{"id":1028,"date":"2019-04-27T18:19:48","date_gmt":"2019-04-27T18:19:48","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/?p=1028"},"modified":"2026-03-19T22:33:42","modified_gmt":"2026-03-19T22:33:42","slug":"for-lack-of-a-hat-part-iii","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/2019\/04\/27\/for-lack-of-a-hat-part-iii\/","title":{"rendered":"For Lack of a Hat Part III"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"10292017<\/a><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Lady feels liberated. She glides through the hallway.\u00a0 The day\u2019s events sift and fall through her head like fairy dust.\u00a0 Blue carpeting ripples under foot like a rising tide.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

She rides it like a wave while grasping at green papered walls; its texture, wrinkled like old skin, supple and cool to the touch.\u00a0 She grabs onto a flickering sconce light: gold plated, chipped, cobwebbed. \u00a0A piece of web sticks to her hand and she rubs it off.\u00a0 It drifts onto a sea of carpet and disappears. Everything here belongs; every stitch and fixture itching to be a part of a whole – moving through rooms like blood through veins. Switching places.\u00a0 Switching purpose.\u00a0 Alive and magical.\u00a0 A chameleon, waiting.<\/p>\n

The ceiling yawns and creaks, it stretches its arms and opens a door that was tucked behind paper wrappings. Out of its green skin a gaping hole. \u00a0She steps in, carried by warmth and whim.\u00a0 Comfort.\u00a0 She feels comfort and touches her name badge.\u00a0 There are stairs leading up.\u00a0 She climbs, spiraling up and up and up- handrails like butter.\u00a0 It\u2019s lighter up here.\u00a0 She lands.\u00a0 The wall\u2019s at attention, flaunting photographs like a chest full of medals. Proud and anchored; safe from the rough seas below. \u00a0There\u2019s a mahogany desk in the corner: thick, polished, manly; \u00a0bolstered by billowing lace (an open window, curtains dancing).\u00a0 She\u2019s drawn to the desk and the upholstered chair.\u00a0 Dust rises when she sits.\u00a0 Particles scurry in\u00a0 sunlight.\u00a0 Tarnished brass pulls demand her touch, but she waits.<\/p>\n

Poised. She waits. \u00a0The room is filled with light, the walls hang onto the framed faces with perfect hair and eyes that look out.\u00a0 They look faraway, wandering, traveling, scuttling under doorways and out among rolling leaves.\u00a0 They rest on tree branches breathing in cool brisk air, alive and green and rosy. \u00a0Ghosts of another\u2026pulled this way and that, but grounded by roots, grounded by heavy heels dug in deep.<\/p>\n

Lady fingers the brass pull. The drawer slides open easily in its track. \u00a0A key ring with a key.\u00a0 Old, like a castle key, weighty, big as a fist.\u00a0 Substantial enough to open a world.\u00a0 It feels good in her palm; important, imposing, kingly. \u00a0She cradles it with both hands.\u00a0 And a notebook, leather-bound and creased, worn-out from too many hands, ink bold on its pages.\u00a0 The letters rise and fall in fountain blue.\u00a0 What has she here? There are whispers in the walls. \u00a0You are the keeper of the key they say, please take it, they say.\u00a0 The ink looks new, fresh, drying on the page.<\/p>\n

She traces letters with her finger. The pages don\u2019t run but her fingers, blue with words turn and turn.\u00a0 The Ivory pages smell of perfume, earth and spice.<\/p>\n

You are welcome here<\/em>.\u00a0 What\u2019s that? She closes the book, pats the cover and sits back.\u00a0 A hush of warm air pricks her neck.\u00a0 Her arms tingle with gooseflesh.\u00a0 The pages flutter and open to a pressed poppy and fresh ink.<\/p>\n

You are welcome here. This house was handed down, father to father, then to me.\u00a0 I, the only daughter.\u00a0 I, who sweep a basement ripe with loam and idle chatter.\u00a0 I, who warm these bones of plank and mortar,\u00a0I… seek something more.\u00a0 Here, where the sun fits through cracks and shuttered\u00a0 eyes.\u00a0 Up here on a pedestal of stairs\u2026 is something more.\u00a0 Come see.<\/em><\/p>\n

