re·​fram·​ing, 6

There's a blanket ladder rack on the wall. Stacked rows, some columns filled, some margined by blank space. Would it be better if they were all the same texture? Or maybe the same color, different textures, like the ensemble costumes of Chicago? Maybe I could just observe and not critique, that could be cute?

Checkerboard, images on the mid-toned squares. I imagine its ancestor was in the Parisian scene of Little Women when Amy does her final sketch of Laurie before he (feebly) professes his love for her. You know the one.

Second row down, middle of the road, somewhere between a t-shirt my brother would wear and the raw fabric used to clothe a village of Monty Python village people.

A rung below: a black knit comforter - its either been folded carefully to look mysterious and supple, or it was flung like a corpse into Lake Michigan. Rest in Peace.

Last but not least (unless you're against blankets that look like they're only kept around as supplemental layers for an unexpected Cabin guest), a tan one - the color of our sweet deceased Cheddar. Rest also in Peace.