Handkerchiefs Are Forever

You can find them in any little antique shop: tissue-soft handkerchiefs that are much older than you are. Hold them up to the light and you can probably see the ghost of your great-grandmother pass through the room, framed by hand stitching so cunning and delicate you can almost feel the soft skin on the backs of her hands. 

I carry a stash of the beautiful handkerchiefs my Grandma Sue embroidered, and I love them very much. After many years of washing, they are impossibly soft and nearly transparent. They remind me of those people in my life who cared for their things over a lifetime, gracefully sidestepping the culture of disposables in a way that makes it seem easy, though we know it is not. 

Consider: Sue had a bright white coverlet that was part of her wedding trousseau, and it remained bright white all the days of her life. Me, I have never been able to keep a t-shirt white, nor a pair of socks, nor a fitted sheet, But one thing I can do regularly is carry a clean handkerchief.

Hanky Days Are Here Again

Some might say it’s a lost art. I don’t know if that’s true, but I know that caring for our belongings is less a priority for my generation and those that followed. Disposables are everywhere now, and that’s been true for as long as we can remember. 

Those of us who are middle-aged were raised in the ’80s, when convenience was peddled as a virtue. I think we are starting to know better — as we always should have. After all, our grandparents grew up in a time when making do or doing without was as regular a notion as resealable baggies are today. 

Yes, disposables are abundant, but who wants to fill their pockets with balled-up wads of used tissue, those damp, crumpled reminders of human frailty? Save your pockets for what they’re really good for: soft hankies, smooth rocks you find at the beach, and snacks. 

A handkerchief doesn’t crumble onto your shirtfront in the manner of septic-safe toilet tissue. It doesn’t chafe your nose like paper does. Every time I dab my nose with one of Sue’s hankies, I feel two things: fancy, and cared for.

Blow, Wind of Change — and Runny Noses

Here’s a question. What do late-1980s power ballads and using less have in common? They’re both things I harp on about. The Scorpions’ 1991 hit, “Wind of Change,” is a classic that really brings those ideas together. Not a song about nose-blowing, per se, it still applies to the greater theme of being swept up in changes that make the world better. 

I was listening to it on a recent evening jog. Really, the only thing running was my sinuses, but I was out there trying, dreaming away with the children of tomorrow, when I felt that old hope and optimism rear up inside me. That, and the sniffles. I didn’t have a handkerchief on me at the time, so what could I do in “the magic of the moment” but hold a finger to one nostril and blow my snot rocket into the glory night?

If you’re new to the “snot rocket,” you can pick it up easily (much easier than whistling, which I still can’t do); I learned how in college from a hiking companion who studied conservation biology, and it’s just as I said: hold one nostril closed and expel a short burst of air through the other one, a quick point-and-shoot. Provided you’re alone and not a carrier of contagion, it’s effective, innocuous, and one hundred percent tree-friendly. 

The Choice Is Yours

This is not to say that I don’t keep hygienic options like paper tissue on hand for guests of my home — I do. But it’s good to remember that there are many options available when the sniffles hit. A handkerchief is still my favorite, and if you haven’t tried it seriously, I hope you take the opportunity. 

When you don’t have a hanky handy, that’s OK — you know what to do. Apply basic judgment with basic social skills, and the old “right time, right place” argument holds, in nose-blowing as in all things. 

Go in good health, and launch responsibly.