Winter Scar-fuzz and Rudolph-Wilma That Is

LFG put the final touches on her Wilma Rudolph book report this afternoon. Rudolph overcame polio and all the institutional prejudices that a young black woman in Tennessee would face in the 1940’s to become a thrice Gold Medal Track and Field Olympian. Blue or black ink in cursive was the requirement for our Rudolph retort.  Do you have any idea how many times this child had to start over? She was in tears shortly after I snapped this picture. We both thought that the third time would be charming-what with daddy double checking the spelling and the little author agreeing to a couple of editorial changes. We finally got it but the journey was rocky.

LFG couldn’t say scarf when she was a tiny little thing. She said scar-fuzz and it was cute. Almost as cute as I was when this picture was taken by the former Mrs. Minimus many, many moons ago. I was courting LFG’s mom at the time and you can see in my facetious eyes that trouble was a brewin’ on this particular night. Good trouble. Fun trouble. We were staying at this really neat bed and breakfast somewhere near Charlottesville and we’d already had  a cocktail or two when I decided to step out on to the Jacuzzi kitted back porch of the little summer kitchen ante-house we were bunking in. The main house was lovely but the little outbuildings that had been converted into separate quarters were really cool. Come on people-as much ambience as one might discover in an 18^th century mansion now converted to a B&B-it’s a little bit challenging to get as jiggy as you want to with those thin walls and creaky floors. This was not a problem out in the summer kitchen.

Folks, there’s a reason that they put the little warning under the Jacuzzi switch. Champagne, cigars naked fiancé’s and two hundred million degree bubbly water flying out of those jets can become a mood buster rather fast. We almost visited the emergency room at UVA that night-it wasn’t me-it was the future missus. How was I spose to know that Kama Sutra number three hundred and eighty two was contraindicated in water?

Now the thing that I do not intend to do in this post is give any kind of tutorial regarding how to tie a scarf. I kind of approach scarf tying the same way I do the loading and positioning of a pocket square in the breast pocket of a sportcoat. The more you study it-the more you ruminate and cogitate on how to position it-the more studied and in the case of winter scarves-the less purposeful it will end up. Kind of like ruminating over Kama Sutra number three hundred and eighty two in the Jacuzzi. Just throw that bad boy-or girl around your neck-knot it one time and let it roll. My Flusser paisley is plenty big enough to cover me and silk is a really great product for winter insulation. No you can't have it Giuseppe so don't even ask.

The scarf in the Jacuzzi Sutra picture is a wool tartan-not sure the clan but what I’m sure of is that one of my best buddies and his new bride bought it for me while honeymooning in the UK and it’s valuable to me for sentimental reasons.

This one was made for me by the loving hands of a woman that I dated three years ago. I really liked her. My brother and I were talking about her over Christmas. She had the nicest butt...I miss her and her butt. Alas.

My all time fave is this silk paisley from my spiritual advisor Mr. Flusser. If the house was on fire and I could only take one scarf it would be a tough pick between the honeymoon tartan, the breathtaking butt girl scarf and the Flusser paisley. The Flusspais would probably win out butcept by the time I decided, the infernal flames would be licking my whatever as I made the painful decision and my escape.

The green wool and cotton challis upon which all the others are propped is also courtesy of Messrs. Flusser et al and it’s a good undercoating for a crew neck sweater and a jacket.

Cary Grant sports a scarf in the style intended for ones similar to my green challis. “My Green Challis”-sounds like a good working title for something. I’ll get back with you later-maybe-on what that something might be. Shut up.

Tony Biddle sported a scarf with equal parts élan and carelessness-both keys to duende. He also had a big ass nose. Bigger than mine. You know what they say about noses? Oh shit, it's feet they say that about. I wear a seventeen wide.

On a random note, my Wiley Brothers Hoof Pick belt continues to be my favorite Christmas gift. Y'all pool your money and buy me another one please.

So what does a daddy do when his little girl has maxed out on Wilma Rudolph rewrites? I first scooped her up and cuddled with her in my club chair.

I then rubbed her little temples and told her that I have to edit and rewrite things all the time-that it’s just part of the process to make things better. I didn’t tell her that there are things like this blog that I don’t edit and frankly don’t give a damn about grammar and syntax. Shut up.

I then cheered her up by conjuring tales of strong adventurous women like Wilma Rudolph but since scarfuzzes were my props, I conjured more in the direction of Amelia Earhart, Gertrude Bell, Coco Channel, Hellé Nice…the Bugatti Queen, and Karen Blixen.

You know-women that would make jealous the likes of Gertrude Stein because they were beautiful and smart.

So my friends-wrap your asses up in scarfuzz-read an inspirational biography about a strong woman and avoid the Jacuzzi at all costs.

Onward-in a scarf.

ADG and LFG