It's like being between trapezes. It's Linus when his blanket is in the dryer. There's nothing to hold on to. - Marilyn Ferguson

Some of you may remember, after the Thomas weekend last summer, that Primo’s best blanket, his lovey-dovey, Bunk went missing (or is it Bunky? I can’t keep track with that kid; apparently Bunk is the boy and Bunky is the girl blanket…wtf? Anyhoo… For the sake of simplicity, and my sanity, and those of you following along at home, we’ll say Bunk.)

Bunk was a pastel plaid Carter’s blanket, with a white satiny border which Primo liked to “wrinkle” between his fingers (his term). He slept with Bunk and his Pooh Bear every night, and the two went everywhere with him. Tragedy had struck, and I majorly regretted not following my dear friend L’s advice to buy two of Pooh and two of Bunk, in case this very thing happened. She has four children, and is wise beyond her years, as I happen to know that in her house is a closet with doubles of each of her children’s loveys. Yeah, she’s smarter than I am. Sometimes I wonder who isn’t.

Well, I called both beach houses, to check if anyone had found a ratty flannel blanket. No. No one had. I turned my car inside out. I seriously doubted that Bunk was hiding under the spare tire or in the glovebox, but you just never know.

I called the hotel in Lancaster not once, not twice, but THREE separate times, to see if any housekeepers or following room occupants discovered Bunk, maybe between the wall and the bed, or rolled up in the corner of the closet, or…or….I don’t know, lying mangled in the parking lot. Alas, no.

I almost thought about driving back the four hours to the hotel, to see if *I* could find Bunk, as I was sure my distressed-mother instincts could track Bunk down, somewhat like that woman in the TV show Medium, who can sense where the body is? Well, I was sure that I could sense Bunk’s presence. But H talked some sense into me.

Surprisingly, SHOCKINGLY, after the initial upset, Primo was philosophical about Bunk’s disappearance. Until recently. One night last week, he woke up crying for Bunk in the middle of the night. I held him and found him Pooh Bear, and reassured him that I had done everything (well, short of driving back to hunt the blanket down myself…) to find Bunk.

I offered to put Bunk’s picture on a milk carton. But Primo didn’t get the joke.

I said that maybe, some other little boy had found Bunk and so Bunk was living the good life, being loved and wrinkled by some other small fellow. I *thought* that would comfort him, but I didn’t take into account the typical five-year-old: apparently Primo would rather see Bunk dead at the bottom of the East River than being loved by another child.

He asked me to call the hotel again, which I did. (I mean, the next morning.)Well, you would have to, and don’t pretend you wouldn’t have!

I searched eBay and Carter’s for a replacement blanket, but no dice.

I prayed to Saint Jude….no, not really.

But then Primo offered an incredibly easy solution, or so I thought: could I make him another Bunk?

My mission, should I choose to accept it: go forth and find Bunk fabric.
I needed company (that's Sarah Louise). And sustenance.

First, another foray into babydom, just in case Carter’s had decided to do a retro line.



Five years is along time in the life of baby goods designers, I suppose, as nothing even closely resembled Bunk. You’d think there’d only be so many combinations of pastels and animals and baby stuff, but You. Would. Be. Wrong.

First we were drawn inexorably towards the feminine side of the store. You have it here, on the record, that I am NOT having another baby. But wouldn’t it be fun to dress a little girl? Sigh.

Or maybe not so much.

Leslie, I have found the perfect layette for you. So when you decide to procreate, please let me know. Or would Ingrid sleep in a crib??

So we soldiered on, to Joann Fabrics.

I am considering recovering my sofa – I thought something green, perhaps? To match the armchairs? No?

Maybe just unbleached muslin, nice and neutral.


We finally found the flannel. Have I mentioned it’s been VERY hot here? In the nineties? Exactly when you want to be shopping for flannel, allow me to tell you. I found lots of adorable prints, an entire array of classic Pooh, all kinds of fun novelty fabrics.

Retro is in bigtime in the fabric world, and cute prints abounded.

Look, it’s Boo-boo Kitty!

Sl’s pick, to recover her sofa, perhaps?:

No, no, I am kidding. This was her favorite: Well, of course it’s pink. Where have YOU been?



At long last, we found this. Which frankly, is not even close.

But it is pastel.
And it is plaid.
And it is flannel.

Okay, here’s the thing: I may be tall, and have reddish hair, and questionable fashion sense, but that does not make ME Julia Roberts. And this fabric is not going to make Bunk.

Primo swallowed his disappointment and consoled himself by bashing Seggie upon the head with the Pooh Bear chair. And Seggie howled, and I yelled, and all was returned to normalcy. But please stay tuned, as the Search for Bunk continues.


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Oh, and by the way, may I just mention that Blogger FUCKING SUCKS?
Yes, YOU, Blogger! You'd better be listening! I haven't been able to upload a photo int he normal fashion in *three* days, and it's on my last nerve. I DON'T CARE if you're FREE - I want you to function as expected, damn you! Only by perserverance and courage and pure stubbornness was I able to put photos in this post. NO THANKS to Blogger. Sheesh.