Roosting for the rooster.

They gather in flocks in other parts of the house as well. Very Hitchcockian.

Falling for a new hat.

Fall has arrived (or, is arriving as I type), albeit about a month late. The first "cold" front of the season is blowing in, with temperatures expected to drop into the upper 40s by sundown. Right, too.

That's why I wore my new waxed-cotton ball cap. Heightened expectations.

Not me.

I got this Panama hat at Orvis, hoping I'd like it. I don't.

All the elements of a good hat are there, but the shape just doesn't quite work for me. The crown is too big, the break between the crown and the brim is too soft. I wear it on rare occasion. Very rare.

Earliest Pop's hat?

This photo dates from 1956, and judging by the cool weather attire, I should be five years old. That's my brother in the watch cap (14) and my sister (2) looking on in amusement as I have just been finned by a not-dead-yet sand bass.

I can't quite tell what my hat (and jacket) are saying here. At first glance, I look like one of Brando's motorcycle hoods in The Wild One (Marlon himself?), but more likely this is an attempt to emulate one of my childhood heroes, Lt. Col. Jimmy Doolittle of The Tokyo Raid fame (Thirty Seconds Over Tokyo).

However, if you consider that my brother's attire looks to have been influenced by On The Waterfront, it might be safe to guess that my mother had a thing for Brando.

Texican Immigrant Laborer.

Cleaning off the roof after the spring-fall of twigs, branches, and dead animals. After almost two centuries in Texas, my gene pool from 100,000 +/- years in Scotland and Bavaria has yet to adapt to the land I have arrived in.

This sweat band-less straw hat does the best job of absorbing sweat of anything I have ever used. A hat's sweat band always blocks the sweat, causing it to pool up and drain into my eyes, driving me blind with rage and stinging salt. But with the sweat band removed, the straw in this hat draws the sweat up into the crown and out the brim, evaporating and cooling my head.

This is the intended design of a straw hat, ruined by improvements.

Hard headed Kraut.

This is one of my several bicycle crash helmets. Probably one of the least functional hats I own, and the only one that my wearing is mandated by law. It's crash-design speed is approximately 15 mph, and yet if I were to simply fall over backwards, my head (based upon my 6'1" stature) would hit the ground at over 20 mph.

It doesn't keep the cold and wet out in the winter, and doesn't do a good job of letting the heat and sweat out in the summer time. Its effectiveness at protecting me from head injury is still debatable, but it does add to my road visibility (if reducing my ability to see just slightly), and it probably serves its best use in helping protect me if I fall off my bike when I am getting on or off it at a standstill (not an unlikely scenario for a klutz like me).

Whatever. I guess I'm just a slave to fashion (and the law).

The original Pop's Hat revisited.

That's June Anne LaGrone (granddaughter, and namesake of my sister and mother). I walked into the room, and she yelled "HAT!" and grabbed it off my head and put it on hers.

Another REAL Pop's hat.

This bucket hat belonged to my dad. It is in my favorite accent color PMS-123, (better known as PMS Yellow).

Frau Summer has declared that wearing it in her presence ist Verboten.

She's away.

I'm so glad.

Handkerchiefs.

I'm the only person I know who carries one at all times, either folded into a point in the breast pocket of a jacket, or folded into a square and stuffed into a hip pocket, or simply stuffed into a front pockets of my pants. I usually use them to wipe sweat off my face and out of my eyes. I never use them to blow my nose. I have offered a scrupulously clean one to someone who was crying.

And I have been known to tie a knot in all four corners and wear one as a hat when I am working outside (or to wear underneath a bike helmet).

In the photo above, I am about to begin the process of removing the mildew that blossomed on the carport beam. Dallas' formerly moderate humidity has given way to almost Houston-like levels (thanks to suburban sprawl, swimming pools, and lawn sprinklers).

Global damping.

Don't look at me.

