“I like that one!” a woman said as she scooted into the pew behind me.
 
I agreed. In fact, when the friend of a friend of a friend offered me her mother’s hats, sending along a less-than-stellar cellphone picture, this white hat was the one that I was most excited and curious about. (The photo was so bad, one hat I took to be cello straw turned out to be velvet). I couldn’t quite tell this white hat's shape or material, but I loved the little embellishments. When I got the collection, which also included the Brown Wool Hat, the Red Bowler, and the Black Hat with Scarf, I finally got a closer look at the hat. The milliner sewed on pearls and some long thin beads that were probably silver originally but tarnished over the years.
 
The veil is in excellent shape, though it’s one of those long veils I’m never quite sure how to wear. For it to lie correctly it seems like I have to tie it. Yet, unwilling to harm the veil, I always tie it very loosely; it inevitably comes untied. I have other hats coming up with the same kinds of veils, so perhaps I’ll learn some tricks for wearing them before I wear them. Suggestions welcome!

This black hat was one of the hats given to me along with The Brown Wool Hat and The Red Bowler. I initially didn’t take to it, because I thought it was too plain: a black hat with a thin black band. (Longtime readers will remember my unhappiness with the black-on-black Forgotten Hat). But then I thought, “Why not jazz it up with a pin or a scarf?” I tried this gold, red, and green scarf, and voila! I liked the hat much better.
 
Though I accessorized this hat, I am not a milliner, any more than I am a jeweler. People sometimes ask me if I sewed a hat, or put the feather or flowers on it, or if I made a piece of jewelry. I answer no, that my talent is shopping. 😊
 
Of course, I can’t take credit for buying this hat, since it was a gift, and the pin was my grandmother’s (the same grandmother whose White Pillbox, Navy Pillbox, and Cello Straw hats I’ve previously worn). I can take credit for choosing the scarf, though, a William Morris print that I’ve had for years. My husband gets the credit for choosing the background for this photo, a bright mural gracing a downtown building.

​I bought this hat while visiting Mendocino, just as I bought the blue Parkhurst hat and the gray Parkhurst hat there. I don’t wear a lot of brown, but I make an exception for leopard print.
 
I took this cozy hat to Washington state when I visited my mother over Christmas. In this picture, I’m posing with a view of a wintry Mt. Rainier.
 
At my mom's house, I encountered pieces of my childhood everywhere—those bird ornaments that I unpacked and hung on the tree every year, those plates that witnessed so many family meals, that battered metal loaf pan that held so many batches of molasses oatmeal bread.
 
My husband found a leather sun visor in the bottom of the coat and hat closet. I recognized it immediately as one I had made during a junior high art class' leather working unit. How it ended up in Washington is a mystery—I suppose my parents must have boxed it up with all the other hats in the closet when they moved from California, years after I had my own apartment.

Why I decided to make a sun visor, out of all the leather choices I had, is no mystery, though. Even then, hats interested me. I remember stamping the visor with the acorn pattern and working to get the colors just right. I wore the visor a lot after I made it.
 
However, as for many people, for me seventh and eighth grades were a dark time. When I saw this visor, I did not want to wear a hat that reminded me of those years, however much I loved wearing it at the time. It seemed haunted by that girl with big glasses and acne and wavy-soled Earth Shoe knockoffs, who hid in the science room at lunch and wrote science fiction stories on college-ruled paper. I didn’t even try the visor on, just slipped it back into the closet after snapping a few photos.
 
As I’ve been working on this project, I’ve had to stare often at the photographed signs of aging—the crease between my eyebrows, the puffiness beneath my eyes, the multiplying strands of gray hair. Sometimes I succumb to vanity and photoshop some wrinkles out. But for all time’s depredations, I wouldn’t be thirteen again for anything. I’m quite happy to be wrinkled, in my fun leopard print hat, enjoying a beautiful day at my mom’s house. ​

Like the Black Hat with Pearls, this hat caught my eye while I was Christmas shopping. I was buying a few last-minute items in the little shops in the cute downtown where I lived in the Bay Area. Though I had been practicing frugality, I had just had a financial win—I don’t remember if I had just gotten a raise, or if I had just completed a side editing project, but for some reason I felt I could spend some money on myself. I do remember that I was wearing this multicolored red scarf. I saw this hat in one of the stores and decided I would splurge on it. The clerk asked me if I wanted to wear it instead of taking it in a bag, and I said, “Sure!”
 
