Photo Copyright: Maggie May
Last Sunday, I went to Church in a grey cap, spotted with tiny black polka dots. People seemed to either love it or hate it. The people who liked it, said that it looked like a fashion hat and they felt it suited me and made me look well. Thankfully the people who didn't like it, didn't remark about it anyway, so maybe there weren't any people there who didn't like it after all.
Because I wore the grey cap last week, I was recently given this cap in the photo by a friend at church, who bought it on impulse and maybe didn't have the nerve to wear it. She has similar colour taste to me, so she knew that I would like it.
In reality, the colours are stronger than the photo gives credit for, but Harry took the photo and this was his fifth attempt and he was getting a bit fed up with trying, so I decided to use it.
I have worn the hat ever since J gave it to me. My daughter said that it was *really me* and my son calls it my *lovely Rasta hat*.
Millie the youngest granddaughter asked me why I was wearing a funny hat, so maybe she is telling the truth and everyone else is flattering me. Children of six years old most often tell things the way they are.
Anyway, ever since having chemo, I have got used to people staring at me and I have got a bit hardened to this and take no notice, although at one time I would have been very embarrassed to be stared at or to wear anything unusual. Chemo has made me be able to look people in the eye and walk tall, so some good has come of it.
Anyway, I like the hat and have no problems whatsoever going out in it. If I get chatting to people, I usually tell them I am recovering from chemo and they seem pleased that I am feeling better.
So far people haven't said to me, "Oh I do/don't like your hat." Rather, they have said,"You look exceptionally well."
Some people are asking me via email how Ash the black bunny is getting on. He is really fine and I am taking him out of the cage and handling him several times a day. He is not so jumpy and skittish now. He lets me take him out and snuggle him against me and I am trying to get him to sit quietly on my lap to be stroked. He seems to be allowing me to do this for longer periods of time. Suddenly he will have enough of that and he tries to leap off my knee. I have to be careful that he doesn't end up with a broken bone. So far I have been quicker than him and I let him be the judge of how long he tolerates the stroking and cuddling. He is in charge of that.
I love him to bits.
Harry, who was never going to let a rabbit darken his doorstep let alone be housed in the dining room, suggested we go to a large animal centre yesterday morning, to look at rabbit toys!!!!!!
We bought Ash a tinkly ball that he tosses about his cage, and a reed mat to sit on and some wooden toys on a chain to chew on.
I have heard Harry say *hello* to Ash on several occasions when the rabbit is out of his sleeping quarters and he says things to me quite excitedly, like, "Ash is all stretched out at the end of the cage, really relaxed." So I guess he is secretly making friends with him. How about that.
Footnote: If there are any Rastafarians reading this, please note that I am not making fun of your hats. I love this one. It is just that my fair skin and lack of dreadlocks or hair of any kind, makes mine seem a little unusual for me.