Tipping HatI've mentioned before that I have hats: I have hats. I also have caps and things sitting about on shelves in closets. These are hats, it must be said, but they are not really proper hats. I have only seen caps tipped in film and television programs tangentially about sports, for example. I do not tip caps when I wear them; sometimes, though, I tip the hats.
It's a little strange to say that, these days. Not too many people wear a good hat, and far fewer in my experience go so far as to tip it. Pile on top of that the new meaning imparted in this medium right here, where I'm writing: I see far more hat tipping spread over the conversational web than I do walking down the street. It makes it even odder to actually do the thing, tipping an actual hat.
But I do. I need to be wearing one of the hats, of course (we're getting back into the season for that, now). I am something of an equal opportunity tipper, it must be said. Reactions are varied, although there are sometimes smiles. Sometimes there is confusion. Sadly, most times there is oblivion. Sometimes, I've got one of the hats on backwards (it is the kind of hat where you can do that) and when I reach for the brim I end up looking like an idiot. So it goes.
All of the leaves fell off of the trees with a thud over the holiday; management has been something of an issue. The more shocking change is that the yard has lost its cloister again: the sky is wide up there now, and all the lamps are spread out over the hills. From the porch this evening with a cup of tea, I saw the long line of lights that made up the parkway, moving slowly.
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