Wednesday, September 16, 2015

Helen's hats...






In the corner of her bedroom sat an old wicker chair she'd picked up at a garage sale.
It was what sat on that chair I had come looking for...

Three floral hat boxes stacked one atop the other like they had been for all the years I could remember.

They contained my aunts most prized possessions.

Three wonderful hats she had acquired over the years.

One had been rescued from a thrift store in the nineteen seventies.

The red one was a souvenir from Paris in the late fifties.

And the black one had belonged to my mother.

Everyone else had already rummaged through her house and belongings. Picking through her life like scavengers.

Those who had come before had absconded with her jewelry and china and anything else they had deemed valuable.

Helen would have laughed at their notion of valuable and hid that laugh behind her hand to hide her crooked teeth...I loved that laugh.

I left the house with the hat boxes and a smile, wearing the red hat.