Thinking About Scarves

The heyday of my wearing scarves was during the 70s and 80s. I bought an Echo scarf from Suzanne's Boutique in Myrtle Square Mall, Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, in the mid-70s and wore it to shreds. Literally.

Let me digress for a moment.

The south was a place of hair curlers (hair rollers, if you will), Saturday evening 'sets' at the beauty shop that would be worn all week, and LOTS of hair spray. We also prided ourselves on long zippers down the backs of our polyester minidresses. They were so easy to step into and one wouldn't get one's hair mussed. That was a big no-no. Looking at some of the cast iron 'dos from the 70s, I was hard pressed to determine how a woman could keep her hair from being mussed during, ahem, shall we say, the joys of marital bliss. I mean, the hair, mounds of it piled on top on one's head, didn't move. That was always a conundrum. If one was unlucky enough to have a pull-on article of clothing, where one had to gasp! Pull it over one's head, that was a problem waiting to be solved.

Enter the silk scarf.

The scarf had to be finely woven silk, not twill; it had to be slick. One would gently drape the scarf over one's head and catch the corners under the chin. Manuvering and blinded by the scarf, one would gently slide the garment over one's head and quickly whisk the scarf away. Voila! Successful dressing without mussing the hair.

Back to my point.

This is how I wore out the Echo scarf. After wearing it around the collars of countless blouses, it was regulated to its greatest cause: that of keeping my hair from getting mussed. It was a lovely scarf, colorful with flowers and paisleys on a creamy background. It was also expensive; the most expensive scarf I ever bought retail. It lived a good life until one day I took a critical look at it and laid it to rest in my vanity trashcan. To this day I use its successor, a nondescript silk scarf purchased from the low rent district of Belks department store back in the day when it had a bargain area. It's held together much better than the lovely Echo scarf, perhaps because of its peasant roots in NOT having a logo. I don't slip too many things over my head anymore, but the scarf is lovingly folded in my top drawer, a place of honor and duty when called upon.

My earliest scarf recollection is a chiffon kerchief tied around my older sister's ponytail. She had dark auburn hair and wore her hair in a ponytail along with rolled up dungarees and white poodle socks that she twisted around her ankles. There was always a brilliant scarf in her hair. She must have had dozens of those filmy chiffon squares. They were small, maybe 12 inches square and were like a breath on a breeze. There were also times when she folded one on the diagonal and tied it around her neck with a sweater set. In my little girl's 5-year-old mind, she looked like a movie star to me.

Years later when Mama and I were cleaning out her attic, we ran across those scarves, mottled and stiff with age. We were in a cleaning frenzy, and they didn't survive our scourge, but they remain in my memories, bright, young, and happy.

It Was 'Wind Song'

Herman took one last swipe at the whitewall tire and threw the rag in the bucket. 

The ’57 Bel Air was a great car, dependable in every way.  Dreamy thoughts of that white ‘60 Impala down at Palmetto Chevrolet came to mind and he just couldn’t get the long sleek lines of that fine automobile out of his head.

He’d just drive by again…one last time…to take one last look…before someone bought that white beauty off the lot…

~~*~~ 

What did Daddy always say?  “Good intentions paved the road to hell.” 

~~*~~

 

“Honey, come look!  I got this little bottle of perfume when I went to the car place…  I bet it’ll smell real good on you!”

Betty peeked out the window, “Herman, there’s a strange car in the driveway.” 

~~*~~ 

During the 1950s and 1960s, it was a big deal when the new car styles came out in September.  It was tradition to go to Palmetto Chevrolet in Conway, South Carolina, to see the new cars and it was tradition to get one of the little crown-shaped bottles of Wind Song perfume that they gave away.  That's my first experience with the classic fragrance that was created in 1953.  I wore it in high school and would revisit it over the years when I felt nostalgic for that slightly green floral scent.  The bottles were very pretty to sit on the dresser with their golden liquid inside and the pale green color of the creme perfume.  Alas, the regal crown-shaped bottles gave way to a generic glass container and they no longer have the charm that they once did.

Say Hello To My Little Friend

I was trying to photograph a pretty brooch for a friend and very carefully laid it on a hydrangea bloom.  This little guy wasn't a photobomb, but he's irresistibly cute.  In the second picture, you can (barely) see him soaking up some major rays in my hydrangea bush.

Can you see him?  There he is....12:00 high!

He was running fast; running behind.  He glanced at his watch.  1:30 PM.  No wonder he was hungry.  He’d stop at the country store up the road and get a carton of milk and a box of powdered sugar donuts.  He needed to use the phone anyway.

The sun was in his eyes and he reached up and put the visor down.  Absent-mindedly, he slapped his left breast pocket, took out the pack of cigarettes, shook one into his mouth and held it between his front teeth.  He barely slowed down as he drove off the main road, spraying the gravel in front of Cartrette's store.  He parked, grabbed his clipboard, and unfolded himself from the low slung car, throwing the cigarette as he did so.  The older man threw up his hand as the younger one sauntered in. 

“Well, hey.  You back here agin this week?”

“Yeah, gotta look at a wreck off 521.”  He looked at the name on his clipboard.  “Can I use your phone?  You know Wendell Coffey?”

“Course I do," he pointed in the direction of the highway.

"Next right, then the second left.  Dirt road.  Pretty bad ruts after this rain. You gonna have to drive real careful!”

The young man reached for the phone, dialed the number, and spoke briefly.  

The old man looked out the door at the white car parked on the gravel.  “Son, you like them things, don’t you?”

The younger man sat the milk and donuts on the counter, dug his wallet out of the back pocket of his old Levis, and laid a $5.00 bill on the counter.  He smiled real big.  “Yeah.  Nothing better than fixing one up.  Don’t want to put too much in ‘em though."  He laughed, "Can’t make any money if I do.”

The old man kept staring out the door at the white car.  “Ya know, J. D. Winkler's got one ‘a them things.  Had it a long time out under his barn shed.  Well, it belonged to his boy.  He got drafted.  Viet Nam.  He got killed..."  His voice trailed off, remembering.

"One day Wendell just up and drove that car under the tobacco barn shed, locked it up, threw some old tobacco sheets over it, and it’s been there ever’ since.”

“That's just too bad.  What'd it look like?”

“Can't remember too good.  Only saw it a time or two.  Had one 'a them funny looking back winders.”

The younger man's eyes squinted, his excitement rising.  

“Where is it?”

“Right down the road where you going.  Couple a houses down.  Y’ought to stop in there and ask him about it.  Tell 'im to let you see it.  Tell 'im I told you about it.  Don't think he'd mind.”

“Mr. Ben, you just made my day!  You keep that change.”

He picked up his milk and donuts and hurried to his car.  He got in, worn corduroy Levis sliding easily on the red leather seat.  He opened the carton of milk and set it between his legs.  He opened the box of donuts and popped one into his mouth, a trace of white sugar falling onto the front of his shirt.  He looked over at his clip board, started his car and drove onto the highway.   

To be continued...