April 26th, 2017

dragons got claws!

Wednesday in April, with blankets

'The rough male kiss of blankets,' Rupert Brooke called it. He should have said, 'of English blankets.' A friend back in the 80s had a book that humourously listed the differences between English and Americans, of which I remember two. The American one was 'Americans think death is optional.' I can't quote the second (and google, which helpfully tells me that he book is probably Brit-think, Ameri-Think by Jane Walmsley, isn't interested in the subject) but it's to the effect that British blankets are heavy hairy leaden things that pin you to the mattress and keep you there. I met British blankets in the 60s and 70s, and yes, they are. Their colonial cousins aren't much better: a little lighter, a little smoother, but still a way of keeping you in one position in bed. I have a couple from the family home stashed away in the linen closet; I never use them but think they might come in handy some day, presumably if the power fails in winter and my duvets aren't enough.

But rummaging through said linen closet the other day I found something at the bottom of the pile- something smooth and soft and seductive. It was a pink woolen blanket, a rare single, of which I have no memory at all: but ahh, is it warm! I'm using it instead of the feather duvet- which is still too heavy for my twinging knees when I try to turn over. And this is why I never throw anything out.

Cherries blooming mightily down by Robots Library, though yes, several trees are dead or dying. Flocks of Asians out with cameras, and a very little girl in a red kimono with a red parasol being photographed by mother and older bro. Who were speaking Chinese to each other, but oh well. My cherries are peeping out here and there while the plums and the cherries across the way still hang on, aided by cold and lack of wind, which makes the view out the study window very white indeed. This has been your sakura update for the day.
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