A Pocket Full of… Kleenex - theHumm February 2023

By Glenda Jones

We of a certain age need pockets in all our clothing. We don’t care that they’ll leave us with lumpy hips. Lord knows they’re lumpy already, so who’s going to notice? We’re not carrying coins to riffle through our fingers like tiny wind chimes; we’re not simply looking for a place to warm old fingers. We need those pockets for the ubiquitous tissue that is essential in drippy-nose season.

In “the olden days” our mothers carried lovely lacy handkerchiefs tucked delicately up a sleeve, where they could retrieve them discretely to be used noiselessly as required. Fathers too had large handkerchiefs tucked in a back pocket. They of course had no compunction to be discreet. Who among us hasn’t sat in church and heard a loud “HONK” from a back pew, sending us into fits of none-too-pious laughter?

Handkerchiefs were the simplest of gifts. They were cotton, decorated, monogrammed, trimmed, and presented in lovely little gift boxes, men’s in little wooden crates that could be turned into dolls’ cradles. No birthday, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, or Christmas would have been complete without someone receiving those useful handkerchiefs. They lasted for years too. They were laundered and pressed, stored in special handkerchief pouches, and used until threadbare.

In Grade School, daily we had to show that our hands were clean and that we were carrying that handkerchief, even though we never used it. We used our sleeves for runny noses; disgusting, but there it is. And then along came Kleenex, a big box of which sat on the teacher’s desk. Every student could have a balled-up Kleenex jammed up a sweater sleeve or floating on a desktop. Hence the need for the pockets.

Once the habit of carrying a tissue was established, it remained firmly entrenched. Now I can’t be without that thing, and I need somewhere to carry it. I have a lot of pockets: jeans have four, coats three, my hoodie has two, even fancy dress pants and skirts have one, and there will likely be a tissue in at least half of them. I’m bereft if I can’t find the pocket in which I’ve secreted the darn thing, and will go looking to fill one more. Lumpy? Oh yes!

“Don’t leave home without it” applies to my compulsion to assure my drippy nose won’t embarrass me. The worst is when I have to dig through my purse to find the packet of tissues hidden in the nether reaches. I have them in the car, in the equipment bag for dog classes, and in my gym bag. They’re on the bedside table, the kitchen cabinet, the buffet. And yet, often in the moment of need, they have abandoned me.

However, I know where they are lurking. As diligent as I am at checking pockets before laundry day, I always miss one lone renegade tissue that is waiting to foul the works. What a catastrophe when I open the washer, and find every single dark item swathed in white flecks of disintegrated tissue! No amount of flicking, shaking, swiping and picking is going to remove it. I swear, if put together those bits would grow to the size of a bedsheet. If by the grace of the Laundry Goddess the darn thing manages to stay in the pocket, it morphs into a sodden ball that sticks in there like a burr, staying damp and in time solidifying to surprise you the first time you reach into that pocket. No, don’t even think of trying to unravel it! It’s a life lesson that’s going to be repeated as long as I’m committed to carrying those things.

Two handkerchief stories for you:

Story One. I had a good and frugal friend in our university days who carefully washed and dried her used tissues, declaring she saved at least two dollars over the course of her term by treating this Kleenex with deep respect. I later found out that growing up in the far north, Kleenex had been considered a luxury that her family rarely had, so when she was given the honour of coming south to attend university, she felt it was her duty to treat her possessions with great care.

Story Two. My father often thought that his parental duty was to embarrass his girls whenever possible. As my sister and I would be going out on a date, with boyfriend nervously waiting, we’d hear my Dad: “Well son, when are you getting her home?” “Not sure, Sir, not late though.” “Do you have a handkerchief?” “YES!!”

And at this point we’d run for the door, and hope we got out before he called, “Have you been to the bathroom?” SLAM! We could practically hear him laughing as we raced down the driveway!

And to this day, Kleenex is always in one or more of my many pockets.

Catherine Blake —An Artist’s Inspiration - theHumm February 2023

By Sally Hansen

Art… and Soul

Creating art inspires her and she inspires artists — it’s a win-win for this irrepressible Almonte artist and art instructor. Nothing stops her — not polio or being a single woman working for CUSO in Zanzibar or concussion or cancer. Life hasn’t worn her down; it has both distilled and emboldened her and her lifetime passion for art. Cathy Blake’s response to my incredulity at the challenges she has faced and the opportunities she has embraced is an understatement: “I ......

A Pocket Full of… Kleenex - theHumm February 2023