He would have been 62.

He died in 1983 at the age of 35 from ALS – Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis,  more commonly known as Lou Gehrig’s disease.

I turned 35 two weeks ago, myself,  and as I drank my coffee this morning, I pondered the various things that he had accomplished by the same [...]]]> Today is my father’s birthday.

He would have been 62.

He died in 1983 at the age of 35 from ALS – Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis,  more commonly known as Lou Gehrig’s disease.

I turned 35 two weeks ago, myself,  and as I drank my coffee this morning, I pondered the various things that he had accomplished by the same age in his own life – a successful career, two daughters, a healthy and very loving marriage and a wonderful home in Cape Breton in the community he grew up in, with lots of friends and family nearby.  I found myself feeling very small and sheepish and very, very lonely for him.  I wondered to myself if he was looking down at me and what he would make of all of the silly misadventures that  have brought me thus far in my own life.   I like to think that he would have a chuckle and tell me to ‘keep on truckin’!’.  Which is of course what The Saucy Milliner always endeavors to do.

I have many memories of my dad  -  aside from being very handsome with great chops, he was a very tall and very strong man.  That is partly what kept him alive more than twice as long as the average 2 years that people survive with this terrible neurodegenerative disease. I remember sitting in a cardboard box and him pulling me around the house in it whilst I pretended it was the General Lee.   I remember being taught that eating ketchup on toast is really quite delicious and that drinking out of the milk carton is OK as long as mom doesn’t find out.  I remember him showing me how to eject an 8 track out and put a new one in on the dashboard of his Mac Truck cab. I remember riding on his Norton Commando with him and thinking that one day, when I was big enough, I would have to get a motorcycle of my own.  I remember frequently  fishing off of the old army bridge just down the road – up until the night it collapsed under the weight of a passing truck ( well, it really wasn’t supposed to last longer than the war…).   I remember watching ‘Chips’ in bed with him, when he started getting more sick, as well as watching Star Trek, Three’s Company and Little House on the Prairie.  I remember turning the pages of the bible for him when his arms had atrophied to the point that he could no longer move them and when he finally lost the use of his voice, he had to beckon me to do so with gurgles and moans.  I remember frequent trips to the hospital in the back of the  ambulance when things were bad and I remember my last visit with him there.  I remember the night he died and my mom coming home and telling me that ‘Daddy was with the angels now and no longer in any pain’ and I remember visiting him at the funeral home to say goodbye.  I remember someone at the service singing Amazing Grace, his favorite song.

35.

I’m 35 and I am only just finding my career path.  Again.  I am only just feeling like I am making ties in my community and my family are 3,000 miles away.  I rent an apartment I can barely afford and I can only dream of being lucky enough of finding a man who loves and appreciates me the way my father loved my mother.

And the Norton?  Nope.  (But I do have an Invisible Jet)

“Keep on truckin’, Kelly.”

“OK, daddy.  I will. I want to make you proud.”

I reach out and turn the page…

..Exodus 20:12

Today I want to share two hats from my collection in honor of my dad’s birthday, as they were his. The first is an American made suede Cowboy hat by Henschel.  My dad got this hat when he and his twin brother, my Uncle James (whose birthday it also, incidently, is) and my mom and some of their friends and family went down to Florida on a road trip after they found out he was sick.  It’s a size small! I can’t believe that for my dad’s size, that he wore a small, but there it is. It barely fits me!  The second hat is from when he was a driver for Coca Cola Canada. It’s very vintage and very cool.  These hats mean the world to me and I am happy to be able to feature them as the first hats in my Hat of the Week entry.

I really could write heaps about how cool and how amazing my dad was, but  alas, I must get to my day job.

Just wanted to wish you a happy birthday, daddy.

Hope you are rippin’ it up, Caper style, wherever you are and that you are still rocking the very cool Wolverine chops.

I love you.

Before Wolverine....there was my dad. Check out those awesome chops.

