Recently, in the termite rubble of what used to be a cedar chest, I found an old blanket, the kind that used to be in so many Hawaii homes, though no two were ever alike.

Not a meticulously hand-sewn Hawaiian-style quilt or a perfectly cut heirloom design; this was a patchwork mash-up of scraps sewn together with little regard for form or flow. To call it a “crazy quilt” would give it more credit than it deserved. Each square of fabric was as loud as it could be and uncoordinated with its neighboring squares. Made in the ’70s of fabric pieces from the ’60s, it is an uncommon treasure that used to be pretty common.

This is not the time of year to reminisce about blankets, but patchwork creations like this were so much more than blankets for keeping warm at night.

They were perfect to spread out on the parlor floor so the baby of the house could crawl or play or nap right in the middle of the family action.

At the beach, unfurled under the ironwood trees, they became family-sized picnic blankets with the big metal rice pot in the middle and rocks holding down the edges to keep them from flapping in the breeze.

Blankets like this were draped over the couch to keep the dog from messing up the upholstery, or later, to protect the dog from having to nap on the ripped up couch cushions.

They were draped over grandma’s legs when she went for outings with her wheelchair, not so much to keep her warm but as a measure of modesty.

They were napped on by cats, laid out in the back window of cars to prevent the sun from bleaching out the interior, used as impromptu theater curtains by creative kids producing living room concerts, and loved in a way that only practical things can be loved — roughly, carelessly, but loyally. And still, the blanket endured, sometimes due to new patches in the patchwork, which was easy to accomplish when there was no pattern that needed to be matched.

This wasn’t the sort of blanket you took with you to college or brought into your new house, but it was the one you looked for when you went back home to see your parents and wanted that feeling of comfort that went along with chicken dinner and the smell of the gardenia growing by the clothesline.

This particular blanket, the likes of which are seen hanging in the back of booths at the vintage collectibles shows at the Blaisdell, is unapologetic in its mix of lime green, bright purple and aggressive fuchsia all trimmed with an ostentatious strip of orange. The squares don’t even line up properly, but each one has a little story to tell: part of a dress worn to a party, part of a shirt worn to work, scraps from homemade curtains that used to hang in the back room; and in total, achieve all the things we strive for today: made from reused material, bespoke and handmade.

Reach Lee Cataluna at 529-4315 or lcataluna@staradvertiser.com.