When I was a little kid, I loved the story of Corduroy--the grand department store filled with mothers and fathers dressed in overcoats and gloves, the palace of furniture, the escalator, Lisa's wonderful pink coat. I envied the way Lisa lived in a fourth floor apartment in the big city. How she could walk to the department store all by herself. It was about the coolest thing my little suburban self could ever imagine. I actually still feel that way. My favorite part of the story was when Lisa takes Corduroy home to her apartment. I always loved the page that showed her room.
I loved the window with the snow swirling around outside and the flower pot on the windowsill, the cheerful yellow curtains, the blue striped wallpaper, the little bed just the right size for Corduroy. It is neat and orderly and cozy, things that still make me feel calm and secure. Most of all I loved the cozy quilt on Lisa's bed. I always wanted a room like hers, and except for the snow swirling around outside the window and the patchwork quilt, I now realize that I pretty much had it.
So, this morning while I was snuggled up in my bed reading Corduroy to Charlie, I laughed out loud when we came to that page.
I think my subconscious was working overtime when I picked out Charlie's bed and quilt: