Green Hat

About 10 years ago, during an Art-a-Whirl celebration, I bought an emerald green hat.  The annual tour of artist studios and the opportunity to browse through the available artwork tempted me out of my usual seclusion. 

A significant amount of time was spent browsing through delicate vintage clothes which had been enhanced with dye and clever embroidered artwork. A snug wool hat drew me back more than a few times. The style was something between a wide brim bucket and a cloche, or maybe a modified fedora. 

The artist had embroidered a trio of ranunculus flowers with leaves and a pansy on the right side of the boiled wool hat. Nestled in the middle of the bouquet, an old woman, looking suspiciously like an aging fairy out of Irish folklore, winked at me as if we shared some secret insight available only to the grey haired elders. 

The artist beamed with pleasure as I walked toward her with my credit card. Before she parted with her creation, she explained that she had designed and constructed the piece during a December blizzard as she waited to hear from her daughter, who was in labor with her first grandchild. True story or not, I loved the heart-filled back story and came home wearing the lovely creation. I wore it self consciously, attracting attention and comments. As time passed it ended up forgotten, under my stack of berets.

It is my habit to wear reds and black but a recently I made a conscious effort to include more of the green color spectrum in my choices. I invested in emerald earrings,  followed by emerald colored eyeshadow, glasses, green skinny jeans and work shirts. 

Sitting outside today, in the chill April sunshine, I wanted something to cut the glare on my notebook. Suddenly remembered the green hat. From the bottom drawer I pulled it out, shook it off and pulled it on my head. I adjusted the warm wool brim, perfect for protecting my aging eyes, I felt grateful for my hat with a sun blocking bonus. 

Like many of us, I currently find myself in a terrifying place, one I never imagined before this deadly virus appeared. I struggle daily with overwhelming anxiety, the kind that stops me in my tracks. But in my green wool hat, sipping a cup of hot tea, I am filled with gratitude.