|Binding pinned, so I can hem it while near the heat of the fire.|
Such cold weather is uncommon, especially here in Kentucky, and so the schoolchildren are home, including my boys, and except where the heating vents are, our house is on the chilly side as the cold air seeks its way in through the old walls. Over by the kitchen window the floor is frigid; wonder if we forgot to put insulation in there when we renovated this room.
When my dad was a boy, my grandmother wrote his name in all capitals, in ink, on a piece of twill tape and sewed it to a dusty rose-colored wool blanket, just at the pink binding. He took the blanket to camp, I understand. A few years ago Dad and Letitia passed the blanket on to us, since they live at the beach and don't exactly need much wool there. Over the years the binding had worn to shreds with use and it was clearly time for me to remove what was left and put on a new one.
I wonder how many folks still do this? Good wool blankets are hard to find, and anyhow many people prefer synthetic fabrics since they go through the washer and aren't scratchy. (Christopher snorted just now. He has the other wool blanket and while he likes it, he complains it scratches him.) Yet I love wool: it breathes well so you don't feel all perspire-y underneath, and they are warm and toasty and not physically heavy. In combination with a nice fat down duvet, you have the definition of a toasty, toasty, heavenly sleep.
|Boys in between smiles, on the blanket, denuded of the old binding. The boys were somewhat at a loose end, and yes, Mom, Christopher was made to take off the binding from around his neck.|
Here's hoping the blanket will be ready fast, before the Big Freeze lifts! Although, if the Arctic air decides to return to Arctic Circle early, we'll be happy to see it go. It didn't bother to bring the Northern Lights with it.
|Muffin nested on the blanket last evening. No sewing at that point. Who could be so hard-hearted as to move such a|
Next time, the cap! It's finally almost finished.