When in New York ....

... I admired a blanket, a Pendleton Woolen Mills Indian Blanket. It was in the Smithsonian National Museum of the American Indian gift shop. I noticed it on our first day I believe. I did not buy it that day, I thought it was silly to buy a "big" souvenir on the first day of our holiday. So I waited and waited and since I could not stop thinking about it, I bought it, close to the last day.

I like to accessorise with cats, clearly.

It's a magnificent blanket, soft, densely woven, warm but not too so. It will suit for a while, since this weekend is the weekend I put away the winter doona (the wafer-thin one). So for now it's just a sheet and the blanket that almost got us pinged for excess baggage ('tis quite heavy).

A note on the pinkness of the sheets. Yes, I sometimes dress the bed in pink, sometimes flowers too. Mr Brown does not find this an affront or a threat to his masculinity, not even the slightest. I know this, I've asked him. He looked at me like I was insane.
I only asked because, at the time, I worked with a young fellow who would not wear shirts other than white or blue. Suggestions of a nice pink, purple, pale green were met with snorts and comments along the line of "I'm not a poof". Nobody was suggesting such a thing (not that there's anything wrong with that), but may one just say that if one's sexuality is so fragile that the wearing of a pink shirt may turn you, just go with it!
The young fellow had once noticed, you see, new floral sheets I'd purchased and had by my desk, waiting until home time. He'd expressed concern on Mr Brown's behalf, having to sleep in such girly sheets. Didn't I care that he would be humiliated by such a thing.
I cared, it just hadn't occurred to me, and it turned out, I was right not to worry.
Plenty of other things to worry about after all.