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I have a white, cloth bedspread that my mother gave me. There used to be two of them but I have no idea what happened to the second one. This one looks like a worn-out sheet which someone embroidered a geometric pattern and attached cotton lace around the edge to make it fancy.  

My mother passed away many years ago.  I believe she called the cloth a “blanket cover” and….

It’s the “and” part of this history that bothers me.  I know my mother told me something else about the cover but I can’t remember what it was.  When I was downsizing last year, I originally put it in a bag to donate.  It is in rough shape.  There are many repairs—some done by hand and one large area mended with multiple pieces of iron-on- tape.  I don’t remember doing any of the mending, so my mother must have given it to me in that condition—not like her at all!

So why do I keep it?  I have a vague memory of running my fingers over the geometric embroidery when I was a kid.  I have no memory of having it on my bed or on any other bed in our house.  I do remember having blanket covers instead of bedspreads in the summer but they were an ugly, light blue, puckered material.  I have never used the white embroidered cloth, except once as a tablecloth for a party.  Now I am using it as a bedspread at the beach house in the room I call the “cousins room’”.  The room is more like a dormitory where all the grandchildren sleep.

Last week, they were here. Sometime during the chaos of sleeping four cousins to a room the cover got some major damage.   I almost threw it way.  I would have, except my mother gave it to me.  She had mended it many times.  It may have been an old cotton sheet someone embroidered by hand.  It may have been a cheap summer blanket cover bought from the Sears catalog.  I have no idea, but I spent most of today mending all of the damage and even removing the old iron-on-tape so I could repair what was underneath.

At least I used white thread, but there is no hiding the fact that the cloth itself is worn and threadbare.  I’m sure next time the cousins’ room is full there will be more damage and then there will need to be more mending.  Someday one of the grandchildren is bound to ask why I keep it.  I will tell them my mother gave it to me, that it used to have a twin, and that there is another part of the story that I can’t remember but must be important because the old, ragged, cover has been mended many many times. 

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