The blanket: final episode.

  More or less a year ago I told you the story of the longest and most troubled project I've ever done. 
That blanket taught me the real meaning of word desperation.
Well, a few months ago I FINISHED that blanket. 
My therapist and I are really happy. 
The whole project could be defined as an endless series of miscalculations. In fact, it doesn't fit my bed as I expected but I suppose it would be perfect for a single bed. 
At this point, I have understood that this blanket has a life of its own and it wanted to be a single bed blanket since the day I cast on the first stitches for what I expected to be a sweater for my boyfriend. I even remember the day I bought the wool at Hickey's in Dublin. Little I knew that the wool I was buying had a plan for me. See how innocent it looks:
I suppose I was just a medium for a blanket that wanted to come to this world, a kind of Our Lady of the Blankets, if you allow me the little textile blasphemy.
Yes, the numbers reveal its holiness:
3, the techniques: crochet, weaving and sewing.
3 kilos, its weight.
3 years to complete.
I feel honoured, don't take me wrong, but next time I am the chosen one I hope it's a potholder.


  1. I remember this sweater turned blanket. I really like it. Now for your textile blasphemy you'll need to say 3 Hail Mary's. Ha! xx

  2. and 3 cheers to you , its threely amazing , your exorcism is now complete, go in peace my child.