Me, my Hat and I

I recently experienced a bout of separation anxiety. I lost my hat!

"What?" you say. "Separation from your hat?"
Yup, my hat. You see I and my hat have been mates since 1993 when I bought it at JC Penny. I couldn't believe I could find a hat this nice in a store like that, but I didn't 2nd guess my luck and I snapped it right up. And from the moment I tried it on, I knew it would be a long time friend. Although I was already bald, I was still young enough that my brain programming told me I was hardy and didn't need a hat. But somehow I just needed to by this hat.

Now of course, I realize I was already, despite my middle aged macho social characterization, programmed to be a hat guy. You see, I got my first hat to go with my Sunday-go-to-church outfit as you see in this picture of my family when I was in fifth grade.

Hat's were in back then and they were considered to be part of a well dressed man's wardrobe. That's me on the left next to my mom ( I think). This is where my hat training/tapes started.

Of course like all trends that one passed and wearing hats went away. I became the typical male who was sure I didn't need on even as I lost my hair. The lowest I would stoop was to wear a beany in really cold or snowy weather or specialized hats for things like fishing, or sailing, or golf - you know, the kinds that sort of go with the shtick. 

Fishing hat

My Bahamas sailing captains hat

My golfing hat

Then there's graduation

and Mexico

 

and Wisdom Cruises

and Italy

and fun

And more fun

And Oh, did I say fishing?

But I digress. Back to my special felt hat. You see the first time I tried this hat on it was like, it and I were made for each other. It fit perfectly. And when I looked in the mirror I was transported to somewhere between the old west, Crocodile Dundee and Indianan Jones - I leaned toward Indiana.

You've heard the saying, "the hat makes the man"? Well in this case I can attest to some truth in that saying. When I put that hat on I can do almost anything. I can even walk to the car , open my rider's side door and get in - all by myself!

So a couple weekends back when we visited Philly and visited our friend Mary Ann and went out to dinner at the Hattery (of course) in Doylestown, and it had stopped snowing, I went into my senior funk and left my hat hanging back at the Hattery when we left.

So when we got home we called Mary Ann in a panic and asked her if she would please call the Hattery and recover my precious bonnet. I'd left it sandwiched over top of another man's hat (the Hattery is decorated with men's hat hanging all about) that was hanging on a post behind the booth we sat in for dinner. So of course it was transparent to everyone at the Hattery when she called to ask them if it was there. But Mary Ann, who had a picture of me in my hat and knew what it looked like, persisted. She trekked on back to the Hattery and retrieved my identity and sent it back to me. And much to my relief, it arrived yesterday.

So what's all the fuss you ask? I could for sure go out and find another black felt hat, a new one. But it wouldn't be the same. This black felt hat is not only broken in, it knows me. It's got a few of my hairs inside of it (it's takes one or two from me each time I wear it just to be sure I don't get to uppity) and it's formed just the way I like it. I've brushed it and gently washed it over the years to keep it looking good and feeling good and I have a special place on my hat shelf in our coat closet just for this hat. I mean how many of you can claim a 23 year friendship with a hat?

So Mary Ann is my latest savior. She's made me whole and complete again. Maryann, I and my hat thank you.

The poem Shapeshifter

The following poem was written by Jessica Colker to her husband and just found again before the memorial service for her in PHL on April 9, 2016. As you can see from this poem, Jess's death was not just a loss to her husband, but to all who will miss the authenticity with which she lived her life.

Shapeshifter

If I could slip
inside your skin,
slipper my feet into your soles, 
shrug on the heavy leather of your hide, 
What might reside there?
What tickle and brush of fur -
the surge and slack of muscle
against tendon, against bone?
What shape may our body take?

If I could merge
the roadways and tunnels of our vessels, 
tangle the highways of veins, 
reroute our arterial surge, 
What shunted path may our blood make?
What fresh map, inked red, inked blue,
May be drawn with you?
What foreign soil may our footfalls grace?

Tell me
If I could cradle your heart
within mine, flap in time
with the wings of your valves,
what thrust of love may we make?
Your heartbeat -
slow, definitively assuredly slow,
and mine with the quickened pace
of something startled,
what music might we create?
What rhythm may ricochet
from this eight-chambered part?

And what if
I could pour my emptiness into yours -
trust your hollow spaces with mine?
What places could nothingness find -
unnamed rooms, unnamed streets,
the vast span of constellations and solar dust?
How must we travel these empty ranges?
With the blood with flesh with teeth,
with the timbre of our trembling cords, 
and together, my fingers gloved within yours.

To Brian Melito from Jessica Colker

Now maybe you can see why we'll all miss her.