Right, so what is this all about? I've been buying scarves at estate sales from Day One—not because it's so chilly here in South Texas nor because I feel bad about my neck (yet)—but mostly to appease my children, both of whom have attended baby music classes that involved lots of Dances of the Seven Veils, baby-style, to music I wish I could forget but can't. I soon figured out that a half dozen "magic silks" or whatever they call them in catalogs like Magic Cabin and Hearthsong will run you $75 whereas estate sale scarves generally cost $2 to $5 apiece and come in every imaginable color, pattern, size and material. We've amassed a fantastic collection, which is kept in a Santa-sized drawstring sack that gets dragged out whenever somebody feels the urge to roll around in scarves, make scarf storms, scarf roads, scarf ghosts, scarf dog clothes, long knotted scarf ropes, scarf saris, scarf hats, scarf hair, or invent new and better scarf dances. Sadly, that doesn't happen quite as often as it once did; nevertheless if I come across a good scarf or five at a sale (usually they're piled up in a bedroom), I rarely pass it up.
This scarf, however, is a different case. I did not buy it for the kids; I bought it for me. And I didn't buy it to wear (red is so not my color) but just to wonder about. What is it, dammit? A fortune-telling game? How does it work? Did it come with accessories—dice, game pieces, a wheel of fortune? I dunno, but it's been annoying me with its stubborn mystery for a few years now. If anyone knows, tell me.
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