I moved into my room, 103 D, about 9 and a half weeks ago. I slopped all of my possessions, most of them tied inside of clear trash bags, onto the bed and floor. Then I dressed my bed... I crocheted a lot on that bed, propped up against my two pillows, sitting next to Vanilla, Chocolate, and Colby, my 3 stuffed college companions. I won Chocolate at a free dinner, I made Vanilla at a Build-A-Bear at a college event at the Science Museum by Forest Park, and Colby is a black lab that I got when I purchased my first winter coat from Eddie Bauer.
But today, my blanket of experiences is longer than when I got here. When I got here, I only had one blanket... I bought it. I didn't really appreciate it. In fact, it has been tied in a clear plastic bag under my bed all summer until a week or so ago when I moved it out.
I am not sure I can really, truly appreciate an experience of another... to be given a blanket is much different than to make it. You can tell me of an experience, and I can size it up. I can take it to heart. But to make my own blanket... I have done that this summer. Metaphorically. I have had so many learning experiences, both good and bad. I have learned a lot about myself.
And so now I am ready to take leave of 103 D. The bedrooms to the left of mine and around the corner from mine are empty. And soon mine will be too. But away from here I walk with bamboo silk, ready to continue my blanket, both metaphorically and literally.
To extend the metaphor: I am not 100% sure what I want the blanket to be in the end. How big, what colors, etc. I am not sure I can ever be certain of what I really want, since I only have my own blanket of experiences. However, I know I want to keep working on this blanket the way I have been going at it this summer.
My bed is naked. My stuff is gone. But the blanket is just at its infancy.
Crochet love,
Bow Girl
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