Hat-fishing

The weather was nice, so we went for a walk.  My parents live on the South Side of Syracuse where there are houses close together and sidewalks and a nice place to stroll for a long time.  We decided to take a hike to Webster’s Pond.  It was maybe about a mile and a half from their house.  It was a beautiful day.  Mark, as usual, wore his cowboy hat and his polyester shorts and t-shirt.  We walked and laughed and headed toward the duck pond.  Sometimes if you get there at just the right time of day, there is dried corn to feed to the ducks, but we missed that part, so we just wandered around and sat together on the bench by the water.  All of a sudden, a gust of wind came up out of nowhere and Mark’s hat flew off his head.  He tried desperately to grab it, but he didn’t move fast enough.  The hat swirled around high over our heads for a few seconds and then went out to sea!  Ha ha ha!  It landed in the middle of the duck pond about 20 or 30 feet away from us and began to sink.  I thought I was going to split from laughter.  Mark, on the other hand, looked like someone he loved was about to drown.  He ran around like a loon and finally broke a giant branch off a tree to use for a grabber.  The strength that he had in his arms to break off that giant tree limb surprised me, but I think the adrenaline was working overtime.  He stood at the edge of the water in the duck droppings and fished and fished and fished for that hat.  I sat on the bench and could barely contain myself from the laughter.  Finally, after at least 10 minutes, he was able to retrieve the felted, cream-colored hat, now covered with muck and duck poo.  I said, “I’m sorry your hat is ruined” and then unsuccessfully held back a chuckle.  Mark responded, “it’s not ruined, I can still wear it.”  So, he gently held the hat out at arm’s length while it dripped smelly brown liquid off it, and we walked back to my parent’s house.  Every once in awhile he would say “stop laughing” but he would smile at me and pull me closer.  When we arrived back home, Mark wiped off what he could with a paper towel and said he would take the hat home to clean it the rest of the way.  Much to our dismay (well, maybe Mark’s dismay), the hat didn’t live through the ordeal.  It cleaned up ok, but lost its ability to stand upright and made Mark look more like Charlie Chaplin than whatever image he was trying to portray.  He bought a different hat right away, same color, same style, but he didn’t wear it as often.  He said it didn’t fit as well.  We still have the original hat.  Our kids actually wore it a few times for costumes through the years.  Yesterday I picked it up off Mark’s shelf in his room and the years of dust had settled on it, but some of the wear and tear from Mark’s head was still visible.  It’s funny how I love that hat now…or is it the memory of the man who wore it.  I miss you unbearably Mark Searle and every single oddball thing you ever did!