At the risk of being considered a sissy by those of hard-nosed countenance, I have a paean to the pianist's and my mummy as we use, on our beds today, the blankets they knit 60 years ago: both used by us as praise, remembrance and as a talasmanic connection to the past. The pianist's mother's blanket, a soft blue and brown and white in a zigzag pattern: a strictly uniform, closer knitted, crisp and perfectly preserved. My mother's: a looser block knitted, tan, brown and orange with touch of white and tasseled. Both are beautifly finished as could be expected from these women in their 40's, knitters as they were then. My blanket is smaller than the pianist's since my mother was more impatient, so quit earlier to do other things. The blanket for the bed and chair gives warmth, comfort, and an embrace that reflects what they, as women, gave to us, along with the continuity they still provide. If they could look down today they would smile at the blankets they prized and are still prized and used today. When my mother provided me with my satin smooth blanket in infancy until I was three, it was my talisman of her when I slept and it gave comfort. The pianist and I can still celebrate the presence of our mothers today with the resumption of our now knitted blankets. Why did I not realize in the years of my life from age 3 to 78 that the blanket would have kept me safe in that long interval of time? Just a DOF! Dotty Old Fool!