Trying on mama's cherished chapeau made for a really sticky situation
Over the years, mom diligently fulfilled her role as family matriarch, dispensing advice when needed and offering counsel when requested. Her motherly diplomacy, arbitrating skills and sound advice would leave most psychologists and political campaigners envious. Through the years, mom's vivid imagination and creativity have managed to keep three generations of kids amused and entertained. Her cooking skills would have rivaled that of the world's greatest chefs.
A hot bowl of her chicken soup has eased my aches and pains and cured my cold discomforts time and time again (more than I can say for most cold remedies). There are endless heartfelt anecdotes and recollections of mama's endless love and caring, but in this little memory, it's mama's love of fashion that I'm remembering, a mother who loved to wear fashionable, feathered, hats. Mom's gaudy feathered headgear will always hold a special memory for me.
As a little girl of six I remember one hat in particular as the bane of my existence. Standing before the mirror on a rainy afternoon, I posed in a countless array of mama's high fashion hats. I can still recall her voice calling to me from the kitchen, reminding me that it was okay to play dress-up with her pretty hats, but not to touch her prettiest of hats, an exquisitely designed peacockish hat that featured an extraordinarily long pink Ostrich feather.
Whenever she wore this particular hat, I remember how my father would tickle my funny bone by teasing her mercilessly: "Quick, Cookie," he'd say, "Run and get a net. There's a wild ostrich on the loose and it's landed on your mama's head!" But my mom was undaunted by papa's obvious lack of fashion sense; she knew that her hat was the cat's meow! Like most women of the 1940s, mom rarely left the house without wearing her fashionable trademark hat.
Despite my mama's continuous warnings not to touch that awesome hat, my curiousity to try it on grew greater and greater each day... I longed to touch that exotic, fragile, feather. Then, one day, my opportunity arrived. Mama was busy in her garden, and I couldn't resist temptation any longer. While munching on my favorite treat, a honey and peanut butter sandwich, I dragged her vanity chair into the darkened closet. Standing on the chair, I managed to reach the pull-chain that dangled from the closet light. A moment later, the top shelf was brightly illuminated.
There, sitting in its box in all its glory was the hat. Quickly gulping down the remainder of my gooey honey sandwich, I reached into the box with both hands to grasp the gossamer feather. I was horrified when the delicate pink feather clung to my hands like fresh cotton candy. The more I tried to free myself from its grip, the more the fluffy feather stuck to my sticky fingers. The harder I tried to free myself, the more the lovely, ostrich feather disintegrated. I quickly replaced the damaged hat in its box, taking care to tuck the tattered feather under her hat.
I hoped and prayed my mama wouldn't be wearing her prized possession anytime soon. A few weeks later, mama and papa were dressing for a special occasion. Mom was sure to wear her hat. I knew it would be only minutes before she reached for that special hat and discovered the mangled feather. I ran to my room and anxiously waited for my mischief to be discovered. A minute later, mom began calling out my name. I sat there frozen... There was no way out now.
Mama shouted again--this time with less patience. Slowly, I walked to her room. Too ashamed to look up at what was sure to be the tattered remains of her once-beautiful hat, I kept my eyes focused on the floor. It was then that I heard mom's voice ask me, "What do you think of my pretty new hat, Cookie?" I raised my eyes up to see mama wearing a new tiny, demure, black pillbox hat atop her head. The subdued "little ditty" was a startling contrast to her usually flamboyant hats, especially the ostentatious feathered hat that I had coveted so very much.
"Your papa just bought it for me," she chirped with pride and delight. "Small hats are in style this season.” Gazing admiringly into her vanity mirror, mama declared her new hat was more beautiful and stylish than any hat she ever owned. I was astonished and relieved to hear her say, "Cookie, if you promise to take good care of it, you may have my old hat with the long pink feather. I'll have Papa get it down for you from the back of my closet."
For what seemed like an eternity, I held my breath while my papa fumbled around in the closet.When he reappeared, he was holding the large hat box. He handed me my prize with a wink. "I never did like this silly-looking hat," he said as we walked out of the room. "That darned ol' feather tickled my nose every time your mom wore it! I guess buying your mom a new hat did us both a favor. But next time, Cookie, " he whispered in my ear, "remember to wash the honey off your fingers before playing with one of your mama's good hats!"
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