It’s just an old blanket. Nothing special it seems, sort of a red and black plaid with fringe. It could have just gone to the Goodwill. But it had it’s own life and served a purpose. It was always up at mom and dad’s place on the island, tossed on the futon couch or folded on one of the captain’s chairs. When the Vermont castings stove didn’t throw out enough heat, dad would drape the blanket over his knees. And as he got sicker and weaker, the blanket found more use, even to the end when we packed things up and used the blanket to wrap fragile items for the move from the island back to Portland.