I raised my left hand and motioned with my right to my barely 4-month-old wedding band topped with my engagement ring, “Anchor husband. I’m not going anywhere.” I was interviewing with a trio of recruiters at a creative staffing agency about what I wanted to do in my career. They had suggested tapping into a network in Cincinnati that had ties to Seattle, Washington, as a way to get back to the Pacific Northwest. That is, return to Portland, Oregon, the city that had not too long ago spit me out, landing me in Cincinnati.

See, a mere month, maybe month and a half, after I married my husband, I was laid off from the job that brought me to my husband’s city in the first place. Early on in our courtship, my husband and I had one of those deal-breaker conversations. I had mused about how exciting and fun it would be to pack up and move to Minneapolis or Seattle or Portland—Maine! He seemed confused. He asked why a person would ever want to move to a place where they didn’t know anyone and didn’t have any family. (A very Cincinnatian perspective, I’ve since learned.) I laughed. That’s exactly what I had done in the past 2-or-so years. I moved blindly to Atlanta, Georgia, where the only thing I knew for sure was that I was enrolled in a school. Ditto for Cincinnati, just swap “school” with “job.” He didn’t say “never,” but placed the caveat that family (his or mine) would have to be nearby, narrowing the options to Alaska and Florida. Maybe Texas?

Thing is, while I often tell the story of this deal-breaking conversation, it wasn’t difficult to let my wandering daydream float away. Sometimes I wonder if my drifting, road-tripping phase—a short couple of years—was just put-on. As if I was trying on a hat and my husband helped me to realize that it wasn’t quite right for me. I have been happy and comfortable living in the same area for 10 years.

My husband keeps me here. “I came here for a job and stay for my husband,” I quip often. He’s my geographic anchor, but an anchor in many other ways, too. He’s kept me steady and has, at times, been a voice of reason when my own messy mind has tried to distract me from what is true and right.

I signed the lease on my first Cincinnati apartment in January, on my husband’s birthday. I didn’t know that at the time, because I didn’t know him. It seems fitting that my official Ohio residency started on his birthday. And, so, it also seems fitting that my first Ohio Star quilt block, January’s block, represents my husband.

My husband has pointy elbows and has torn holes in a few sleeves of his work dress shirts. I have had them piled in my crafting area, because while they’re unwearable (for work), there is a lot of usable fabric. I chose two blue shirts, one light and one dark, because I think blue is his color. The block came together easier than I thought it would, seeing that it’s my first Ohio Star. I was impressed with the way my seams match up and I’m pretty pleased with myself. Ha!

When I showed my husband the block, he called it a “cubicle quilt,” because the shirts remind him of going to work. Which, is kind of a bummer. No quilt should remind you of work, unless your job is quilting, of course.

Note: I used theOhio Star Quilt Block Pattern Tutorial from Generations Quilt Patterns. It is very straightforward, easy to follow, and even has a handy cutting chart for different sizes of finished blocks.