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Showing posts with label pink hats. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pink hats. Show all posts

Monday, April 9, 2012

H is for...Hats


It is difficult to admit to a hoarding addiction.  I have seen the interventions.  No, no, I am not ready for television.  Airing my particular hoarding addiction is premature.

I prefer to call this “My Collection”. 

Hats.  There!  I said it!  I love hats from any era, any style.  It has been a life-long addiction, but dang it!  I cannot help myself. 

The letter H has been, is now, and forever will be for HATS.
Below are photos from family events or whatever.

Easter 1959--Mom in the back, Me in middle row, and then my little brother and sister in front

Great great grandfather, pre-Civil War

A very stylish woman in her college dress suit, fresh from a reunion

Left in Sunshine in a 1930s felt fedora; right is Bright Eyes in my new hat

My son-in-law wearing a black velvet 1960s hat, my daughter in a navy felt

Me in a 1950s veiled hat; my husband in an honest-to-goodness leopard skin pill box hat from 1940s

Saturday, February 25, 2012

The Battle for Space and Grandma Housely

Sounds from the heavens rose to great heights....


The old church was a lovely peaceful place to worship with its great acoustics: wood plank floor, white plastered walls, oak pews, and vaulted wood ceiling.
Many worshipers found peace here....

Sounds bounced around that sanctuary.  Music, whispers from the back row, giggles from teenagers, and even the crinkle of a candy wrapper were  heard by the congregants.

A young family found a spot in the third row from the altar.  Coming late made the front pews the only ones open.  The three children settled in for the sermon. The oldest girl went to sit with a friend, while the mother took the fussy baby girl to the adjoining nursery where she could hear the sermon through the intercom.

The father smiled benignly through most of the sermon before dropping off to sleep. This was not uncommon, but usually the wife gave him the elbow jab.  Not today.

That left the three-year old boy who found enjoyment with his double-jointed fingers and his imagination.  Fingers could become galloping horses or speeding race cars.  Today his fingers were alien spaceships.  They were engaged in a fierce battle.

As the struggle for space domination heated up, the boy stood up to use the back ledge of the second row pew to help better stage the drama. 

Sweet Grandma Housely always sat there in the second row pew.  People who visited the church often commented on this saintly woman with her fluffy white hair and lovely pink hat. 

Bless her heart; Grandma Housely was blind, and very hard of hearing.  She could just hear the sermon if she sat in that spot, with her hearing aid cranked up to high.

The little boy situated himself directly behind her precious white head, and resumed the space battle. 

Zooommm.  Ch-ch-ch-ch!  Aaaaaa…kabooooom!  Crashhhhhh.  The fingers/spaceships faced off on either side of the white hair, pink hat planet.

The fingers/spaceships met at the pinnacle of the hat, and collided in a glorious explosion.  Kerrrr-aasshhhh!  Nooooo…ker-ploom!  P-shhhhhhh! 

The congregation held its breath, watching the battle, and waiting for the space debris to shower down on Grandma Housely’s head.  The pastor had paused to allow the dying alien fighters some dignity.

The final notes of music filled the church just about then.  Church ended.

Dear Grandma Housely stood and turned around.  “What a precious family you have,” she smiled to the young couple.  “So quiet, I didn’t hear a thing from them!”

 

Many glorious sounds reach to the heavens....