How’s this for a memory (read into it what you will) of when I lived as a child in a little British village full of quaint thatched cottages. That as a child my mother had very little money available to her for extras and scrimped and saved. Only she actually commissioned a huge crocheted patchwork blanket for me, to be paid for bit-by-bit. She asked me to choose the colours in the little haberdashery shop and I chose pale pastel yellow, blue and pink, all of which the balls of yarn were kept back for the blanket, in the back of the shop. Each time we went into the little craft shop where mother might ask the person making it how the blanket was going and we would be shown it and feel all happy. Well it took a long, long time before it was completed. In the meantime I grew up, left home and never actually had the blanket given to me, but that it was kept safe. Then she gave it to my eldest sister. LOL oh wow! I know right. Anyways, I’m glad my sister has had good use of it, but that there was for a while a deep sense of loss, and “NO!” I do NOT want it now, I’m just letting my thoughts drop onto the page as many other bloggers do. I would absolutely hate even seeing that blanket of which by now I think will be in tatters and sad or thinking about it more likely dumped. Still, maybe I could treasure the memory of my mother’s original intention and loving gesture. I would very much prefer to keep that as a warming memory.
Over Soil 
My mum crocheted me a blanket when I was young. As you said, it was a cheap way of ending up with something warm. I am fortunate, I still have my blanket – although not my mum unfortunately – so that blanket’s going nowhere
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