The Queen of Hats

The coronavirus curve here in Nevada has more than doubled for five days in a row, so I’ve gone back into isolation. I balance my time and maybe more to the point, my energies, to try to achieve something with my daily portion of my physical energy and with my creative energy each day.

Since this virus thing took effect, I’ve matched up all my Tupperware with the appropriate lids and tossed out the rest, cleaned my kitchen cupboards, and repainted one of the pantries.

I’ve finished one novel and am 4/5^ths of the way through another. In what also falls into the creative category, I’ve completed lyrics for fourteen old-time country songs. To finish the task and bring tunes to my words, I need to enhance my extremely limited musical knowledge. With that in mind, even though I have a piano, I bought a guitar. It needed re-stringing, which I tackled with the aid of YouTube videos. It only took me two months to find one that actually helped. Once you know how, it’s easy.

Now, I have to find an online teacher—or more YouTube videos. Maybe I’ll begin with the videos, and when I can tell I can’t go any farther, this virus will have shrunk away, and I can get a real, live teacher.

I also ordered some songwriting software and a computer piano keyboard. My friend Carol taught me to play years ago, and at one time, I was not horrible. My head remembers, but my fingers have forgotten. They’ll need some drastic exercise to get them going well enough to make a sound that isn’t painful, or painfully slow.

I intend to finish the new book first. It’s a lot of fun, and I got the idea for it when I was watching The Maltese Falcon for the hundredth time. Set in Detroit in 1947, I’m cramming it with a lot of memories and research.

So, you’re probably asking, what does all that have to do with hats? One of the physical energy projects was to bring my closet up to date. I put the heavier, strictly winter, clothes in the spare bedroom closet, culled out the clothes that don’t fit or that I’m just tired of wearing, and offered them up to Goodwill. Boots that I didn’t wear this winter got a Goodwill run, too.

I intend to go through my underwear drawers but that’s on the bottom (if you’ll pardon the expression) of the list.

The next thing was the hats. I was raised with hats, and I still love them. In my Baptist church, once a girl reached adolescence, she was expected to wear a head covering of some sort, even if it were only a handkerchief.

I always had hats, real hats. Even today, a “fascinator” is only a big barrette, not a hat. I like them, too, and have several, but they don’t qualify as a hat in my world.

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A few years ago, my daughter bought me a bundle of big hat boxes. It still ranks right up there with one of my all-time favorite gifts. To make it even better, she came up with the bright idea that I take a picture of each hat and tape it to the front of the box so I could see what was inside. Have I told you before that she’s brilliant?

With the arrival of spring, winter hats go to the top shelf, and summer hats go down where I can reach them. I have several categories. The majority are what we call “Church hats.” I know—hardly anyone wears them now, but I still do. I’d not sooner go to church bareheaded than I’d go barefoot. My grandmother wouldn’t like it. The second category are the ones that aren’t church hats, but are casual, or sun hats. The last ones are my cowboy hats.

It’s not only a matter of style to me. Hats with a brim protect your eyes. Hats mean you don’t have to fuss with your hair. Hats make me feel completely dressed.

So, the hats with brims are on the shelves. I counted them. I have forty-two in all:

11  western

14  casual or sun hats

15  church hats

 2  antiques for costumes

Now, mind you, I have two drawers full of non-brim hats, berets and such, and about a dozen baseball caps. They don’t need to be switched out for the seasons.

Since hats come and go, three went to Goodwill, two went into the trash.

Oh, dear. I just now remembered the stack of very-wide brimmed yardwork hats in the garage. So let’s say, 46 in all.

My daughter is also a hat girl, but not nearly to the extent I am, but then, I began my collection a lot earlier than she did hers. To tell the truth, she’s more of a shoe girl. She got that from my mother. I wonder how many pairs she has? We may never know, but I bet she could give Imelda Marcos a few.