|Mama always wore an apron|
I thought mama was so smart to find a easy place to keep that hankie. So one day I decided to keep one there too. It made a lump on my blouse and then fell to the floor. I stubbornly jabbed it back inside the blouse. When I realized the battle had been lost, I went to mom, asking why hers would stay put and mine wouldn't.
She didn't laugh. I give her credit for that. Had our roles been reversed, I'm pretty sure I'd have giggled long and loud. She told me I'd have to keep it in a pocket until I grew old enough for a bra. She promised me that when that day came, the hankie would stay put.
|Pretty bags that smelled good|
were always in her hankie drawer
|Mama had a lot of hankies|
There were times when we'd all be out as a family and one of us girls would fall and skin a knee or elbow or whatever. Out came the hankie. Wounds got double spit. The wounded one got cleaned till mama was satisfied we wouldn't get infected before we got home to proper first-aid.
|My own hankies were kid size.|
According to history, handkerchiefs date back to Rome and the days of the gladiators--when those in attendance waved their hankies in response to whatever was going on in the ring. My guess would be that it was the men waving the hankies. Those moms, like all others after them, were likely spit washing a youngster's smudgy face or skinned knee. In a mother's world, some things just never seem to change.
"She watches over the ways of her household,
And does not eat the bread of idleness.
Her children rise up and call her Blessed;
Her husband also, and he praises her."
Proverbs 31: 27, 28