"If I don't believe in solipsism, who will?" - Al Batt

Saturday, June 26, 2010

On Aging and Hats

I'm a hat guy, I have maybe 10 of them - rather 9 of them. I am absent minded to the point of distraction. I need a paper pinned to my shirt pocket that says. "My name is Gunnar, if found, please call Lorna at (my phone number)". When we were on vacation I left my white canvas Tilley on a chair in a restaurant. I get attached to things and I'd had it for years. There weren't knock-offs yet when I bought it and it was expensive. We checked back with them, but either the next customer or the owner has a "new" hat. A couple of days later while riding my bike on a back road I found a butane torch on the shoulder of the road out in the middle of nowhere. Good lighter, flame like a blow-torch. Fate knows I smoke cigars; maybe she was evening things up for me.

This is going to be my replacement for awhile. It's an  ADAMS   first name in hats. It originally belonged to Maude Koevnig's brother who was a reporter from Chicago. He bought it on a trip to the Southwest and forgot it at Koevnigs on his return trip. Joe Koevnig used it as a fishing hat for years and after his death it hung for more years on a peg in their cabin by the stream. One Saturday when we were at the cabin with Maude, I admired it and wore it home. She told me how old it was. I don't recall, but I remember it was before I was born in '45. Joe tied his own flies. It still has one of his flies stuck in the band. I suppose I could pull it out, but it would seem like a bit of sacrilege.

I've had it for quite a while now. Maude died back in '94. I have to put my name in it. At breakfast this morning with L.P. I forgot it in the cafe. Duh? It isn't as good looking as it photographs. It isn't cool or jaunty. It's just an old beat-up collection of fly spots and moth holes. When I went back to pick it up the waitress said, "You came back for THAT thing?". Yep.

1 comment:

Margadant said...

I extend my condolences to you. I am still mourning the disappearances of a fine brown fedora in 1963 and a heavy Austrian hat that shed water like duck back in 1968. No matter how fine the lighter, the gods are not square by you.