June 2026

Bicentennial / Sesquicentennial + Quilting a really big quilt

Fun house effect from my glasses

Just a quick one this month. I’ve been busy tooling around Oregon before I can’t drive anymore.

I’m scheduled for cataract surgery in mid-August and have to be out of my contacts for 4-6 weeks beforehand so they can get accurate measurements. I’ve worn hard contacts since I was thirteen and I’m severely myopic at -1700 (if you don’t know what that means, think: Mr Magoo). I’m effectively blind without glasses, and even with them, I don’t see well enough to drive safely.

July is going to be very introspective to say the least, not being able to see properly. Close up work should be fine though, so I’ll still be able to sew. I’m technically ‘young’ for cataracts but mine are advanced enough to be causing problems and I can’t be corrected to 20/20 anymore with either contacts or glasses so it’ll be nothing short of miraculous to be able to see the clock when I wake up in the morning. I’m looking forward to seeing colors better too. Apparently cataracts give everything a yellow tinge.

1976 / 2026 / 2076?

So it’s almost our country’s sesquicentennial and for those of us oldsters who remember the bicentennial, this one has a shockingly different vibe.

Back then the tacky was out in full force with literally everything from Burger King wrappers to toilet paper to condoms covered in flags, the Declaration of Independence, and other patriotic flair¹. (I recommend the free gift article linked below in the footnote for a fascinating read) And yet in my memory at least, it was also a national celebration that truly brought us all together.

I was twelve and in the sixth grade. We spent the entire year diving deep into American history and apparently making lots of flags (see photo below). And because my teacher was a fitness buff in those early days of jogging, our class ran 200 miles around the school’s playing field, tallied up in one or two mile increments, as a way to show our civic enthusiasm. It was an excellent excuse for getting out of class for a little bit. All you had to do was sign up for a lap or two to miss math or some other dreaded subject. Even I did my part and I was adamantly anti-gym at that age.

That’s me in the second row on the left with arms crossed over my chest because I was stressed out that my blouse was possibly too low cut (a memory that obviously seared itself into my soul). I loved that shirt, it was covered in a delicate floral pattern but it did gape open a bit when bending over, so my fears were real. It was also too grown up for me and I must have known it.

If I look strangely older than most of the kids, it’s because I’d already achieved my full height of 5’ 3” and was one of the only girls who already wore a bra. A few years later I took advantage of this quirk (along with my older sister’s ID) to get into bars well before I turned 21.

Our teacher is the guy on the right who looks like The Fonz in glasses and a tricorn hat. He actually did Fonzi imitations daily and even then, it was really cringe. I admit I somewhat tormented this man with an endless stream of sass and if I could, I would apologize. I’m sorry Mr. Lipman!

That summer a flotilla of tall ships sailed into New York harbor as part of the city’s celebration — a huge event that I’d have loved to see — but we missed it because we were already on Block Island, which is off the coast of Rhode Island. We spent a good portion of every summer there and it was a deeply formative time for me and my siblings. We were free-range kids set loose on a tiny island covered in honeysuckle and blackberries with little to do besides hunt for cool rocks, dig for clams, and hang out on the beach. Hitchhiking was a completely normal and safe way to get around and we did it often. Unthinkable now.

We had hoped we could see the ships sail by on their way to New York but if memory serves, it was foggy that day and so we saw nothing. The island had a fantastic parade though, very 1970s with pickup trucks covered in seaweed and shirtless ferry guys drunk and dressed up as pirates. The town was a lot like the town in the movie Jaws, which had come out the year before and had terrorized us so much that we barely set foot in the water again. The new showWidow’s Bay, on Apple TV, has also triggered loads of memories about small towns on tiny New England islands with their colorful denizens and historical weirdness. I very much recommend giving it a watch, it’s hilarious.

Which brings me to the present — America at 250, and wow, what a bummer it all is.

The list of horrors is far too extensive, and besides, you already know all about it. Somehow the fetid reflecting pool, demolished East Wing, and White House lawn torn to shreds after the human cock-fighting spectacle feel particularly painful. In a recent Marc Maron HBO special (also highly recommended, clearly I’m self-soothing by watching too much TV) he does a bit about seeing a six hour documentary on Hitler with all his well-cataloged crimes against humanity, and only truly getting upset at the end when he learns that Hitler shot his dog before committing suicide. Somehow dog-murder was the bridge too far for Marc. Totally relatable as I lose my mind over easily-fixable things like all that godawful fake gold glitz encrusting the Oval Office. I know it’s meaningless but dang, it somehow really grinds my gears.

My only real feeling about this sesquicentennial is how depressing it is that this is where we’re at. However, I maintain a fervent hope that we will not only be able to restore our destroyed White House, but also rebuild our nation’s democracy, regain a sense of national unity, and retain a shred of dignity sometime in the future. Not holding my breath, however. It’s gonna take a minute.

This weekend the only plans I have are catching up on work and sewing. Portland, as usual, will sound like a war zone well into the night with my fellow citizens completely ignoring the fireworks ban.

And then we’ll simply have to move on, fingers crossed that we make it to the tricentennial in 2076.

In the Studio

I’m finally finishing this very large quilt that’s been sitting on my sewing table, ignored for months. It’s 90 by 90 inches and part of my ‘sibling series’ of quilts that start with the same building blocks but turn out differently depending on how I cut and sew the final pieces together. This is the third. I think I have one more in me but it will be very different.

I procrastinated on finishing it partially because of its size — it’s a lot to wrangle through my sewing machine — but also because this layout is the same one I used for Lucca, Recycled. I decided that it feels different enough though, with its minty fresh colors and more angular lines. I’m happy I finally pushed through.

Woody Creek still not finished on the left, Lucca on the right. Same but not the same.

I used a wool batting this time which makes it feel a bit like a duvet or comforter. It also lightens the whole thing up because the top is made mostly from linen and it’s heavy. I still need to hand sew the binding down on the back and get it off to the photographer before he goes on summer vacation. It’ll make a lovely winter quilt.

This will be my last large piece for a while (famous last words? we’ll see) because I’m eager to start playing with all that plaid I bought in May. But this quilt took over my sewing area with its mountains of wooly fluff, so I needed to finish quilting it first.

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That’s all for this month. There were good things — Happy Pride! Happy Juneteenth! Happy World Cup! Happy Solstice! Happy Obama Center opening! and for me and my husband, Happy 30th Wedding Anniversary! He still makes me laugh every day.

Keep on keeping on 🐸,

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1. Gift article from the New York Times, total worth giving it a look! How a Radical Historian Saved the Schlock of ‘76