I had the day off work and thought it would be fun to take a stroll for some battered brunch down to GO Fish on False Creek near Granville Island.  Go Fish’s venue  is a tiny little blue hut right at the [...]]]> I woke up this morning with a craving for, among other things, fish and chips.

I had the day off work and thought it would be fun to take a stroll for some battered brunch down to GO Fish on False Creek near Granville Island.  Go Fish’s venue  is a tiny little blue hut right at the Fisherman’s Wharf and there is always  a massive line up outside of it.  The last time I ate here, which was last summer with my Aunt Carla and Uncle Peter, we got nasty attitude from the girl who was calling out the orders and I had not been back since.  While the service left a poor taste in my mouth, the haddock did not, so I decided it was time to give them another chance.

It was almost noon and my stomach was roaring. I called up my friend Yolanda. A sleepy voice on the other line answered. “Hello?”

“Are you up yet?”

“Ughhh…”

“Yolanda, it’s almost noon! What time did you go to bed?”, I asked, getting hungrier by the second.

“I think it was four…”.

Yolanda is a night owl.  I am not. “OK, listen, you wanna go to Go FIsh? We could split a double order of the haddock. Or cod even, maybe. I’m easy. Oh, and could you bring Belinda? I haven’t seen her in a while.”

Belinda is Yolanda’s puppet. When we hang with Belinda, fun adventures ensue.  I hadn’t really seen her since Christmas Eve.  Belinda showed up with a bottle of Captain Morgan’s Spiced rum and the last thing I remember before things got really blurry for me,  was Belinda passing out on the kitchen floor in a puddle of her own vomit.  It wasn’t pretty.  But aside from that, it was a pretty fun night.

I changed into a suitable frock and slathered on the SPF 30.  I got a terrible burn at the Kits pool several weeks ago, that my legs were still peeling from.  Not classy.  I knew that I probably should have put on a my sensible Stetson panama hat, the sun was already blazing, but I opted for a cute, sisal, pink, mini beret instead.  I haven’t been out of the house much in the past month, and I wanted to feel summery and girly and not the disheveled hermit that I have become as of late.  I grabbed my shades and made my way to False Creek leaving a trail smelling of coconut and anticipation in my wake.

By the time Yolanda and Belinda met me at Go Fish, the line up was already snaking around the corner.  We decided on each getting our own order of cod.  The notion of sharing just made my hungry belly far too angry.  An hour and three more sunscreen applications later we finally got to the order window. I could feel my stomach starting to eat itself, I was so hungry.  The woman who was taking orders looked familiar. I wondered if she was the same lady as last summer.  I approached with caution and the biggest smile I could muster, without looking too insincere.

“Hello! I would like to order one piece of cod, chips and extra coleslaw please, and may I also have a San Pellegrino?  The orange flavor one. Thank you.” I beamed at her.

She wrote everything down on her order pad and I handed her my money.  She barely glanced at me.  There must have been about 5 people in that hot little grease-filled hut.  They gingerly danced around each other, preparing orders and wiping their brows.  How they all didn’t suffer from massive 3rd degree grease burns is beyond me.  The floor looked slippery and dangerous and I knew that it wasn’t the sort of work environment that my clumsiness would take for more than five minutes before I found myself face down in the broiler. EEE!

It took at least another 20 mins for us to get our food which was delivered to us sans attitude.  I loaded up my chips with malt vinegar, grabbed a wedge of lemon and we made our way over to a patch on the Sea Wall where we made our little camp.

“Did you bring her?”

Yolanda produced a very tired looking Belinda out of her bag.  I was delighted to see her.  Belinda doesn’t really say much and her expression never really changes.  She is in a perpetual state of happiness, though Yolanda seems to think she looks more like she is silently screaming.  In any case, seeing Belinda always puts a smile on my face.  I happily tucked into my food. First up: the coleslaw. Fail!!!  Why did I order an extra helping of this horse shit? It tasted like a can of crushed ass.  What the…?  This was NOT the same coleslaw that I had last summer.  I was so disappointed.  I set it aside and hoped that the cod would redeem the vileness that had infiltrated my taste buds.  It was mediocre.  A little too much batter and not enough fish for my liking.  The chips, albeit a bit cold, were nice and tastey, though.  On the whole, the meal was welcome, because I was soooo hungry, but not a memorable one, in terms of taste.  No matter, fish and chips are not a craving I rarely get more than once a year and that may be because when I lived in Scotland, I ate it almost every day.  Now THERE were some good fish and chips…yum.

