My Little Woolly Red Scarf
“Don’t ask yourself what the world needs. Ask yourself what makes you come alive and then go do that.” Harold Thurman Whitman, poet, minister, civil rights leader in the 1950s, 1960s
If you had only one more week to live, how would you spend it? What would you do each time you wake up? Each evening as you get ready for sleep? What would you yearn to eat? Drink? Be with?
If it’s a chilly morning, I will wrap my little red scarf around my neck, flip one long end dramatically over one skinny shoulder and go out and strut my stuff.
If it’s evening, I will eat a pizza, followed by with three scoops of Rocky Road ice cream, dig out my huge ball of fire engine red Sports Weight yarn and hook myself another long skinny little red Wow scarf. Rita gave me her pattern. Rita is a whiz kid at the local yarn shop and what she can’t crochet can’t be crocheted.
My little woolly red scarf is a bunch of about fifty flowers stretched out over about six feet. When I first started crocheting this winter, my little red scarf sometimes looked like it had tumors on its sides because I didn’t get that you have to hook and turn, hook and turn. In English, that means that each flower motif has a life of its own. But I finally put in more stitches than I tore out and wow, does my little woolly red scarf get me attention. Sashaying down our rural town’s streets, no one misses it. Most everyone goes gaga over my little woolly red scarf.
“Ooooo, oooooh, I love that little red scarf,” fellas say. “Did you make the beautiful red flower scarf, Miss? ladies in shops ask. I never have so much fun or feel so fancy as when I take my little woolly red scarf out for a walk on Main Street. It’s just like Rev. Whitman said: “Pick what makes you feel alive and then go do that!”
Having been a female all my life, I’m not sure what makes most men feel alive – besides females, but my buddy David feels alive when he looks most un-alive. Every time it rains, David wraps himself in a huge blanket, tucks into a lawn chair on his porch, and sleeps there all night. One neighborhood newcomer says: “When I first moved here, I thought, “What kind of place is this? Do they sit folks who die in porch chairs all wrapped in shrouds? Grandma Como would raise one eyebrow and say, “It takes all kinds.”
Meditation for the Day
“Everybody has his own truth so you just pick your truth.” Heroes, Dustin Hoffman
Action for the Day
Today, I will let myself feel my own truth and I’ll follow my own truth for the day. Or for forever.
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