--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?