< Not as you can see, a matching set. Yesterday I came home to a hat my Auntie Vi knitted and mailed to me.
And I had just bought this silk scarf for $5 at the Thrift Store.
I complain about the junk people donate to the store––
Cool Whip containers, their plastic bottoms rippled from microwave use
ribbon bows, smashed flat
handbags with mold growing inside
––but this scarf, it's like spun amethyst silver, and it's never been worn.
When I got home I looked up the name on the label, Faliero Sarti. They're Italian scarf makers, whose scarves sell at places like Barneys New York for hundreds of dollars.
I'm going to wear it on Wednesday to interview for a job in Activities on a memory loss wing of a senior residence.
They've asked me to lead a short activity of my choice after the interview, so this Sunday morning, I'm going to the Farmers Market to buy sunflowers, which I'm going to invite the residents to paint.
I will take my scarf off before the paints come out.
2 comments:
Expect to be petted. I used to have my head petted all the time, as I put the lock on wheelchairs or set the footrests down. I'd feel a hand on my hair, back it was a dark chestnut. I took it as a kind of blessing.
Sweet. Petting would be a job benefit. My silver hair would like it too.
I've been studying up on life with dementia and read that people in care homes get 87% less stimuli than the average adult gets.
So... wow... yes, please touch!
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