Then I was walking down the street on a bright winter’s day, wearing a festive new red hat, feeling happy.
 
A lot of people love berets, but this is the only one I own. For warm hats, I prefer cloches—looser and more comfy. But I always wear this one a few times around the holidays, and recapture that happiness of having a bright new hat on a cold winter’s day.

​The first time I wore this hat was to a “Crazy Socks and Hats” New Year’s Eve party. I was in my 20s. I had bought this hat at a department store, but never worn it (as has been the case with so many of my hats through the years). I figured it was the closest thing I had to a crazy hat.
 
I’m not sure why I disregarded the vintage hats I had at that time, such as The Pink Hat with Roses. They probably would have made more of a splash than this one. Maybe I just wanted an occasion to wear this hat.
 
The people giving the party were friends of my older brother. He lived in the same town as I did, and we used to hang out in bars in downtown Palo Alto together. Sometimes other friends came, but sometimes it was just him and me. He knew bartenders and had made friends with some regulars. In one pub, when a great song came on the jukebox, the group of us would sing along. To this day, Squeeze’s “Tempted” reminds me of the Rose and Crown. I would never have had to courage as a young woman to go to those bars and pubs alone, but with my older brother in the bar I felt safe.
 
So the first time I wore this hat, I was dancing with a bunch of my brother’s friends on New Year’s Eve, shoeless, like everyone else, so I could show off my silver-threaded socks. 

As a send-off before the acquisition, the department took a day trip—sailing from Santa Cruz to Monterey on a chartered sailboat, having lunch on the Monterey wharf, and returning to Santa Cruz in a limo. I wore this hat on that trip. Here's a picture of me in this art fair cloche taking the ship’s wheel with a look of nervousness and delight on my face (I kept thinking of the Gilligan’s Island theme).
 
For the first time on this trip, Russ and I were a bit more open about hanging out. After all, we would both be leaving the company soon. We sat next to each other at the group lunch. (A couple of people ordered lobster on the company dime, but as a vegetarian I contented myself with pasta).
 
The next day, back at the office, one of my coworkers commented that Russ and I had spent a lot of time together.
 
“We’re dating,” I told her, the first time I had said it aloud in the office.
 
“I thought you two would get together.”
 
I was surprised. Apart from anything else, I’d had a different boyfriend for part of my time at the company.
 
“You were single; he was single. I thought something would happen.”
 
If only it was that easy to find the right person, I remember thinking.
 
I feel incredibly lucky to have met my husband. Christmas is a time to remember your blessings, and he’s been the greatest blessing of my adult life. This picture is taken in his hometown, in Santa’s Sleigh on the main downtown street.
 
Wishing you happy holidays!

PS--In this close up of the hat, you can see that the flower decoration is a detachable pin. I've worn it on the Madame X Hat sometimes to jazz it up.

​My first Christmas in my first apartment, I bought a tree so tall I had to cut the top off in order to stand it upright in the studio’s one room. That’s how enthusiastic (and clueless) I was, getting my first Christmas tree. I bought lights and more lights for it, distributed the few ornaments I had (gifts from my college roommates, inherited ones from my grandma Alma) and then bought more.
 
I always have a Christmas tree, even when I’m going to be traveling for the holidays. I love the fir’s forest smell, the glow of the lights in a darkened room, the sparkle of ornaments in the sunshine. Though I’ve never again had a tree as big as that first one, I love the process of choosing and decorating a tree. I can reminisce looking at the ornaments—those from my roommates and my grandmother, those first sparkly glass pine cones I bought for myself, and also the mariachi man I bought on my honeymoon in Cancun, the nativity scene in a dried pomegranate from Budapest, the many ornaments given to me by loved ones through the years. A Christmas tree is a connection to my past, to all the years of decorating a tree as a child (even the scrawny living tree we had for years in the seventies), and as an adult. 

​No matter how busy I am, I always want a fresh tree in the house for the holidays. The only year in memory that I failed to have one was the year we were remodeling our kitchen, with the kitchen contents crammed into boxes that took up half the living room. At the same time, we were in escrow on our new home, going through the inspections and repairs. I had to settle for a tabletop model (complete with ornaments and lights) from the grocery store floral department that year.

Even last year, when my husband was out of town, I still managed to bring home a tree in my Miata, a much smaller tree than my first tree, but just as beautiful.

