My mother's hats

My mother was a city girl, moved to the country. She was a fashion diva in America's Dairyland, a beauty who walked the runways in Midwest fashion shows of the late 1930's. She could work high heels, gloves, blazers, and hats with the best of them. My mother is now transitioning into a care facility for Alzheimer's patients.

Three weeks ago a mysterious big box, weighing practically nothing, appeared by the front door.

My mother's hat collection.

Most afternoons I put one on and walk around in it.

I like this little wool derby but it's a bit small.

I've been looking for a mannequin so that I can properly photograph these hats, but nobody has one for sale.

So that's why there is an overload of selfies.

One afternoon I practiced with my camera on an auto timed mode and tried on hat after hat. In the middle of this my phone rang.

It was my brother, the one who had sent me the hats. Telling one wildly odd anecdote after another, he never fails to make me laugh.

He had serious news about our mother, whose situation continues to worsen. How strange to be wearing her favorite red hat as I photograph myself hearing this news.

Wearing your mother's hats takes you to a different time and place.

But mostly? Mostly it is simply just wonderful fun.