One Is For Show

Once upon a time, long, long ago, ladies always had two handkerchiefs in their handbag.  One was for show and one was for "blow."  The one for show was fancy, patterned and/or lace trimmed, and was only taken out in public, probably to dab away a tear or some such in ladylike fashion.  My mother crocheted lace for many, many handkerchiefs, some for her or my purse and some for much-appreciated gifts.  As she aged and her eyesight was failing, I found her sitting outside in the driveway of her apartment building, crocheting yet another hanky.  She said she could see better in the sunlight.  I still have several examples of her lovely handwork tucked safely away.

The other was strictly utilitarian, large, plain, and useful.  That one was used to blow a nose, a kid's nose, get a child to spit on a clean corner to wipe their dirty face (yes, we did that), stop minor bleeding...oh, a multitude of things.  If Mother wasn't carrying a purse and didn't have a pocket, she'd tuck a hanky up the sleeve of her cardigan, just in case.

Men also had the show and blow technique.  My father was a dandy, always wore a suit, and had many handkerchiefs, white or colored, to tuck in the breast pocket of his jacket.  These were folded in the fashion of the day:  one point, two or three points, or square top showing.  They were only ever taken out to loan to a weeping lady.  Daddy's blow handkerchief was stuck in a back pocket.  I learned to iron on the many hankies in our house.

This subject came up because I've had a drippy nose for a couple of months and it's driving me bonkers.  If I've said it once, I've said, "Blow, don't sniff," a thousand times to my Kids, and now it's me making that irritating sound.  There are boxes of tissues in every room, but I'll be darned if I remember to put one in the pocket of my bibbies and there I'll be in the barn, dripping and sniffing like a three-year-old.  I don't even have a hanky to carry anymore.  I'll be glad when the pollen or dust, whatever, stops plaguing me.  Sniff.