When I was in middle school I lived in a suburb of Dallas, TX and I had a pen pal in France. From what I remember she lived somewhere in the great expanse between Paris and France’s southern coast. I’m sure my mom still has a box somewhere in her attic of our letters. Maybe I need to find them.
I have no idea how I found her or how we originally got in touch with each other. Maybe it was Tiger Beat or something (can you believe they still produce this magazine)?
Image via Vintage Dancer via Jos. A. Bank
Did you know these hats for men were called ivy caps? I didn’t.
Today, I saw 4 men wearing them and I rarely see that. One man even had a bow tie and cardigan on with his ivy cap. It was very dapper and it made me smile.
My Pappaw wore them a lot. He was bald and I’m sure he wore them to keep his head warm. But, it is just not a hat that you see a lot of men wear and I’m not sure why. Don’t you wish more men wore hats? Not baseball caps. Don’t get me wrong, I like a good baseball cap on a man but let’s see a fedora maybe. Just get all Don Draper on me!
Why in the world would I start this? It’s been done. By zillions of others whose blogs are far better than mine will be. By people who can write better than me. But it isn’t about the better. It’s about the doing. And getting this out of my head and my heart. This need to write is in my core.
And I hate it. Well…maybe hate is a strong word. Writing is hard for me. I’m compelled to do it though for some unknown reason. It’s never been easy. But I am good at it. . . . . . or at least people have told me I’ve been good at it in the past. I’ve written things for others. I’ve won awards for my writing. Yet when I left college I stopped. Completely. So, now I’m out of practice and need to limber up. I’ve got to get back in the saddle. Get these words out of my head. I’m quite a grammar freak but you’ll need to excuse me while I roll out The AP Stylebook, polish the tarnish off my brain, and get a map to get me out of the cobwebs.