Under the Bridge

The three of us went for a walk around Granville Island to work off our greasy meals.  Aside from molesting some heirloom tomatoes in the Public Market, Belinda was quite well-behaved. This is the first time we hung out with her where she didn’t get banned from any of the venues we visited for disorderly conduct of any sort.  I  think she must have been suffering a hangover, as she seemed rather quiet, but it was nice to spend some time with her.  And Yolanda.

Despite the multiple applications of SPF 30, I did end up getting a slight tan line and I can feel that I have developed at least 23 new freckle on my face and 7 on my back.  Not a terrible price to pay for a delightful afternoon in the sun getting greased up on Granville Island.

I love it.

I never ever get tired of strolling down to the beach, looking out at English Bay and counting the number of freighters that are moored out there, waiting their turn to pick up their grain, canola oil, wood,  sulphur or any other of the cargos that make up [...]]]> I live 7 blocks from Kitsilano Beach.

I love it.

I never ever get tired of strolling down to the beach, looking out at English Bay and counting the number of freighters that are moored out there, waiting their turn to pick up their grain, canola oil, wood,  sulphur or any other of the cargos that make up the $53 Billion in goods that trade out of Canada’s busiest port every year.  That’s ALOT of canola oil.

Tonight I counted 10 freighters.  About average for a Friday night.  There were lots of other smaller sailboats scattered about, all in town for the Celebration of Light.  It’s fun watching the sail boats arrive throughout the day, all jockeying for the perfect view of the barge that they set the fireworks off of.  There are marine buoys that mark off a perimeter which is set to keep particulate that is still alight from falling onto boats that are too close and subsequently sending them down in flames.  English Bay sees an influx of 1000 boats every night of the show and the beach and park become packed as everyone from Surrey and Burnaby come pouring into my little quiet neighborhood to catch this giant pyrotechnic event.

That is why I went to the beach tonight instead.  I hate crowds, especially drunken ones, and I avoid them when I can.  Last Wednesday I listened to the fireworks from my bed and was asleep before they finished.  I was safe and snug inside my cozy little atelier, with a fresh breeze flowing through my bedroom and the sound of my white noise machine reducing the explosions of the show to dull and distant thuds.  Bliss.

Tonight I toted my bocce set down to the sublimely less than packed beach where I met my friends Jill, Beverly and Robert and we had a very civilized picnic and game of bocce.  It was lovely.  There were a number of other parties out on the Grassy Knoll with us and I sensed a lovely spirit in the air – one of knowing that we all share this amazing city and one of being grateful for it.  The air was filled with laughter, music and the gorgeous smell of bbq and ocean air.  It was magic.  Jill produced a bottle of wine which her and I  drank out of real glass flutes (The Saucy Milliner does not do red plastic cups) and a beautiful cheese which I really must remember to ask her what it was.  It was delicious and perfect.

Jill is a very talented musician and a fellow Hat Revivalist and she really evokes the similar spirit of The Saucy Milliner’s style and aesthetic in her own craft. I adore her. Tonight I gave her a delectable petit chapeaux that I had finished earlier in the evening.  I didn’t know, until I had sewn the last feather onto this delightful little number that it would be for her, but as the last striped badger hackle was fastened into place, I realized that she had to have it.  I am so thrilled that she loves it and I can’t wait to make more for her. I do believe I have found my millinery muse.  It’s so much easier to design a hat when one is inspired by the potential wearer and she really quite embodies a certain romance, joie de vivre and era gone by that inspires me on a day to day basis and that I try to channel in my work.

