Some long, hard, hat miles

This is my hat. It's not my only hat, but it's my favorite hat. It's the hat that says "ME".

It's my summer too-cool-for-school hat. It's my umbrella from the rain, my UV protection for my delicate ears. It's what makes me look taller. If I'm wearing this hat, it means there's adventure afoot.

This hat has been with me through thick and thin (me being thick, mostly.  Thin was a decade ago.) It's been with me in 115 degree heat in Utah, becoming soaked with sweat as me and my damaged knee toiled up the solid slab of rock 400 feet high.

It's been with me in the tick-infested trees of Missouri. Tick infested is an understatement, by the way. On the banks of the Eleven Point River, there's tick acreages which happen to have grass and tree coverings. "Indy, why does the ground move?"

My hat has been borrowed by my adorable spouse. But it smelled funny after that.

But now my hat is AWOL (All Worn Out and Lost). The central piece to my summer wardrobe is missing. I'm not sure I'll be able to get dressed. I won't be able to go out in public. I will be unable to function on any adventures.  

My winter hat cannot be substituted for my summer hat. My winter hat is too warm for summer. And it's brown. Somehow, deep in my fashion sense soul, I know this is important. I just don't know why.

Until my hat appears, or I give up and allow a (gasp!) new hat to cross the threshold, I'll be sitting under the table, in the dark, whimpering "my precious, my precious.."


      Happy Trails, and may your adventures get a hat trick.