photo taken September 17, 2009 by Denise Andrade

Why am I in prayer? Well, my niece Lauren is in Salamanca, Spain this semester. Her alleged purpose is to improve her Spanish, experience the pace and sunlight of Southern Spain and to futher her studies of rioja, pesquera, and sangria. I say alleged because as far as I am concerned, the girl has one clear objective: find my hat and bring it home to me.

You see, I once had a hat from Cordoba. (Can I just tell you as I wrote that sentence I wanted to say it in a Danish accent as it echoed the first line of Isak Dinesen's story, "I once had a farm in Africa . . .") As hats go, it was superb. Not only was it really well-made so that it could withstand the rigors of a dance party where it may or may not have found itself crushed behind a sofa and locking eyes with an advancing pool of beer that threatened to spread over its brim before I rescued it once again, but it fit my head perfectly.

As a rule of thumb, I like a hat that fits my head. (You laugh? You think this is simple? You obviously don't often wear hats). The hat shouldn't flatten my hair and it shouldn't leave a red imprint across my forehead that makes people wonder if I had just come from peering through the gates of hell. This hat was all that and then some. It was my favorite hat ever. Ever ever ever-- and I uh, lost it.

Maybe you all think I am overloading the girl-- perhaps you mistakenly think I am sending her off on a wild goose chase-- what a terrible burden to put on a pretty young thing to make her think that her aunt's happiness rests solely on her finding this hat and bringing it back to her? Oh please-- it's not like I didn't give her a photograph as a clue.

photo of Penelope Cruz wearing my hat

My life post lost hat has been most challenging indeed. I am left to wear soft, knit caps that are nice enough, but evoke more of a Greek washerwoman than a spanish spitfire as evidenced below:

yet another photo by the luminous, sexy, sultry, amazing, love bunny Denise Andrade

But I have confidence in my niece. She descends from a long line of strong, shopping savants. Her formative years were spent discriminating between cabbage patch dolls (too country) and the American Girl collection (too commercial). She will persevere--

Right now? I've got Daisy here pressing her nose into my thigh and whining-- a most irritating state of affairs. This writing a blog post has definitely cut into her walk schedule and she is none too pleased about it . . so it is off to the fields I go. However, before I leave you-- if you have not seen that Miss Doxie has returned, well then-- I am happy to be the bearer of glad tidings.

I had nearly given up hope . .. but she is back, with a kitteh, no less!

Bisous, E

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