As for the bocce game  – well…I really am not a strong player. In fact, I am terrible.  Jill and I lost to Beverly and Robert and I can’t be mad at them for winning because they are two of the kindest souls I think I shall ever meet and God made them super good looking, and it’s hard to be upset with pretty faces like that.  Also: they are both Hat Revivalists as well, which make them indefinitely impervious to any sort of spite from me for creaming me at my own game.  Hee hee.

Tomorrow night is the next round of Fireworks, I believe it is Spain.

Maybe I will challenge my crowd-phobia and wade down through the throngs and try to claim a little piece of beach real-estate before the main event.

Or maybe I’ll just listen to it from my comfy bed.

I have spent much of the past two weeks in bed for reasons which a lady never gets into in a public forum such as this and The Saucy Milliner does endeavor to be a lady at least 80% of the time (anything more and [...]]]> Today was The Saucy Milliner’s birthday.  Oddly enough, it was mine, too.

I have spent much of the past two weeks in bed for reasons which a lady never gets into in a public forum such as this and The Saucy Milliner does endeavor to be a lady at least 80% of the time (anything more and she would have to call herself ‘The Mundane Milliner)  but suffice it to say, she is even more desperate than ever to find a working Flux Capacitor (see bio).  My employer very graciously gave me this day off some time ago,  in support of my potential efforts at celebrating this special day, though I woke up this morning feeling like doing the exact  polar opposite of that.  I woke up with my heart, my head and every muscle and hair on my body commanding me to just lie still another day in bed and watch the light change in my room as the sun moved across the sky.

So I willfully obeyed.

For exactly 13 mins, anyway.

That is when something unusual happened.

From my bed, which faces my beautiful leaded bay window, I watched as a giant falcon landed in my Tim Burton tree which grows directly outside of it.  I call it my Tim Burton Tree because it looks all gnarly and Beetlejuicey in the winter when it is barren, save for the odd stubborn leaf which refuses to fall from it in autumn and clings on or dear life, much in the same way  a Kitsilano Cylon clutches her overpriced designer coffee whilst walking her rat-dog up 4th in her Lululemon (though it’s debatable she’s ever done a single yoga session).  I digress.  I love my Tim Burton Tree – you see, I do not have curtains and it fills up my window with green, leafy goodness,  permitting me to prance around in my skivvies sans giving the neighbors a free show and this morning I was sharing my tree with a giant falcon.

It was incredible.

I slowly slid out of my bed.  I did not want to make any sudden movements for fear that the falcon would fly away.  I walked over to the window and upon a closer look, could see that the falcon had something in it’s talons.  My stomach took a sudden lurch when I realized it was a dead pigeon. Gross. The falcon wedged the pigeon in between some branches and didn’t waste any time tucking into it’s breakfast.  Feathers started flying everywhere. It was quite the sight.  I couldn’t look away.  Soon, the falcon was through the feathery layers and started in on the bloody, fleshy bits. I grabbed my camera and thought to myself, ” I hope you take what you don’t eat with you! Oh, and please also take that black squirrel that hangs about and looks like it has the mange.”.  The last thing I wanted was a rotting pigeon, corpsifying up my beloved tree and attracting flies.  We don’t really use screens here in Vancouver (true story), and that would mean having to keep my shutters closed, which was out of the question – I love my cross breeze as much as I love my tree! So clean up after yourself, falcon!

All was well. After an hour of munching and hanging out, the falcon vanished along with any leftovers there may have been, leaving only a smattering of feathers on the ground below, which the breeze swept away soon enough.

All of this action outside of my window, as gruesome as it was, raised my spirits.  I decided to take a walk to the beach and treat myself to one of the designer coffees that the Kits Cylons favor. It was, after all, only 7:45 am in the morning, perhaps it was just what I needed to help shake the funk that had been holding me captive for the previous two weeks. I grabbed my debit card and slipped on my old, worn out Keens and grubby sweatshirt. I tucked the rats nest that my hair had become, for lack of motivation to wash it, into my ’24 Day 6′ cap***  and plodded out the front door towards Higher Grounds coffee shop up on Broadway for some fancy coffee brewed by someone not me.  I am the current Mayor of Higher Grounds on a social geo tagging game called Foursquare.  I like to ‘Check In’ every few days in an effort at maintaining that mayorship.  I don’t know why. It’s my latest social media gaming compulsion, I guess and for a reason I can’t explain, this title is important to me. 

