Tuesday, July 9, 2013
LOST AND FOUND
My purple scarf -- it's purple chiffon, I tie it around my ponytail.
My favorite color, right length, it cascades down my back to my shoulder blades -- just the right amount. frames me -- my head -- me in my not very attractive work outfit, and gives me a femininely decorated look.
I misplaced it.
"This is dumb," I have said every single day since last Tuesday, when it disappeared. I blamed it on Marta the maid, who cleaned last Tuesday. I scolded myself for being attached to a scarf that is not only an inanimate object, but also a replaceable item. I mulled over and over where I could find another scarf that color, made out of chiffon -- I bought at the Woolworth's 5 & 10 cent store, that used to be on 14th street in Manhattan -- it closed about 10 years ago.
I searched everywhere in my office -- under the desks, behind the cabinets, bookcases, and shelves -- I always put my favorite purple scarf on the shelf next to a small carton that contains chiffon green, blue, orange, and yellow scarves that I don't like to wear. Saying out loud to the room, "it must be here," I searched again. After I mentioned it to John, my husband, we looked in the studio-theater, his office, the hallways. Upstairs, together, we searched for my scarf in the bedroom, kitchen, bathrooms, dining room, and the brown and green living rooms.
No purple scarf.
Cursing, furious, I have frantically searched all those places a second and third time, yelling "You're a nut. Ridiculous idiot, Stop looking. You know it's gone. It's been thrown out accidentally. By Marta, damn her. Or by you -- you when you emptied the waste basket. Or maybe John did it. -- dammit.
That it was gone, lost forever, made me depressed, frustrated, sad. It seemed symbolical. It reminded me of other things I have lost, looked for and never found. Gone things -- things that are irrevocably gone like youth.
I FOUND IT
ELEVEN MINUTES AGO.
There it was in the hallway on the floor, behind the legs of the rolling typewriter table on which sits the paper-cutter that sits on top of the Random House Dictionary.
I've got my purple scarf -- my decoration, the prettifying frame for my face when I'm in my work outfit.
The symbolical essence of gone things has told me -- gone things are not necessarily gone.