My grandmother, her daughter Medora, her sister Ruth – 1907

My grandmother never left the premises, not even to go to the  neighbors’ up the street, without wearing hat and gloves.  In her turn, my mother wore a hat for every occasion, but after the 1950s not so much the gloves.  Except for something “dressy.”

It never occurred to me before, but now that my hair is growing wilder and my nails are falling apart, I can see the wisdom of their ways.  Hats hide a multitude of sins.  Gloves even more so.

Little Miss Dale Espy in Hat – 1913

Tomorrow or the next day, Nyel and I have vowed to give one another a bit of a trim.  I know I’ll come out the winner on that one.  Nyel has had years of “trim practice” with his mustache and beard.  Me… not so much.  But he is a very trusting soul and so, what the heck?  Besides, hats are a great cover up, no matter what, and he does look handsome in a snappy fedora or a seasonal Panama.

Dale Espy Little, 1999

My nails aren’t quite so easy.  The only gloves I ever wear are gardening gloves.  So maybe there’s a message here?  Maybe until my nail technician and I can renew our acquaintance, I’d best be out doing good works in the flower beds.

I know that we aren’t alone in our unkempt condition.  Others are beginning to whine and moan on FB — just like I am right now!  But that doesn’t make me feel much better about it.  By my count, it’s been nine weeks since I had a haircut.   Hats are definitely the answer!  My mother and grandmother would be so proud.  Finally!