7:53 am – I check in to the coffee shop, grab my extra large coffee and made my way to the beach.

As the caffeine quickly permeated my bloodstream and the sun started climbing a bit higher in the sky, what was a seemingly impossible thought only a short hour previous, occurred to me – that perhaps, just perhaps, I might find myself in a mood to celebrate my birthday after all.  My plodding became more of a proper walk and by the time I reached the beach and found a bench to sit upon, I felt the first vague sense of pleasure that I had in what seemed like forever.  Truth be told, it’s hard to not feel pleasure when on sits on a bench at Kits beach early in the morning.  Looking out at Stanley Park whilst listening to the waves gently roll in and smelling the ocean air mixed with the faint smell of chlorine from the Kits Pool is really quite lovely and one of the reasons I live in this city and in particular this neighborhood.  In that moment, on the bench, I felt blessed.

Then my iPhone rang.

The Raiders of the Lost Ark theme broke the serenity of the moment and rather startled me, in fact, as I forgot that my phone was in my kangaroo pouch.  That phone call made my morning. A friend from the States was calling me with my first of the three happy birthday calls I would get today.  I was so happy!  I have taken my facebook profile down for some time ago and I really didn’t expect anyone to realize it was my birthday except for my sister and my mom and maybe one other person, so hearing from this friend was a surprise and true delight.  A fellow Browncoat, you see…  After the call I knew I needed to harness this surge of positive energy. I decided that a small celebration with my other friends was something I was ready to contemplate.

I have just come home from said Celebration with the aforementioned friends. It was a most delightful evening at our old haunt, The Gerrard (a Mayorship which I covet) and I am so happy I decided to let them share today with me, in the end.  There were presents and hats and CAKE from the lovely Nisreen, who works in the bar and always remembers my name.  She’s adorable. The Saucy Milliner wore a fabulous vintage Irish Linen die-cut lace frock with a gorgeous vintage slip (thank you, Beverlee), Chie Mihara heels (a birthday present from Auntie C last summer) and of course one of her own stunning cocktail creations.  And myself?  Well, I wore a smile and rosy cheeks.    Of course, the latter may be due to the Manhattans – the first alcohol to pass my lips in several months. MMMmmmManhattans.
And so here I find myself another year older. Certainly not another year wiser, for I am still the same Silly Girl who thinks far too much with her heart than her head for her own good…only with a few more noticeable lines around my eyes. My dearest friends and pals – thank you for reminding me of the abundance of love that I have in my life. I am surrounded by blessings of all sorts and I shall endeavor to remind myself of that daily.  I love you all.

K

***Re:  Wearing a BB Cap.  The Saucy Milliner does not endorse wearing BB Caps.  Ever. Unless it is an extreme emergency, such as the vile and wretched state of my hair this morning.

Dressew is a sewing supply store, here in Vancouver, that is sort of a combination of Alladin’s Cave and a TARDIS.  It is situated on East Hastings, on the block east of the Scientology Centre – you know, right before it starts to get really dodgy.

One enters the store and is greeted by a smell that [...]]]>

Dressew is a sewing supply store, here in Vancouver, that is sort of a combination of Alladin’s Cave and a TARDIS.  It is situated on East Hastings, on the block east of the Scientology Centre – you know, right before it starts to get really dodgy.

