The Ancient Mariner and I sauntered casually through the doors of the Mercure Hotel to check out the quilt exhibit. "Good Lord," I choked, "they put our names under our blocks!" The six small quilt blocks displayed in the lobby were the only entries to which names were attached.
Most of the pieces were on display in a room just off the lobby. As we edged into that room, one of us blushing furiously, two ladies seated on chairs in the corner stood to greet us. One balanced herself on a cane. Try as we might by word and pantomime to convince them to return to the safety and comfort of their folding chairs, they remained on their feet.
Realizing we had reached a cultural impasse of sorts, the Ancient Mariner and I signed the guestbook and inspected each item on display; one of us used facial expressions and gestures to indicate which items most appealed to her; the other nodded sagely at appropriate intervals while keeping one eye on the lady with the cane in case she started to tip over. We were walking an emotional tightrope. We didn't want to overstay her balance, but we didn't want to offend these nice ladies by rushing through the exhibit too quickly. What's a gaijin to do?
I decided to swallow my embarrassment and take ownership of my quilt blocks. I gestured toward the lobby and then gestured toward myself. The lady with the cane responded by beaming at me and gesturing toward her own chest. We all shuffled out to the lobby where she pointed to her name on the card and the square she had made. I pointed to my name and squares and admired her tiny perfect stitches.
Then the Ancient Mariner took our picture to prove to my children and siblings that I really did make quilt squares that were displayed in a public building in Japan.
Next time I'll try to get a picture of the Ancient Mariner looking sage at a quilt exhibit.
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