Idle chatter? Lady scans the walls.\u00a0 The eyes are looking in.\u00a0\u00a0 Surely this is a dream.\u00a0 Sarah would say it\u2019s for lack of a hat that such things blow in.\u00a0 And right now her head is full of fancy\u2026\u00a0 A pedestal of stairs?\u00a0 She had come in out of the wind, ducked in, no, blew in through a heavy door for want of motivation.\u00a0 She lunged, hopeful and open-minded, landing here with mad curiosity.\u00a0 A Take Charge seminar with no leader.\u00a0\u00a0 No speaker.\u00a0 Music piped in, leaves blowing, clock hands spinning.\u00a0 Delia May, shot down trying to talk sense.\u00a0 Lady losing her head for lack of a hat.\u00a0 She should have listened to Sarah but instead…<\/p>\n

This is not a dream. You have the key. Use it.<\/em><\/p>\n

Use it where? A keyhole this size?\u00a0 The white curtains rush in, hang midair and fall.\u00a0 Once, twice.\u00a0 The room is breathing but Lady is breathless.\u00a0 What is it waiting for?<\/p>\n

It grows impatient.<\/em><\/p>\n

Words write themselves on a blank page. It knows her thoughts.\u00a0 Sarah was right; wear a hat – keeps thoughts in and keep thoughts out.\u00a0 She grabs the key and heads for the stairs.\u00a0 Yes it does go up. But where?\u00a0 The key.\u00a0 Look for the door.<\/p>\n

She ascends.\u00a0 There’s a\u00a0strong scent of polish and pine.\u00a0\u00a0 The stairs go round and round, higher and higher.\u00a0 Bells ring.\u00a0 Bronze tones chime deeply, soulfully and\u00a0resound in her chest.\u00a0 She\u2019s in the rafters.\u00a0 Birds flutter. \u00a0It\u2019s drafty.\u00a0\u00a0 It\u2019s here.\u00a0 The door.\u00a0\u00a0 And the key to open a world.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

