...and a child's lilac and white fleece cloche.
I was thinking that a lilac and white fleece cloche sounds more interesting than this actual hat appears at the moment. We never did (as in, I never did) seal our cobb bench, which means it's dirty. If you sit on it, or put clothes directly on it, you/they become dirty. It brushes off pretty easily, but those who peruse the Free Bench might not understand that the dingy cloche could perk up easily with a brisk little whack, or a turn in a washing machine.
This makes me think of all those things that sound better than they end up being. That happens a lot with food. Like granny smith apples, which have never equaled the granny smiths I ate one autumn as a nine-year-old in Massachusetts; or hot dogs (when I ate them), which have never even come close to one I had on the streets of New York outside of Lincoln Center at age fourteen. Maybe the key is expectation. I have in mind the Platonic ideal of the apple, the hot dog, and therefore they can't measure up. But when I'm not expecting a thing - I've never even heard of mujadarrah let alone had it, or my friend, N----, says, "Try this book, Olive Kittredge, see what you think-" there is room for an authentic experience because nothing has come before.
Which makes me think of the situation here. It is hard to come at this writing fresh every day, to manage to frequently bring something authentic, and I imagine it shows.
Back to the cloche. K--- will tell you that the cloche is not my hat. In fact, she has thrown herself into my hat search with energy and perceptiveness. I have been on an earnest hunt for a hat that looks good on me for years. Today, K--- found My Hat in the basement: a velvety-textured, two-and-a-half-feet-across black and apricot-colored sombrero. So, nice to know I have something fetching to wear every Cinco de Mayo. Though given the weight of it, the hat hair will be something fierce.
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