--the rare, the fine, the beautiful--Charles Tiffany (1812-1902)

NOW:
Scarves! I thought they'd disappear with the last snap of winter, but they are popping up everywhere. A March cover of the New Yorker highlights a red scarf unfurling in the wind, on the Martha Stewart show, a guest--Jacques Costeau's granddaughter--was wearing a stunning scarf in cobalt blue, and the boutiques are displaying filmy sheer silks and cottons for dress or the beach.
The other day, I received a lovely surprise from Jane, a fan in Marshalltown, Iowa. The card was a fanciful sketch of a girl with a miniature multi-colored scarf knitted on toothpicks! Signed by the artist, it arrived from Sanibel, Florida, so exquisite it must be framed.
For years, I've tucked away a wide swath of sheer silk I found in Norway, in a blue and turquoise batik design. Without a single scissor cut, I might turn it into a voluminouse scarf--hmmmmm.

THEN:
In my hometown, knitting wool scarves was a winter sport and a necessity to keep snow from trickling down our backs. We'd wind the scarf around our necks or over our faces with frost forming wreaths from our breath. My mother warned, "Don't knit your scarves too long," and recount the tragic tale of Isadora Duncan, the dancer, whose long flowing scarf became entangled in the spokes of a car wheel as the driver pulled away. When I see those trailing long scarves, I worry.
In high school, head scarves became the rage. I remember my friend Rozella at the football games wearing a scarlet red scarf in fine wool with long hand-tied fringes along the edge. We followed her every move--she was the cheerleader--as her scarf dipped and danced during the cheers.
Every year a new kind of scarf became a fashion statement. There were the paisley's, the bandanas and triangles that tied in back, or around the waist. Wasn't it fun?
What do you remember?

"--the rare, the fine, the beautiful--"

Charles Lewis Tiffany (1812-1902)

I love this quote for the treasures we find in out daily lives, a kid's smile, a favorite song or a special present. A gift for today--then and now

NOW

It is not what I expected at the birthday party. My eyes popped when my granddaughter, Sarah, opened her present. "Oooh," she gushed, "a Coach!" I was shocked. A designer bag for a fifteen-year old? We admired the purse, a wristlet in Op-Art and Sarah's obvious delight. Then I remembered my teen=age purse, the color of raspberry to match a straw hat. I thought I was a fashion first!

I had the same feeling when I saw the London photo of Papa Tom Cruise carrying Suri, his three-year-old daughter, clutching a mini-Ferragamo purse. Or glancing at an upscale show window in the mall at a taupe goatskin wallet. But really--four figures for a wallet?

My new bag is practical. Generic, shiny, turquoise and huge--holds everything from a mini-library to a furry Dalmatian key ring. Never have to grope for my car keys. As I say, it's practical and perfect, but not as exciting as that first raspberry purse

THEN

NYC--1945. I remember the glistening jeweled bags at Tiffany's on the main floor. As pages, Marty and I would stand by the marbled-framed mirror near the glass counter for ladies' bags, eyes glazed. The evening bags sparkled in silver or gold, studded with diamonds, sapphires or precious stones. When the salesman would let us peek inside at the meticulous fittings, I would think, "How my mother would love this!"

Mother's purse was black in a soft leather, worn at the edges from years of use, bulging in the middle. Its contents were mysterious and held the fragrant scent of Lady Esther powder. Always she kept an extra handkerchief for me and would occasionally knot a nickel or a few cents in the corner. With my girl friend, we'd roller skate downtown to the movies, swinging our handkerchiefs. I'd never felt so rich!

Handbags, purses-whatever-are our personal connection to the world. What magical moments do you remember about a favorite handbag?