Linus Van Pelt had his blanket, and so did I. Sort of.
Actually it wasn’t a blanket. To be precise it was a quilt. It was made with a silver colored silky material and filled with a light cotton batting. I had it for years. In fact, I don’t remember ever being without it. I wasn’t as attached to mine as Linus was to his to the extent of carrying it around everywhere with me, but it always had to be on my bed.
Though it never stayed there. You see, it always, always slithered off my bed, hence its designation as the Snake Quilt. I would go to bed and it would be sandwiched between the blanket and the top bedspread, but by the morning it had slid from between those covers onto the floor. That’s where I found it every morning.
And just like a snake it was wily too. There were times when I awoke in the middle of the night to find it heading to the floor on one side. I would hitch it up and go back to sleep, only to find it the next morning on the floor on the opposite side.
Perhaps, in one aspect it was analogous to the football situation in which Linus’ sister Lucy tempted Charlie Brown each fall. As the leaves turned she would promise one more time to hold the football while Charlie took a run at it to kick it. And you could count on her to whisk it away at the last second, leaving poor Charlie on his back, staring up with chagrin that once again he’d been taken in.
It’s all about trust, as Lucy herself would tell Charlie, over and over in her efforts to convince him to try one more time. Though Charlie’s trust should have been in the nature of Lucy, knowing that she would always behave the way she did. Just as I could always count on the Snake Quilt to land on the floor by morning.