Torn Up Blanket Research Paper

In the back of the tallest cabinet in my room lies a small, stringy blanket. That blanket was beautifully hand-made by my great grandmother who wove it just for me, but after enduring the hardships of being in the hands of a toddler, the yarn began to fall apart. Although the string may not all be there, the memories that replaced the yarn will be there forever. The memories that torn-up blanket hold are just as woven into the blanket as the string. Even though I may no longer be able to use the blanket, I will always hold onto it to remind me of some of my happiest childhood memories. I remember dragging the blanket around with me wherever I went: around the house, to the store, on a walk around the neighborhood. Perhaps that is why the strings