Patchwork Promises

 If you happen to know my husband, you may have noticed he’s nearly always in blue jeans. Has been since I met him in 1973. What you may not know is that for decades (probably since I stopped trying to patch them), I’ve been saving his torn and worn jeans—along with a pair or two of my own—with the intention of one day cutting them into squares and making a quilt.

Eventually, I filled a large box labelled “Old jeans for quilt.” After the box filled, the jeans began piling up on top.

One day I took an honest look at that box with its added pile. “Who am I kidding?” I thought. “This quilt is never going to happen.”

Too stubborn to part with them, I thought I’d make time once I retired.

Then I retired.

Months passed. The jeans remained untouched. Not being one who enjoys hanging on to useless stuff, I reached a decision about the jeans. “If one year goes by from the date of my retirement,” I told Hubby, “and I still haven’t begun cutting those jeans into squares, they’ve got to go.”

I took his silence to mean he held no opinion one way or the other.

Where exactly they would ‘go,’ I had no idea. Do thrift stores want them? I didn’t know, but the pressure was finally on. I began cutting out squares while watching TV. Or, as I like to call it, redeeming the time. At some point after the cutting began, it occurred to me that ripped jeans are trendy and expensive. I was probably sitting on a gold mine which, now that I was cutting it all up, would once again be worthless. Oh well. I never did have a head for business.

The box now contains 250 seven-inch squares of denim waiting to be pieced together. In varying shades of blue, faded blue, grey, black, and faded black, I figure I can arrange them into some sort of pattern. I even cut out several back pockets which I plan to randomly apply at assorted angles to camouflage the blunders I’m certain to make.

Next step: stocking my sewing box with heavy thread and sturdy sewing machine needles. 

Accounting for a half-inch seam allowance, my questionable math skills tell me I can make a quilt about eight feet square if I want it that large. Maybe I should make three twin-size, so each of our kids gets one. Or five lap quilts, one for each grandson? Should I continue saving jeans? How long do I expect us both to live, anyway?

Maybe I should hang onto the finished quilt in case my husband becomes a celebrity. We could raffle them off and donate the proceeds to charity. Can you imagine how much a quilt might go for if made from blue jeans once worn by Dwayne Johnson or Kanye West or Ed Sheeran? How about Elvis or O.J. Simpson or Billy Graham?

Well, I suppose if Hubby becomes famous, whichever of our kids ends up with this masterpiece can cash in. Meanwhile, I have a project to finish. If a year goes by and I still haven’t begun stitching this heirloom together, the pieces have got to go.

“There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens…a time to keep and a time to throw away, a time to tear and a time to mend…” (from Ecclesiastes 3)