Day 1. Hat review.

So my mother makes hats. Lot of hats. Most of them wool, some of them are awesome, in that they actually fit, have a pattern that extends itself from flap to bill.

I like to call them organic; they seem to sprout up, exist in their own world. Aptly covering one ear, but not both, urban enough to get notice in lower Manhattan (where nothing gets notice anymore), and they're special in that (hold for cheesy moment) Mummi makes em.

They're sweet. They take up their own space, unassuming and loud. Strangely in place, though like few other hats you've seen before. I adore that she makes them.

Problem is, she makes a lot of them. Knitting has been her "thing" as far back as I can remember (and I'm 30, but there are at least 28 years of hats in my memory). This generation of hats seems to have kicked itself in high gear just under 2 years ago when my daughter (Mummi's grand) was born. Now we both receive the knits in boxes, bags, used hampers... I can (but won't) go on.

Mummi is compelled to make these things for us. And the process is a lengthy one I won't detail, though it does include unraveling donated sweaters for base yarn before intricately knitting these hats anew. Impressive, if extensive. I've wondered if she makes them as a element of her diagnosis (paranoid schizophrenia) or if she would have made them, or been so creative in general without this reality. I really don't know.

I've grown to appreciate her craft (again, some of these things are awesome) but for both process and product.

I feel like its how Mummi has made sense out of life, she creates.
How many of us would like to do just that?

I, for one, would.