Forty years in a round box, a nest of tissue paper, magenta velvet toque, your tasteful feather a moiré of navy and green, your finely knotted veil folded and draped just so, little hat, you were more the idea of hat than hat—actual, functional— your function to wait in the box for occasion, your emergence to confirm occasion for anyone who would notice your lustrous silk-velvet, your grosgrain hatband with its two gold-toothed combs. Little hat,…… More »