Hat Trick



A random story today. It always make me a little nervous when I can’t think of a topic. Those days when nothing comes to mind. So — today’s story, I drew right out of The Hat. It is a tall, purple felt hat. Like Old Abe used to wear, only purple. And fuzzy. It it has a little clump of fake flowers right around the band. I am not sure what kind of flowers they are supposed to represent. Because, the very truth of things told, I don’t know a daisy from a dahlia. But the little clump of flowers is a bit worn, silky, and plastic-like.

Anyway. It sits right on my desk. Next to my lucky rabbits foot and my photo of Boo-Boo. Boo-Boo, the little bear from the old Yogi Bear cartoon. He’s wearing a little blue bowtie. It is a small photo in a gold frame. I don’t really know why I have it, other than I am crazy about that little guy. I’ve always liked the sidekick. The wingman. The second fiddle.

And, the rabbits foot isn’t really from a rabbit. It is synthetic. And orange. I am not even certain it brings me luck, so the whole thing is a misnomer. A myth. But I won it off a Belgian guy in a five-card-stud poker game in Vegas. Not so lucky for the Belgian guy.

Anyway, back to the hat. I find a story idea, and I fold it up, and throw it in the hat. For days like this, when I don’t want to write about the absolutely horrific state of our current world, and all its affairs. I’m sure there is a heart-warming “cute puppy” story in the headlines somewhere. One of those “feel good” accounts. But by the time you read this, it will have probably appeared on the news seven or eight times. And you will be like, “Polly. Dredge up some new stuff, will you?”

And then I will feel bad, that I let you down. I’ll start pacing back and forth, and back and forth. So. I turned to the purple hat for a story. I vowed that “the very first story” I pulled out would be my topic. Took a solemn oath. I placed my right hand on my copy of The Sneeches, by Dr. Seuss. And said the words right out loud, “I do solemnly swear.”

It is a different kind of swearing. Not in line with cuss-word-swearing, where you curse and blaspheme, and utter profanities. No. This “swear” is a promise, a vow, a pledge. So I was serious.

Sometimes, I will light a candle at my desk too. It adds to the ambience. I am not sure what kind of mood I am trying to set in my office, but the candle scent is called something like “Rustic Watermelon” or such. They were on sale. And since I never really do very good at bargain-hunting and coupon-clipping, I thought I’d pick these up. You had to buy three. Now I am sort of stuck with a“Rustic Watermelon” smell, which is vaguely reminiscent of Joy dish soap. But not as happy.

So anyway, as I was reaching over to pull out the folded-up-paper-story, I grazed the top of the candle with my sleeve. I startled me all to pieces. It didn’t catch fire or anything, but it was one of those moments when I really DID swear. Like with the cussing and the profanities. And as I jumped up, I knocked over my cup of coffee. It spilled all the heck over the place. It soaked two of my notebooks and headed straight for my iMac. Well, I laid my whole body from the waist up across my desk to mop up the speeding coffee with my sweatshirt. I’ll tell you. At that point, I was REALLY swearing. Like a drunken sailor.

Both the dogs ran out of the room and headed downstairs to hide in the closet, because they have little personality quirks. About. Everything.

I don’t know where they get it.

At all.

So. Now. Finally. On to the story. The headline reads: Warren Harding marries Florence Mabel Kling DeWolfe » July 8, 1891.

And. I guess that about covers it.


At this point, I am wishing that my desk were a drawing board, so I could get back to it.



“Begin, be bold, and venture to be wise.”
― Horace


“There are so many doors to open. I am impatient to begin.”

— Charlie Gordan, Flowers for Algernon


“In a time of destruction, create something.”
― Maxine Hong Kingston