Tuesday, July 9, 2013


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.



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.


Stan said...

I am guilty...the worst thing is searching for misplaced thoughts.

Linda Phillips said...

The things that I have lost have all been things of monetary value. Things that I have misplaced have all been found in my home.

The others that never turned up were lost or stolen and one in particular, my adored and meaningful black metal Movado watch fell off my wrist inside a large store or it's parking lot and was never returned. That broke my heart as I had purchased it after a horrible year of non-stop surgeries and confinement. So to me it was priceless.

I can easily understand why a missing favorite scarf would be just as upsetting.

I'm so glad that you found it!

Carola said...

I lose things in the house. Sometimes I think they really do get thrown away, but usually if I think it through, I can find them, and often they are right where they should be, just jammed behind something or otherwise not obvious spot.

Anonymous said...

This is my 2nd go at this...
Yes, I can identify with misplacing something and going on a hunt search mission until I find the lost item. Enjoyed your purple scarf story-cute and interesting. kam

Maureen Jacobs said...

As I read your post, I am reminded of the little things in life that make me smile. A scarf, a trinket, a 'something' that brings one pleasure makes all the difference in the world today. The big things matter, but the little things that make us smile only make the big things that much easier to handle. I have a quilt. I bought it over 20 years ago and insisted that I have the display. The quilt on the display was the last one. I needed it. The representative on the floor refused me. I insisted on a manager. The size was a twin, yet I needed a queen. Regardless, the quilt is still in my life and I would be heartbroken if it went missing. Holes and thinning areas do not matter. Having it is what truly matters, regardless of the price, condition, or size. What I found interesting is that when it is missing, I seem to find it on my oldest son's bed. Perhaps he is as sentimental as I. (FYI, he has a plethora of quilts to choose from in this house AND he also seems to be fond of a pillow that my husband had made for him when he was a wee one)

Unknown said...

As I read, I thought to myself "this is ME!" Of course, that's not at all surprising, is it, Em?

I'm so glad you found your scarf--so you didn't have to keep looking and looking...

Now to catch up with your other posts. :)