This is very nice genuine Panama of a superior straw. It has a slider/keeper for the chin strap that's made out of a nut shell. It fits great, it breathes wonderfully, so my head stays cool, provides ample amounts of shade, stays on my head in strong winds, and it's quite attractive.

But it looks kind of affected. Too stylish? Too Bohemian? Too something.

It works great, just don't look. It embarrasses me when you look.

The Ghost of Summer past.

Dolomite

This is another hat I got at Neiman Marcus during a Last Call sale. It was reduced 80% of the regular price (costing $40). It's an Italian-made 100% fur hat in the preferred mossy green that makes me feel invisible. This hat is incredibly soft-to-the-touch, and the temptation is to just keep stroking it with my fingers. Whatever fur was used is of premium quality.

In the backround is a light dusting of snow.

The Dolomites are the Italian Alps, hence the title: Italian, snow, mountains.

A reach, I know.

Fuzzy logic.

This is your basic nylon ball cap, but with a crucial difference for the folliclly challenged. This cap, made by a company called Weatherproof, specializes in the use of microfibers. The exterior is a water-repellent nylon, suitable for fog and drizzle.

The interior of the crown, however, is the source of true joy in this cap. It is lined with micro-fleece, keeping bald/balding pates comfortably warm in the winter months. The human scalp is one of the primary radiators of body heat. A bare scalp in winter could lead to impaired cognitive abilities.

Not a small matter of importance, especially if you have a big head.

Pop's inner laborer.

This is my straw Stetson. I bought it many years ago at Neiman-Marcus (back when they handled a few items of Western Wear for real oilmen). It listed for $225, mainly because of the fancy pheasant hatband, but it was still top of the line panama straw. I got it at Last Call™ for $25.

The years took their toll. The hatband migrated to the straw that inspired Pop's Hat. But this hat labors on... mainly when I do yard work or cook out.

P.S. That's a bootlace substituting for a hatband.

First grab.

June Anne LaGrone (granddaughter) makes her first grab of Pop's hat.

Red letter day.

Back to basics.

This is the sweat-stained Panama that started this adventure. I've tried to replace it a couple of times, but failed. It has patina.

Pithy Pop

Yep. It's a pith helmet, made by Dorfman-Pacific from an open-weave, stiff paper fabric.

I love this hat. Great sun protection, very cool, excellent evaporative action, and it has an adjustable leather sweatband with a removable terry-cloth brow pad. It's the perfect hat for Texas summers, with only one drawback...

...unless you're a Postal Carrier, it looks kinda pretentious, which I hate. I may BE pretentious, but I hate to look it.

Blowing a fuse.

Probably one of the more "honest" hats of this type I have. It's a brushed cotton-blend cap with a Mossy-Oak bill. The writing/logo on the crown is from FUSECO, an industrial fuse and electrical component supply company in Dallas.

A dear Xn brother of mine gave it to me. He's a salesman for FUSECO, hence the honesty... a given gimmie cap.

Growler

Linden and I took Hosea to the Dallas Zoo weekend before last. It was his first trip to the zoo, and we wanted to achieve certain firsts.

1. First trip to the zoo,
2. First weekend with us away from his parents (brainwash time, heh, heh, heh),
3. First Flecther's Corny Dog, and,
4. First rubber tiger hat.

He liked to look at his reflection in the windows and make tiger poses like the little boy in Maurice Sendak's "Where the Wild Things Are."

All boy.

Faux Pop's Real Hat.

As mentioned, I had two hats refurbished by Texas Hatters recently. I re-refurbished my dad's hat, and I had my own hat that Texas Hatters made for me in the mid-70s refurbished as well at the same time.

It's a little "fancier" in my book, and less desirable, than Dad's. Like so much in my life, I was trying to imitate the things about Harry C. Summer, Jr. I admired, and vainly perhaps trying to improve.

I view Harry's Hat as "Authentic", and P.M.'s hat as a "Replica".

I never understood my father's attitude (and fear/awe) of his own father, Harry Clifton Summer, Sr.

I'm getting closer to understanding.