one of the most significant lines from Fight Club, “The things you own end up owning you.”
Eventually, the thought of the old lady with plastic-wrapped furniture came to mind. Why not sit on your sofa without the crinkly plastic? A couch is supposed to be comfy. And this blanket, however sentimental it became, was intended to be used.
The plastic wrap came off, and the blanket was again in the mix. My grandmother came from hardworking country folk. I imagine she would be more honored by using a blanket functionally. The idea that it would be stored away in the back of a dark closet would offend her. The opulence!
Come on. Tell me if this blanket had feelings, it wouldn’t be clamoring for more of this: