Yesterday, while wandering the Sunday morning streets of Port Townsend, a Victorian seaside village two hours west of Seattle, Jill, Daniela and I entered the screen door of a café for weekend breakfast. This quaint, well maintained, turn-of-the-century brownstone was the perfect spot to plan our day as tourists. As I carefully balanced my three shot Americano back to the weathered antique table, I made note of a rectangular sign …