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2002-09-04 - 10:47 a.m.

Kleenex. Relieving…and essential in polite circles, and, unlike a horse-powered mini-bus or Braille toilet paper, the nose tissue is a useful invention. My nose has once again received a wealth of attention because of an attack of sinus problems. It's not a big leap from scrutiny of the nose to a study of disposable tissue. At least not for me.

Kleenex (just one trade mark for disposable tissue) has been around for about 78 years. Prior to the throw-away nose rag, ladies tucked handkerchiefs away in sleeve or purse, men crammed them in back pockets. I grew up with Kleenex, as did most Baby Boomer noseblowers, and the Kleenex generation is a force to be reckoned with.

We're not indiscriminate buyers; we're enlightened, reasonable shoppers. We know we can purchase tissues having the softness, strength and absorbency we need. And we know there are those products designed for tissue performance, personal convenience and aesthetics. We can purchase a variety of styles with pop-up and reach-in dispensing. Package sizes vary, including upright/cube styles, flat boxes and large boxes for a family of blowers. Today's throw-away tissue not only comes in colors, but in varying scents. Martha Stewart-like designers often select the Expressions tissue line to complement a variety of personal decorating styles.

Since I'm spending a lot of time tending to my runaway nose, I scan the product lines for the softest tissues made for colds and allergies. These are those three-lush-layers-not two-for baby softness, yet strong enough to hold up blow after blow after blow.

I've never owned a handkerchief. Mom might've had a couple years ago, although I don't remember her ever using them for anything other than dabbing away dirt on my knees, and I can remember Dad always having a freshly folded and ironed hankie in the back pocket of his trousers. My grandmother, however, always had a tiny handkerchief tucked up her sleeve or in her bra.

Grandmother would buy plain cotton squares and embroider pastel lace edges on them or sometimes embroider flower designs on the body. Once in a while she would pick up a few plain linen ones and tat (I think that's what it was) those and they'd eventually end up in someone's birthday card of Christmas stocking. Other than these long-ago memories, a formal cloth handkerchief is foreign to me. I've never thought about putting my schnozzle to cloth.

But someone must still be buying up the cloth version, I still see them occasionally in stores. And I still see some men wearing color or pattern coordinated handkerchiefs in lapel pockets. Hard for me to think they use those hoity-toity silk squares to blow out a nasal blockage. I suppose some folks could also have an allergic reaction to tissue products (don't tell the large manufacturers this) and are forced into cloth, and tissue can make a mess of the laundry if left in a pocket (I'm living testimony to that fact).

All those little floral and white and embroidered cotton and linen handkerchiefs might have a place, but I'll stick to my pop-up box of ColdCare Ultra Comfort throw-away tissues. And my abused nose will thank me for it!

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