Momma always kept a balled-up Kleenex in her right hand (or in her pocket).
She used this all-purpose tissue to wipe her drippy nose caused by what she called her “hay fever.” When we were kids, she also used her Kleenex to wipe a snot-nosed child’s face or to stop a scraped knee from bleeding. In the 1960s right before entering our Catholic church for mass, she could use a not-too-crumpled tissue as a make shift head covering for a forgetful daughter who had left her chapel veil at home. I still remember her pinning the white tissue atop my head using a stray bobby pin from her purse. No need for her to fuss at me for my memory lapse. My pin-scraped scalp was punishment enough.
In a way always having the Kleenex on hand is a “Mom thing” – a being prepared thing. (for small spills, runny noses, dirty faces, fresh lipstick blots, minor cuts, or sudden tears).
When Momma was wheelchair-bound and barely talked, she still kept a Kleenex in her hand. After she died, I looked through the small leather purse she had carried everywhere she went. Inside I found her wallet, which held My Daily Rosary prayer card, her drivers license, and her library card. Also, there was a tiny round frame with a picture of my sister Kelly, a half-used Wine with Everything lipstick, a nail file, Double mint gum, and a couple of balled-up tissues. I smiled.
I’ve been going on long walks around 7:15 each morning, and I take along a Kleenex in my pocket. I use the tissue to open the black iron gate that surrounds our apartment complex, to scratch my nose, and to wipe my forehead when the temperature gets in the 90’s.
After my walk, the tissue is ragged and sweaty. It seems to symbolize my fears and uncertainty these days. The tissue keeps me from touching my face or some random object. The Kleenex I shove into my pocket before I venture out (for a walk, to the grocery, on an errand) feels as necessary as a face mask or hand sanitizer.
Either I’m turning into my mother or channeling a parent’s attempt to be prepared for life’s surprises and disasters. If a balled-up piece of tissue gives me comfort, I’ll take it. And I’ll focus on not tripping on the cracked sidewalks while I listen to birdsong and car horns.
10 thoughts on “Balled-up Kleenex by Ginger Keller Gannaway”
Thank you Ginger.
Your Aunt Gerry was always a true Southern Lady, Kleenex and all.
Mary, thanks for showing love and support. We Southern Ladies got to stay close.
Thank you, Ginger, for such a sweet reminder of your darling mama and to be prepared! The kleenex was a small, seemingly inconsequential item, yet its purposes were varied. I’m going to put some Kleenex in my purse right now and think about all our mama’s and their wisdom and love.
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Merci beaucoup, Sistah! Mommas know best.
That was beautiful, Ginger. And now I need a Kleenex.
Ha ha, Crystal!! Thanks so much for reading and commenting!
Balled up Kleenex is one of life’s essential tools!
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We all trip on cracked sidewalks, Sis. You are a true storyteller.
Keep ‘em coming!
Thank you, Gayley! I’m glad that when I do fall on my face, you always help me up.