One enters the store and is greeted by a smell that I always imagine to be a sort of universal ‘grandma’s attic’ smell. Probably from the years and years worth of musty fabrics which pile high onto shelves  that reach up to the ceiling.  Seriously, some of the material in there looks as if it hasn’t budged since 1963.  It’s two levels of all the sewing supplies you could ever want.  And lots of it stuff you would NEVER want!  EEE!  Well, except for black raw silk, which is what I went for today and which they were out of, much to my chagrin. Dang it.  They DID have buckram, though, which I am pretty pleased about – I have been in before looking for it and was told they were out.  Hmm. In retrospect, I think that the crotchety old lady (almost all the ladies who work there are crotchety and old)  told me that they had sold out, just because she didn’t want to be bothered to find the bolt and cut me some. Anyway, today’s trip resulted in victory! I only bought half a meter because I I have never used buckram and I want to experiment with just a little to begin with.  My goal is to fashion  a sturdy little cocktail hat base. On with the experiment!

I was at a family dinner with my mom, my sister and my then stepfather (he made the unfortunate mistake one day of making my mother choose between him and our family’s beloved cats), and at least a dozen others out on a farm in rural Ontario.  I can’t [...]]]> I will always remember my first panic attack.

I was at a family dinner with my mom, my sister and my then stepfather (he made the unfortunate mistake one day of making my mother choose between him and our family’s beloved cats), and at least a dozen others out on a farm in rural Ontario.  I can’t remember what the occasion was and being from a family of one half French Canadian heritage, there probably wasn’t any except that it was the weekend and that was as good an excuse as any to get together, eat way too much an then try to round up all the kids from their After Dinner Hiding Spots to do the dishes.  At this particular gathering, it was during an intense, pre-dinner game of ‘Operation’ that the realization I had forgotten to program the VCR to record that night’s episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation hit me. It hit me with the force of 10 Photon Torpedoes being fired simultaneously from a Romulan Bird of Prey, suddenly de-cloaking and catching me with my shields down. I ran over to my mother and in a slow and very serious voice explained, “You need to drive me home right away or I am going to miss Star Trek”.  Obviously she would understand the urgency of the situation, and immediately go start the car.  After all, it was an hour drive, and there was exactly 72 minutes before the show started, and Heaven forbid I miss a single second of the theme music that I had already planned would one day be played at my wedding (which actually ended up being ‘Dirty Old Man’, by Faithless and is a whole other story).

Well I was wrong.

She looked at me and replied, “Just ask them to switch the channel and watch it here.”

ACK!  She didn’t get it!

“But I need to record it!”  I had every episode of the first season and a half (that night’s episode was ‘Time Squared’) on neatly labeled VHS tapes and I couldn’t miss one, not now, not after have a whole season and a half already.  “And besides, I can’t watch it here, the tv is too fuzzy!”

“Record it when it repeats, then” She looked away.  This was going nowhere! Record it out of order?  WHAT?  That was an unacceptable notion.

Yes, Virginia, there was a time before YouTube, TiVo, and P2P.

I started hyperventilating. This couldn’t be happening, not to me.  I couldn’t be facing the possibility that I might miss an episode!  I had NEVER missed an episode!  I was a natural born Trekkie. Raised on the original series, I was addicted to TNG before I even watched the pilot, ‘Encounter at Farpoint’, and to miss recording an episode was not only unacceptable,  it was down right blasphemous!

The panic continued.  The feeling of anxiety mixed with extreme paranoia and the sensation that the world as I knew it was about to end was too much. I felt faint.  Outwardly I threw a tantrum, which for a 14 year old girl to do is quite a sight to see, but inwardly, I was sure that the calamity of the situation would be enough to make my heart come to a full stop quicker than the Enterprise coming out of Warp 10 at the edge of the Neutral Zone.

Yes, my love of all things Trek goes back far and it goes back deep.  My then Drama teacher and now good friend Pam still remembers the time I organized ‘A trip through the Enterprise’ for our sensory journey project.  Blindfolded students were led through a sensory simulation of the NCC-1701-D including being beamed aboard, the automatic doors, being under photon torpedo attack and pulling out at maximum warp.  It was very rad.  Despite outing myself as the big nerd everyone suspected me to be, it was a total hit and I do believe I got an A.

So there are just a few anecdotes to illustrate how much I love Star Trek and why tonight’s release, of JJ Abrams take on this enduring franchise is a really, REALLY big deal for me…

Live long and prosper.

