Those Four Years That Made Much of Me

In my lifetime the blanket was a treasure in our home.   Blankets came only when there were enough cloth squares to make one.  I still remember my granny's old trunk filled with these 4” squares saved from worn-out cloth.  For me, the blanket symbolizes goodness, and kindness, an artefactum, crafted from a much earlier time.  I have made three sculptures that are quilts.  Last night there was a gathering in our home of old friends, those who crafted me in a much earlier time, those who were sown into the life of my youth.  They are the early squares of my life, the treasures covering my teenage years, the holders of kind memories that tendered my often misspent youth.  They are those, the ones who only knew me and me they, the beginning blanket sown with golden threads of immortality, wild-hearted exuberance, first loves, warm fall days, hard-fought Friday nights, and patched-up Saturdays.  Their part of my blanket often warms the coldness of my aging days, those bygone sweet days of a certain innocence that comes only when one is new, when life is new, when all is new but not much is known.  These are the loves of my youth, the pleasant squares that make the beginning of the blanket that I now cling to, easing my way into my ancient days.  Those four years that made much of me.