I got a burgundy throw for our bed to match the new rug. Since the pandemic I’ve had an aversion to shopping in actual stores, so I bought it online. To be fair, I had that aversion before Covid, but I was able to make myself go to a store anyway. Now, almost never. Shopping online has its problems: when the throw came, it was lighter weight and more velour-like than I thought it would be, the downside of not being able to run a fabric through my fingers before buying. The product that arrived was not ideal, but it was the right color and spring was upon us, so it stayed.
A velour cat
The online description called it flannel. The flannel I know is cotton or wool and doesn’t have this kind of semi-shine. The tag reveals that it’s 100% polyester. See, if I’d noticed that, I wouldn’t have bought it. It ain’t flannel. It was made in China. The Chinese are lying to us again.
Whatever the fabric is, it’s napped. A fabric without nap looks the same whichever way you turn it, unlike people who can be different from the back or side or even in a different location, like if you see someone you thought you knew well on a dance floor for the first time. I like the idea of people being napped, a concept that never occurred to me before.
Back to fabric. Velour’s nap is created with cut loops, so sliding your hand over its slippery surface changes the color.
Making the bed is a ritual with us. Phil says it sends a message that no one’s getting back into it. I prefer to think it represents the first accomplishment of the day. Who knows if there’ll be another one. It’s also a kind of memorial act for my mother—may she rest in peace—who couldn’t stand an unmade bed. I usually make the bed and just toss the throw across the foot of it when I’m done: it is a throw after all. Sometimes Phil makes the bed and when he does, he folds the throw into a neat rectangular drawing board.
You were wondering when I’d get to that. Because of that nap, you can write on it or better yet draw on it. Phil is an artist and graphic designer. He can’t resist. One day I walked into the bedroom and found this:
Interlocked hearts with ducks
Another day the cat at the top of this post. Hearts in various configurations appear randomly. Once I walked in as Phil was attempting a more complex drawing and he complained: “This thing is hard to draw on,” as if that were its primary purpose to begin with and the poor thing was defective.
“What kind of drawing board is this? I should demand a refund,” I said and paused. “You know it’s a blanket, right?”
“Not a very substantial one.”
True. But it’s summer and over 90° now and I’m not interested in shopping for winter. Winter is hypothetical, a season which may never happen.
But reader, those drawings are one of the reasons I keep him.
Writing prompt, if you so choose: what object have you used for a purpose for which it was not intended? Post your responses on the blog so I can keep them. Facebook is ephemeral.
Pat, this is one of your best blogs ever!!! Ah, to be partnered with an artist is truly special!
Interior doors near a wind source tend to slam and there is a certain weight required for a good doorstop. The little plastic wedgie things slide on slick floors and have proven unreliable. They might stop a loud slam, but they do NOT consistently keep the door open. And that’s where “objects used for another purpose” become useful. Gallon jugs filled with water do the trick nicely in my laundry room where they also offer a convenient water source for my iron. An exercise weight, minimum 8 pounds, also works well. In my sister’s guest room, where I currently rest, an old hand coffee grinder does the trick. However my go to in the summer when all the windows are open (god, I pray for a strong breeze!) is a solid iron foot, spray painted gold, function unknown. It was my dad’s. Geof cites my kitchen scissors, which he uses to pry open cans and dig up weeds, and knives which he uses to open letter (not so unusual).
What a fine bunch of objects put to different uses, Deb. Those 8-leb. hand weights are certainly not going to used for their original purpose: good call. But that solid iron foot made me remember my grandfather’s shoe repair shop in Queens, where there were any number of such metal feet.
Fun story, but is the blankie good for napping, such as throwing it over you when you crash out on the couch? There might be a poem in there, or at least a bit of doggerel or a bad pun (“There was a blanket from Nantucket (AKA Nanking), that I used when I was tuckered/tanking. When I had to slouch, it was onto the couch, along with my blanket from Nantucket/Nanking.” (OK, hold the dogs off, they’re yowling again.)
It’s kind of like the old Etch-A-Sketch that us oldsters played with back in the semi- good ol’ days. Some real masterpieces were “inked” on those machines, only to be good for a few moments, especially if a sibling was impatiently waiting their turn.
Mike, Etch-a-Sketch! Flashback! I had one of those. Great connection.
Marrying an artist has its rewards.
Gregg, indeed it does!
Pat, every time I’ve gone to delete the link to this post from my inbox, I’ve dithered and then delayed. I’ve come back and re-read/admired multiple times–and it tickles me every time. I’m charmed by the art, by the artist, by the dialogue, by the idea of people being napped (nice job picking a throw to go with that rug, by the way).
I always freeze at prompts: performance anxiety. But I bought a bridle for the big horse Jake a few years ago. The throatlatch (piece that buckles behind the horse’s big round jawbones) was too small. I took it off and kept it as a belt. It’s still in my closet; I never go anywhere anymore that I need to dress up with a cute skinny belt. But someday, maybe.
Also, that’s how big our boy Jake is: right behind his ears, at its skinniest point, his neck is bigger than my waist (but then again, compared to what it once was, my waist is bigger than my waist).
Andrea, how did I miss this delightful comment of yours? Belatedly approved, but wonderful. Ah the waist expansion is only the tip of the iceberg of that discussion.