My mom let me take this blanket (and the bed) when I moved out of my parent’s house to move into a house full of political activists. I was 17. I had just dropped out of high school—even though I was slated to be the valedictorian of my class (I finished high school at night school). We ran a recycling center and crisis hotline at a youth center in Vancouver, WA. On the weekends there was a coffee house in the basement with live folk music. Good times!