​This red bowler  (bumper?) seemed perfect for a tree-hunting expedition. This hat was one in the collection I got from Sandra that included the brown wool hat. It’s the only bowler-type hat I have, though not quite the color worn by British bankers in movies!

Almost four years ago, my husband and I moved to a new area where we knew no one. After settling in, we started venturing out to explore the area. We went to the local river park (even though the river is dry most of the year), walked the boardwalk along the coastal bluffs, and sampled syrah at local wineries. We also poked our noses into stores beyond the home improvement stores we haunted initially.
 
Probably because the town is a tourist destination, it has several antique stores,including one a little outside of town, right next to a vineyard. One day we decided to check it out. It’s a cramped store with items stacked atop display cases and chairs hanging off the walls to save space.  I moved from room to room, examining depression glass, rhinestone jewelry, a jar of old marbles.
 
Then, perched on one of the display cases, I saw this hat. Now, I knew I had a lot of hats. I’d meant to go through them before I moved but had run out of time (lucky for The Hat Project). The boxes had moved from one house’s spare room closet to another house’s.
 
But the new house’s spare bedroom had a bigger closet.
 
So, I thought I could break my hat moratorium and buy this black velvet one. Something about the jaunty way the little bow stood up called to me. It seemed a friendly hat.
 
Though after moving I felt the lack of my old friends and family, I quickly found out that people in this town are very outgoing. Before I learned to relax about it, I’d get impatient when grocery checkers stopped to chat and people waved each other through intersections instead of observing the right-of-way rules.

 Almost as soon as we hit town, we joined a chorus and started to make friends. We found a church we liked and became members. After the first Easter, the pastor said that next year we’d be up front singing, and we were. I wore this hat at the service the next Easter. as one of the musicians.
 
Here I am singing (actually, rehearsing before the service) on the recent Sunday I wore this hat. I think visitors to our church say, “What a friendly little church!” I hope this friendly little hat makes a good addition. ​

I recently realized that “hat lady” rhymes with “cat lady.” The way some people can’t resist a box labeled “Free Kittens,” I can’t resist a box of free hats. I want to give them a good home. I want them to be appreciated and worn. OK, I just want them.
 
Several months ago, my friend Katheryn let me know that a friend of a friend was looking to donate a collection of hats that had been her mother’s. The woman, Sandra, hoped to give them to a local theater company, but hadn’t gotten any interest. Would I be interested?
 
Free Kittens? Of course!
 
We made connections, and soon Susan was pulling up in my driveway, passing off a box of hats.

When I brought them inside and unpacked them, I discovered that they were all winter hats, made of wool and velvet.  Some were probably from the early sixties, and some might be more recent (perhaps as late as the eighties). Hats are difficult to date, especially classic hat shapes without labels inside. Like my grandmother’s hats, these hats were in basic colors, but those basics included bright red, as well as black and white. 

​Among the black, white, and red hats was this one brown hat. I’m guessing it’s from the sixties based on its shape, veil, and union label, but I don’t know for sure.

Every year, my church has a gratitude service and pie social on the Sunday before Thanksgiving. So, of course, I had to wear the pie dress.  Here I am posing with the pie I baked, before heading to the service.
 
I’m grateful for so many gifts this Thanksgiving, starting with my wonderful, supportive husband. In addition to his many other great qualities, he’s the photographer for all these hat project pictures of me. He learned long ago that he'd get a big smile from me if I was near a dessert.

I’m thankful I have food and shelter. I’m thankful for my friends and family. And I’m especially thankful to everyone who spends a little time reading The Hat Project. I can’t tell you what it means to me.
 
I got this burgundy fascinator a couple of years ago when I was visiting the Bay Area, hanging out with some of my old JewelTones friends. Betsy (aka Rosie the Riveter) had generously planned a gathering, and we sat around catching up and reminiscing about old gigs (the time we sang at a 100th birthday party; the time we were hired because “Tony  Bennet wasn’t available;” the time the power went out in a windowless room, and when we opened a door for light, the wind blew all the music off the piano).
 
Bonnie, the costumer, brought out this fascinator, which she’d decided wasn’t right for the JewelTones and was giving away. I actually restrained myself for a full second or two to give someone else a chance before leaping up and trying it on. Then, of course, everyone said I could have it.
 
I’m also thankful for my many generous friends who have passed on hats to me.
 
My best wishes to all of you for a lovely Thanksgiving!