I’m having a love affair with a ratty, old blue blanket. It has bare spots and holes, but when I fold it in half and slide in between the two halves, it is the softest, most comfortable thing in the world. I like to wiggle my toes and feel the texture of the synthetic fiber surrounding my feet. Our sofa has two large cushions and if I fold the blanket and spread it on the sofa, my head rests against the arm and my backside fits right in the groove where the two cushions meet, cradling me in warmth and blanket softness. If you call the house, Doug will answer the phone. Ask him if Cathy is busy and he’ll tell you through gritted teeth, “No she’s still stretched out on the couch in that blue blanket doing nothing.”

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