Sunday, November 09, 2003

Several weeks ago, the ex left a bag of stuff at my gate, including the mixed hue blue and green afghan I had knitted. I made it for us, to have something that was just ours, something that we could carry on trips and such and have adequate blanketage. I had an image of a happy couple snuggling under it. I remember knitting it in strips, then sewing them together. The yarn, a tweed mix, has a distinct smell of wool that I find very soothing. I recall I worked on that blanket for a few months, including knitting during chemo classes, end-of-life care classes, and during X-Files on Sunday nights, and I was proud when it finally was finished.

The afghan makes a great comforter. I remember snuggling under it when I got fired from the dermatologists office in an attempt to heal a crushed self-esteem. His parents marveled at it when they visited. For a while, it sat on his couch, and the cat would nestle under it at times. The only person who really didn't like it was him. He would never snuggle underneath it despite my invitation, proclaiming the 100% wool blend "too itchy." He never really could understand why I would prefer to sit long periods of time and knit, anyway, when I could go outside, work out, etc. When the engagement was over, I walked out of his house most of my clothing, but not the afghan. I missed it after a couple of weeks, along with my deck chairs from Target, and asked for them back. It took him a while, but he finally delivered.

It made me think, seeing the afghan, shoved in a Ukrops bag, a light drizzle in the air, what a power symbol it was. It was the telling factor, that he wanted a separate life from me. That somehow, he found a blanket better for him. Something that didn't itch so bad. Something softer, maybe? Something storebought. Manufactured rather than crafted. Something that didn't have the flaws that the hand-knit afghan had. Something, in my opinion, that he thought he could just throw in the washer/dryer, and toss it aside to use only when he needed it...

"Boy. This is a nice blanket. Nice and warm. Is this the one you made?"

Big snaps me out of my reverie. I look, and he's stretched out on my bed, the afghan wrapped around his bare skin. I notice he tolerates it well. FiFi has snuggled up next to him, on top of the afghan. I notice she too she doesn't appear uncomfotable or itching. Something about the scene makes me smile at them. After a few minutes, Fee gets up and whines to go out. I open the door, and the cold air rushes in.

"Ooh, move over!" I tell Big as he lifts up an edge of the blanket for me to crawl underneath and to combat the chill I caught. He puts his arms around me, hugs me close, and kisses the back of my head. (Last night, Marian and I banded together and insisted the four of us watch a snippet of an old figure skating video- Torvell and Dean's Bolero. It was a hard sell on Big and Heath, but they indulged us without a whole lot of whining.)

Big's already leafed through the Stitch n Bitch knitting handbook. He's found a pattern he likes for a black sweater with skulls on the sleeves. I told him I could make it into a hoodie, with a pouch, just like his favorite GWAR sweatshirt. That made him happy.

As I snuggle under my afghan, one-half of a happy couple, I continue smiling. I realize the problem wasn't with my afghan. All I needed to do was find another person who liked wool.

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