GETTING THERE

I should have rented the GPS.

I just got back from an amazing weekend in Seattle, where I attended a fantastic workshop in felt and straw hat blocking lead by Wayne Wichern, of San Francisco.  Given the shoddy mapquest directions I was attempting to follow, it’s amazing that I didn’t end up in San Fran proper, [...]]]>

GETTING THERE

I should have rented the GPS.

I just got back from an amazing weekend in Seattle, where I attended a fantastic workshop in felt and straw hat blocking lead by Wayne Wichern, of San Francisco.  Given the shoddy mapquest directions I was attempting to follow, it’s amazing that I didn’t end up in San Fran proper, actually.   After spending HOURS trying to make my way to my friend Shawn’s place, in Bothell, I pulled into a random convenience store and tried to get the cashier to point out on my mapquest map,  where we were.  He didn’t seem to speak much english and I started becoming rather frustrated in his direction, with my situation in general.

That’s when a voice piped up behind me “Well, maybe I can help…”

I turned around to face my potential benefactor.  The voice belonged to someone who can only be described as a blond Kevin Smith (with longer hair).  Never one to turn down an offer of help, even if it did come from someone with enough mustard stains on his shirt to dress an entire hotdog, I replied, “Really?”

“Yeah, sure, I have GPS in my truck.  I just need to buy some smokes and a lotto ticket and you can follow behind me to your friends house.  It’s not far from here.”

I thought to myself – ‘You mean, the dungeon where you lock up unsuspecting and lost Canadian girls is not far from here…’   “OKAY!” I chirped.

I followed this unassumingly tech savvy guy out to his white pick-up truck (of course it was) and sure enough, there was his laptop set up with GPS.  He punched in my destination address and moments later, after finally introducing himself as ‘Joe’,  I was following him to Shawn and Bethany’s.

Getting lost on my way there was the first of many such instances over the weekend.  My driving misadventures taught me that GPS is invaluable and worth whatever it is the car rental company is charging, and if one must print out maps, googlemaps seems to be far more accurate than mapquest.  Still, driving around Seattle was nothing short of a Fright of the Navigator!

The Workshop!

The whole purpose of my trip was to learn how to block felt over a wooden hat block.  Hat making, as Wayne puts it, is relatively low tech.  You have a felt or straw hat body, you apply steam to it, you stretch it over the block and allow it to dry.  Simple?  In theory.  I knew that it would involve the aforementioned steps, but what I was not aware of, was how much physical work it takes to stretch the felt over the block – all the while wrestling with the hood or capeline to try and anchor it into place but tacking it in and stringing it up.  One uses one’s whole body in the process, it’s really quite exhausting!  But, the results can be worth it, as I found out when I lifted my beautiful Bordeaux coloured, velour felt cloche from the amazing Italian block which Wayne so kindly brought for me from his studio in San Francisco.  I had emailed him about this particular block after spying  it in the background of one of the photos of his atelier on his website. I never thought that he would bring it all that way for me and when I saw it on the table, shortly after arriving to class, my heart leaped! I was beyond delighted!  How thoughtful of him! What an absolute gem of a fellow to so generously share his knowledge of this once common trade.  Millinery is a craft that is not as abundantly found as it once was a few short decades ago.  It’s very difficult to get good training in and equally challenging to find the precious hat blocks that milliners use to form their creations.  If anyone reading this knows of a former milliner in their family or you suspect that there may be some old hat blocks kicking around your grandparents attic, PLEASE let me know – I will gladly dust them off and get them back into their intended use!

The workshop was extremely fun and I was so lucky to have been able to participate as one of the 8 students.  I am very much looking forward to seeing Wayne and everyone again  – perhaps at the upcoming Hatcamp, which will also be held in Seattle this year!  Please check out my flickr site for photos of the weekend and I will post photos of my finished and trimmed hats soon – I am still putting finishing touches on them!  Thank you Wayne and thank you Pam.