My earliest memory involves a blanket. I was 3 or 4, probably old enough to know better than to give a large stone a ride on a swing. The stone catapulted back and hit me in the eye. I screamed. A neighbor rushed out and wrapped me in a blanket. It was an Indian blanket—brightly patterned—and I fell in love with pattern and color.
I never saw that blanket again, but its design stays with me to this day.
This blanket, obviously, is not the blanket of my memory. It’s a quilt I made when I first moved to Seattle. I found the old centers in a thrift store and painted my room a dark brown to match the quilt. I thought it was pretty cool!