Fishless Fishing

I fear I’m going to be taken for a liar if I keep telling you “the next post will be ___” and then it isn’t. This isn’t the fish post I promised, but technically I was fishing. It just wasn’t fish I was trying to catch. I could explain what I mean by that very succinctly, but I know you would be disappointed if you didn't get to read all the inane, pointless details that I seem incapable of leaving out when I write, and dang it, I just can’t deprive you of them.  So brace yourself. Here’s the detailed-loaded long version.

I was once again distracted from posting about the rest of my trip to Ecuador, the fish of Manta to be specific, by a day on the mountain listening to music. Saturday morning while Dean went to garage sales with Leslie, I was at home collecting the drinks, cooler, ice, chairs, sunscreen, blankets, dog leash, dog biscuits, dog bowl, water bottles and backpack we would need for a day on the mountain. The plan was to leave at 10 a.m.. As I was collecting and piling all the gear on the front porch, I drank my morning six cups of coffee.  Then I paced furiously waited patiently for Dean to get home. At 10:10 a.m. he strolled in, I gently nudged him into the car, and up to the festival we went.

Once we were there we claimed our piece of ground,

and I settled in for a day in the meadow, surrounded by pine trees, blue skies and music. As I was sitting there, water bottle in one hand, a piece of cherry-chocolate fudge in the other, foot tapping to the beat of the fiddle, it occurred to me my appearance might imply I was somewhat of a dork. But here’s the thing. In Chapter 22, section 3b, paragraph 4 of The Mother of the Bride Handbook it states: "Any mother who arrives at the wedding with tan lines, peeling skin or recovering 3rd degree sunburns will be expected to wear this."  In exactly nine weeks I plan to wear this. Consequently, at the music festival, surrounded by sun worshipers, I was wearing this.

It’s not that I really cared (much) what people thought of my dirty gardening hat. And I didn’t much care if they wondered if I had some kind of sun allergy or snickered at my apparel. I was with Dean after all. I wasn’t the first person they would be staring at. But I did wonder a bit if I was the second dorkiest person out there so I started looking around. That’s how I ended up fishing. I was fishing for hats. A few were keepers--I got a string or two of ‘em.  But most of them were catch and release.

Of course, there is always the sweat-stained ball cap. Isn’t there some kind of unwritten law that states “when the salt from the sweat on a ball cap leaves a white trail as the ball cap wearer walks, said hat must be retired to the ball cap hall of shfame?” No? Really?

Then there was this one. "Holy dooley, look at that Sheila over there in the ugly gardening hat! Point me to the middy. I need a longneck."

I stalked followed one “cowgirl” down the aisle of craft booths hoping to get a good shot of her hat but the woman never stopped and stood still.  I was following at a discreet distance, innocently looking around, pointing my camera here and there, pretending I was taking photos of the mountains, the trees, while surreptitiously snapping photos of her hat, but all I got were blurs of her head looking left or right.  She finally went to her chair and sat down, but each time I clicked the camera button, her husband would lean in and whisper sweet nothings in her ear. If he would have just left her alone I wouldn’t have had to stand there for two solid minutes taking 15 photos of his right ear before I finally got this one of the hat.

See how it glitters in the sun? It sparkles.  It was like watching a light show when she walked.  It was so ugly it was almost pretty.  I left when her husband looked my way because I think he was whispering, “hey honey, don’t look now but there’s strange woman in an ugly gardening hat staring at you.” Geez....I don’t know how private eyes do it.

Later in the afternoon I went in search of ice cream.  I wasn't going to take the camera with me, but by then Dean was scoping out hats for me and told me I'd better.  “You just never know” he said.  Boy was he right.  To think I might have missed this.  The pièce de résistance. 

It was a cornucopia of hats.  Have a look here and tell me which one is your favorite.

As the day wore on I found my gaze moving from heads to feet.

I started thinking … a feet and shoes theme next year might be fun.

But then the headliner of the day, Mr. Leo Kotke, took the stage. And I saw his hair …

which got me thinking ...

I might need a boat next year.

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Fishless Fishing