My mother has no trouble whatsoever in striking up a conversation with anyone, anywhere. I did not inherit that trait, preferring to instead keep to the periphery, but her extroversion has really served me well by extension, I must admit. Earlier this fall she was chatting with the high school kids who work at her small-town grocery store when they mentioned this big box of little boys' hats they found in the basement. Back in the day the grocery store plus two clothing stores were all owned by the same family and filled a row of storefronts on main street. Businesses have changed hands and closed doors since then and this box was headed to the dumpster. Recognizing what a treasure was before her, my mom asked if she could have a few and she selected about a half dozen to give to Silas.
Vintage, but brand new and still with the tags on, I couldn't believe what I was holding in my hands when she sent them to me. All wool. Adorable. Most of them were marked at around $2.98, but had been on sale for 59 cents. I gave them all a little spritz of vinegar water, brushed them with a stiff-bristle brush and left them in the sun for a day or two. Unfortunately (fortunately?) Silas has inherited his father's enormous head, so only one of them really fits him, but then again, he really only needs one good winter hat. He loves it. Every time we go out of the house he points to his head, says "hat" and proceeds to put on his cap and out we go.