Captain's Log, March 19th, 1996- 1st Entry

Don't ask me what got into me, but I started to make a quilt for my Kid. What was I thinking? I've decided that quilters are insane; you have to be to cut up big pieces of fabric into little itty-bitty pieces, sew all the itty-bitty pieces back together again to make a big piece, and then sew all over top of it to keep all the layers together. WHAT? Crazy, I say! I'm already feeling slightly dizzy and I'm not even making those super complicated ones. Holy smokes. I don't know, it's nice to be doing this for my son, but I feel about it, the way I feel about scrapbooking. It's a pre-made recipe.  All you have to do is glue.

too many squares.....

Anyways, this got me thinking about a quilt exhibition I saw in Port Townsend on March 11, 1996. Why do I remember this date when I can hardly remember how old I am? It's because it was on the first day of a long road trip I was taking with my then-boyfriend. We had both graduated university and decided to buy a 1973 mustard-yellow Dodge camper van which we nicknamed Good Ship Miss Debbie. We also decided to keep a travel log, this being the pre-digital age, and being on a tight budget, we didn't take too many pictures and instead we decided I would draw and he would write.


Port Townsend, Washington was our first stop and I made a special note about the "Quilting through History" museum in our log. I remember some of the quilts were over 100 years old and very well preserved. They didn't look at all like what we think of and see today. They were all hand-made, embroidered and depicted scenes of everyday life at that time. Some clearly told specific stories about the people who were making it or sleeping in it. It was fascinating that quilting was recording history just like story-telling.

Here are the first 2 entries in the log, my then-boyfriend, wrote pretty well, I think, but obviously wasn't so taken by the quilts as I was.

March 11, 9pm-1st entry
 
Left the Port of Townsend today, bound for Southern waters on the Good Ship Miss Debbie. New First Mate and Navigator on this voyage by the name of Solare Cayer, commendable sense of direction and excellent map-reading skills. Surprising given that this is her maiden voyage in such a capacity. Presently we are moored on the blacktop of the ferry terminal a few miles out of Coupeville on our way to Port Townsend. Early indications were bad, given the dead pigeon and mortally wounded young doe we have seen thus far. We must try to keep our mojo working for us and continue with the roadkill count. Minor customs delay due to rent-a-cop type with nothing better to do, but at least we weren't searched bodily as were the four young black gentlemen next to us in the office. Those people take their jobs way to seriously. Ferry ready for boarding, thus ends the first entry.

March 12

Navigator went to sleep after Aberdeen-a logging town of unrequited uglyness and menace. This goes a long way toward explaining the tragedy of Kurt Cobain. Port Townsend on the other hand was a picture postcard-more akin to America's Hollywood version of itself than to the grim readily revealed by the past few logging towns. Not that they are without their quirky charm, but Port Townsend's veneer of old world charm was nearly completely blinding. However the America within was revealed in the washroom of the restaurant where we had morning coffee. I found a label for 30 lbs or X-heavy mayonnaise. The true beauty beneath the false front. A classic theme in art and lit brought to life in Washington's Victorian Seaport.