  Lady feels liberated. She glides through the hallway.\u00a0 The day\u2019s events sift and fall through her head like fairy dust.\u00a0 Blue carpeting ripples under foot like a rising tide.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":true,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_feature_clip_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2},"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false},"categories":[20,15],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1028","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-prose","category-short-story"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p7zCq3-gA","jetpack-related-posts":[{"id":320,"url":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/2016\/07\/23\/what-happened-out-back\/","url_meta":{"origin":1028,"position":0},"title":"What Happened Out Back- Part 1","author":"Kathy Follett","date":"July 23, 2016","format":false,"excerpt":"\u00a0The South Onnamaqua police rescue team responding to a call on September 8 discovered a local resident up to her neck in what was described as wet mulch after an accident on her property at 11 Breakfront St.\u00a0 Sheila Redmond (47) said she had\u00a0been hosing leaves off her barn when\u2026","rel":"","context":"In "Fiction"","block_context":{"text":"Fiction","link":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/category\/fiction\/"},"img":{"alt_text":"Onnamaqua Herald-Gazette","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/07\/studioandroid7142016-035.jpg?resize=350%2C200","width":350,"height":200,"srcset":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/07\/studioandroid7142016-035.jpg?resize=350%2C200 1x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/07\/studioandroid7142016-035.jpg?resize=525%2C300 1.5x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/07\/studioandroid7142016-035.jpg?resize=700%2C400 2x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/07\/studioandroid7142016-035.jpg?resize=1050%2C600 3x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/07\/studioandroid7142016-035.jpg?resize=1400%2C800 4x"},"classes":[]},{"id":859,"url":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/2017\/04\/17\/her-land\/","url_meta":{"origin":1028,"position":1},"title":"Her Land","author":"Christine Bexley","date":"April 17, 2017","format":false,"excerpt":"*Originally written for Pawling Public Radio's \"America the Beautiful\" poetry presentation \u00a0 I lay on the land, grass tickling bare toes. Descendants of descendants of descendants of the first ants to explore the soil steadily tiptoe over ancient rock and me. Crow caws, reminding me to remember the time before\u2026","rel":"","context":"In "Poetry"","block_context":{"text":"Poetry","link":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/category\/poetry\/"},"img":{"alt_text":"OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2017\/04\/P1010968-1024x768.jpg?resize=350%2C200","width":350,"height":200},"classes":[]},{"id":825,"url":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/2017\/02\/08\/for-lack-of-a-hat-part-ii\/","url_meta":{"origin":1028,"position":2},"title":"For Lack of a Hat Part II","author":"L Dewender","date":"February 8, 2017","format":false,"excerpt":"\u00a0 \u00a0 Lady takes a cursory look around the room; even without direct eye contact she can see the wrinkled faces and craning necks over the high back chairs, stretching toward her... She smiles apprehensively and backs away. She had no intention of making a spectacle of herself.\u00a0 She doesn\u2019t\u2026","rel":"","context":"In "Short Story"","block_context":{"text":"Short Story","link":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/category\/contents\/submissions\/short-story\/"},"img":{"alt_text":"galaxynotesept2016 128","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2017\/02\/galaxynotesept2016-128-237x300.jpg?resize=350%2C200","width":350,"height":200},"classes":[]},{"id":84,"url":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/2016\/04\/10\/necessary-things-and-other-ramblings\/","url_meta":{"origin":1028,"position":3},"title":"Necessary Things and Other Ramblings","author":"L Dewender","date":"April 10, 2016","format":false,"excerpt":"Driving home after dark, chapped- lipped and thirsty. Too tired to wrestle with my bag for the lip balm tucked in a side pocket, so I open my mouth wide and stretch my cheeks back, brandishing an excited killer clown face. Not a sight to see in one\u2019s rearview mirror\u2026","rel":"","context":"In "Essay"","block_context":{"text":"Essay","link":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/category\/essay\/"},"img":{"alt_text":"","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/04\/057.jpg?fit=1200%2C900&ssl=1&resize=350%2C200","width":350,"height":200,"srcset":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/04\/057.jpg?fit=1200%2C900&ssl=1&resize=350%2C200 1x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/04\/057.jpg?fit=1200%2C900&ssl=1&resize=525%2C300 1.5x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/04\/057.jpg?fit=1200%2C900&ssl=1&resize=700%2C400 2x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/04\/057.jpg?fit=1200%2C900&ssl=1&resize=1050%2C600 3x"},"classes":[]},{"id":641,"url":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/2016\/11\/17\/she-fled-him-down-the-days\/","url_meta":{"origin":1028,"position":4},"title":"SHE FLED HIM DOWN THE DAYS","author":"James Crafford","date":"November 17, 2016","format":false,"excerpt":"(with a nod to Francis Thompson)\u00a0 \u00a0 She ran She fled \u00a0 He was Maleness to her He was Strength He was deep sexual Lust \u00a0 She ran from him She rented a cottage near Misquamicut Beach* And stayed there the entire off season \u00a0 He was Intellect to her\u2026","rel":"","context":"In "Poetry"","block_context":{"text":"Poetry","link":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/category\/poetry\/"},"img":{"alt_text":"","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/11\/nov162016-485.jpg?resize=350%2C200","width":350,"height":200,"srcset":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/11\/nov162016-485.jpg?resize=350%2C200 1x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/11\/nov162016-485.jpg?resize=525%2C300 1.5x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/11\/nov162016-485.jpg?resize=700%2C400 2x"},"classes":[]},{"id":1038,"url":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/2018\/01\/14\/a-light-through-time\/","url_meta":{"origin":1028,"position":5},"title":"A Light Through Time","author":"Jeff Ginsburg","date":"January 14, 2018","format":false,"excerpt":"For most of my adult life, I would call my parents, but only once a week. Even into my retirement, I had to preserve my sense of independence. But their average age is now over ninety, so our daily phone calls reassure me they are stable and I energize them\u2026","rel":"","context":"In "Non-fictions"","block_context":{"text":"Non-fictions","link":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/category\/contents\/submissions\/non-fictions\/"},"img":{"alt_text":"collage (1)","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/01\/collage-1-683x1024.jpg?resize=350%2C200","width":350,"height":200},"classes":[]}],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1028","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1028"}],"version-history":[{"count":9,"href":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1028\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1096,"href":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1028\/revisions\/1096"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1028"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1028"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1028"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}