My grandma (who is ninety-seven!) gave this little afghan to me at our last visit. I came across it in her room, and was immediately flooded with memories and warm cozy feelings.
When my grandparents would babysit my sister and I while my parents were out on a dinner date, my grandpa would go to bed early, while us girls would head out to the Little House. It was a small structure, just one room plus a kitchen and bathroom, originally built for my Great-Grandma (Grandpa's mother) to live in when she got old. But she would have none of that, which was just fine with my grandma. So, the Little House was where Grandma had her sewing machine, and lovely antiques, and an old TV.
We would walk in the dark from the main house (why we didn't turn on the back porch light, I don't know) to the Little House. My sister and I would play 'till it got late, then cuddle up on the couch under this little afghan while Grandma watched Merv Griffin. And we'd inevitably fall asleep until my parents arrived to take us home.
When Grandma gave me this afghan a few weeks ago, she couldn't remember who had made it for her. We have a couple of guesses, but I will ask her again on another day.
I feel so lucky to have this tangible reminder of such cozy memories. (And I am tempted to crawl under it with my own kids, with all the troubling news coming in the wake of the recent earthquake in Japan.)