By Lauren Green
On the day of my dad’s funeral, I was gifted a delicate, lace-trimmed handkerchief. Moving through the visitation line, my dad’s long-time friend pressed the cotton square into my hand and tearfully asserted that some occasions deserve more than a Kleenex. She was right, of course. Funerals, as well as joyful milestones like births, weddings and graduations are life events that commonly elicit a tear or two. All, I suppose, are worthy of more than a single-ply throwaway tissue. But as far as my everyday-variety tears, paper tissues work just fine. Which is a good thing, since nowadays a cloth handkerchief is rare to come by. Still, even with the usefulness and accessibility of the common tissue, I seldom have even one of those on me when I need one, especially at home. Ours has never been a tissue house.
Living in Southlake, my family experiences a plethora of suburban advantages. Our street winds through a beautifully designed neighborhood with sidewalks, shady trees, and well-equipped playgrounds. We can walk to church, the tailor and the donut shop. And we have restaurants, stores and a small, but engaging public library just a short bike ride away from our front door. Best of all, when our kids were little, they were close to a whole passel of friends thanks to our living just down the road from the neighborhood elementary school. My daughter and son spent big chunks of their childhood crisscrossing sidewalks and streets, parading in and out of friends’ houses. As such, each house earned particular trademarks. Carey’s house had the rat. Desi’s had the backyard creek. The Carters had a pantry full of the best junk food. Our house was the craft house. Need a green glitter pipe cleaner or a handful of old buttons? You could count on us. We were known for our craft closet; fully stocked and ready for rainouts and snowdays alike. However, our house was also known for what we didn’t have. If you were over and had a runny nose, you were out of luck; we hardly ever had tissues.
I’m not sure why, but other than times when one of us was suffering from the occasional head cold, I’ve never been good at keeping tissues on hand. For my family, this was not a big deal. But for my daughter’s allergy-ridden best friend, this was, if not a serious problem, at least a frustrating one. She had year-round allergies. As such, she spent a good part of her childhood wiping her nose thanks to pesky allergens embedded in both grass and air. Sure, we had roll after roll of toilet paper she could use. And, in a pinch, stacks of napkins and bolts of paper towels were easily accessible. But for this sweet girl, I suspect tissues were the gold standard when it came to practical…and comfortable…nose care.
I don’t remember if we had tissues around when I was a little girl, but I do know that today, my mother is a pro at keeping her house fully stocked with them. Year round, you can find tissue boxes tucked in just about every corner throughout her home. Looking back, my mom probably inherited her skill of tissue-awareness from her mother. My grandmother not only had a box of tissues in every room, but she went even farther to always keep one tucked up under the sleeve of her shirt, ready at a moment’s notice for a sniffle, spill or swipe. In fact, after my grandmother died and just before her funeral began, my mom remembered to tuck a tissue just under the sleeve of her cardigan sweater; thus completing my grandmother’s specially curated burial outfit. A small detail that I know my Granny surely appreciated.
We are a couple of months into a new year and if it plays out like every year before it, all of us will face a wide array of highs and lows; some leading to the inevitable hard-to-avoid tears and nose-blows. Take heart though; cloth or paper, hankies and tissues have us covered. There’s no way to fully know what is ahead, and there’s only so much we can (or should) do to prepare. Even so, I think I’ll take a cue from the women who came before me. My tissues are purchased, positioned and ready to be whisked into action, come what may.