The Quilt of Many Conquests
Meg began a project three or four years ago, one that seemed to linger on and on without an end in sight. Nobody knows for sure of its origins, but it definitely hatched before Ian was seeded. Not that I have any room to brag, as I have clearly failed to complete many a task (e.g., running the Boston Marathon despite qualifying three times, earning that scholarship to Stanford to play baseball (I still have four years of eligibility), and writing an episode for The Simpsons) that I had set out to do oh so long ago. But this story isn't about me.
As part of a father's day gift, Meg had offered to make a quilt out of my old race t-shirts. I was impressed with her bravery at such an undertaking, for I would race in said shirts, which soaked up my sweat and foul stench and the blood of the rivals I crushed, and which I would then immediately strip off and store in an air-tight plastic bag, thus preserving the physical essence of my over-achieving effort. I admit that that last sentence is spotted with a smidgen of hyperbole, but I shouldn't have to tell you this because only kids and nerds wear their participant shirt during the actual race, and I am neither. Even though the idea of transforming a quilt built around my former conquests was cool, I had trouble giving up the shirts. In retrospect, I should have given her more shirts. And for all of you who thought when reading "conquests" in the title thought I was referring to all of my "converts" while frolicking around the country-side of Japan during those little-documented years of the mid-1990's, shame on you.
But then Ian was born. And we moved to a new house with no space big enough to work on the quilt. And then we moved again. Throughout the the Quilt Trials--as this episode shall be known hereafter and upon the records of the church--I playfully and metaphorically jabbed Meg with a "finish my quilt" whenever she asked if I wanted anything. I think this saying gradually wore her down, like the ever flowing-and-ebbing shoreline and, in a couple efforts spread over a few weeks, she finished the quilt for all to behold and for me to snuggle up with for all of those chilly Saturday nights watching Ducks football (because we all now the Blazers as a team technically no longer exist and probably won't play many if any games this upcoming season (thanks a lot, greedy rich people)).
Thank you, Meg, for seeing this one through to completion. I'll enjoy it till I die, at which point I expect to be wrapped up in it and burned.
As part of a father's day gift, Meg had offered to make a quilt out of my old race t-shirts. I was impressed with her bravery at such an undertaking, for I would race in said shirts, which soaked up my sweat and foul stench and the blood of the rivals I crushed, and which I would then immediately strip off and store in an air-tight plastic bag, thus preserving the physical essence of my over-achieving effort. I admit that that last sentence is spotted with a smidgen of hyperbole, but I shouldn't have to tell you this because only kids and nerds wear their participant shirt during the actual race, and I am neither. Even though the idea of transforming a quilt built around my former conquests was cool, I had trouble giving up the shirts. In retrospect, I should have given her more shirts. And for all of you who thought when reading "conquests" in the title thought I was referring to all of my "converts" while frolicking around the country-side of Japan during those little-documented years of the mid-1990's, shame on you.
But then Ian was born. And we moved to a new house with no space big enough to work on the quilt. And then we moved again. Throughout the the Quilt Trials--as this episode shall be known hereafter and upon the records of the church--I playfully and metaphorically jabbed Meg with a "finish my quilt" whenever she asked if I wanted anything. I think this saying gradually wore her down, like the ever flowing-and-ebbing shoreline and, in a couple efforts spread over a few weeks, she finished the quilt for all to behold and for me to snuggle up with for all of those chilly Saturday nights watching Ducks football (because we all now the Blazers as a team technically no longer exist and probably won't play many if any games this upcoming season (thanks a lot, greedy rich people)).
Thank you, Meg, for seeing this one through to completion. I'll enjoy it till I die, at which point I expect to be wrapped up in it and burned.
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