Lost & Found

In my bedroom at home -- wait! I don't have a home -- well, when I had a home, in my bedroom hung, for over 15 years, a hat. It is a magnificient hat, classy, proud, full of elegant sass. I bought it in Bath, England at a time when I frequently wore hats. It has a big satin ribbon circling the base of the crown which ends in a proud bow at the back. And it is a soft purple, mauve really, sort of the color of a violet that's just seen a ghost. It was for this color that I bought the hat and it's because of this color that I never wore it out of the house. Well, that and the equally mauve blusher veil.

This is not to say that I didn't wear the hat; I did quite often -- in the house. I'd parade in front of the mirror admiring how polished, how poised, how proper I looked. But the fact is that in addition to the hat not really matching anything, it was just too fancy for America and the invitation to tea with the Queen never came. So I hung the hat where I could admire it each day and, thus, Lady Hat was relegated to decoration instead of adornment.

I lost my habit of wearing hats several years back for reasons I don't remember and which don't require the level of introspection I am wont to give these matters. But while in New Zealand I realized that the hat I had brought from home was not up to par and shopped for a new one. I found the perfect ball cap -- a kind of hat I've never worn comfortably. But this one was small enough, the colors conforming enough, no dumb pictures or advertising on it. And since the sun is so strong in NZ and Australia I wore it regularly, until the last week in Australia when I lost it.

I've only lost a couple of things on this trip and each time I know exactly where and how: The compact during a night of dancing in the Lava Bar in Rotorua, NZ. The razor in the shower on Frasier Island, when I even told myself don't put that there, you'll forget it. The half-empty bottle of Woolite on the washer at the Tropic Days hostel in Cairns, Australia. In that case I left it there, saw it again when I came back to rinse out the handwash that had been soaking, reminded myself not to forget it, and forgot it the short time it took me to hang up the wash. And tragically, the leopard reading glasses in the cool two-sided glasses case left in the front seat of the car of a woman who gave me a ride from Nimbin to Brisbane; I remembered as she was driving away and cursed myself for not doing that obsessive doublecheck I always do. And lost, but retrieved, was the metal spoon that tucks into a neat little set with a fork and knife and enables me to eat anything I want to on the road. But most importantly in the lost and found department is the treasured faded black denim shirt that is a cornerstone of my travel wardrobe.

But the hat's whereabouts are unknown and this makes me crazy, not because I am mourning its loss (well, I kinda am), but rather because I don't know where I left it and I pride myself on knowing where my stuff is at all times. This compulsion is a healthy habit when traveling the way I have been -- frequently staying only one night in a place or packing small bags for day trips.

And I know many of you would like to make fun of me with this compulsion, but ask friend Elisa if she'll ever tease me again about it -- when I insisted on checking under the bed before we left a hotel room, I found a ten dollar bill!

So, I am a long way away from the point of this story, which is not to reveal even more obsessive behavior and thus give you ammunition of another kind, but to tell you I bought a new hat. A very cool hat. An expensive-for -Deborah hat. A hat that fulfills my latent cowgirl fantasy. This hat:

I first saw this hat in Port Douglas, Australia and had a fun conversation with the seller who showed me a picture of Bill Clinton and Chancellor Kohl in his hats. But, as some of you know, I can't just buy myself something because I want it. I have to find the justification. I have to visit it a few times. I have to work up to the indulgence. So I passed it by. The next day, while in Cairns, I saw the hat again -- apparently this man's regular shop is in Cairns. The day after that I deliberately went to see it and try it on. I stood in the doorway wearing it as people passed looking to see postive reactions. After I got a couple I felt it was OK to buy it, but it's not that easy. I had to try on each one of that style just in case one was better on me than another. Finally (I am sure the owner was thinking that with great emphasis), finally I buy the damn thing. And I couldn't have been more pleased.

But then a very curious thing happened and your interpretation of this will be an indicator of how you view the world. Within half an hour of purchasing the hat, while waiting at a bus stop, a bird shat on my hat (try that one out, Dr. Seuss!)! Yes, bird poop on my brand new hat! You could say it was a humbling statement deriding my indulgence, or -- as I prefer to think -- you could say it was an indicator of necessary protection. If I hadn't had bought the hat, that poo would have been in my hair! Clearly, I needed this hat. And it delights me still.