'Rachel and Julie' side-story: (1) rhythms in Rachel's day

[launderedlace]

Sitting in her garden overlooking the sea, Rachel, not for the first time, realised how fortunate she was. Not just that she had this view from her home; it was many other things: friends, job, good health, a sense of self-worth and so much more

Looking into the distance from her garden chair where she was seated, she could see the far horizon between sea and sky; above this, drifted a few small fluffy white cumulus clouds. On the horizon was a scattering of faraway ships, one of which appeared to have billowing sails. Nearer, the gulls, almost gravity-defying as they remained motionless with outstretched rigid wings, enjoyed the gentle breeze. In her foreground, that same light breeze silently propelled forwards the sparkling white foam which, rhythmically, then fell back again

Standing, Rachel walked to her washing line where she checked the progress of her linens. Satisfied that at least some of the smaller items were completely dry, she began to unpeg them, including her foamy-white lace handkerchiefs which, fluttering rhythmically in the whispering wind, had just caught her eye

Before leaving home in order to meet her friend Julie on the promenade, Rachel decided she had a few spare minutes to fit in some ironing. Typically, she selected some handkerchiefs for attention; equipped with an iron set to the correct temperature and her can of spray starch, she set to work. Expertly, she rapidly created a small pile of immaculately-laundered, crisply-folded linen: some shaped as triangles, others shaped as squares. As she completed her work, searching in her side pocket she felt, and pulled out, the handkerchief laying there. She'd already used it once so, fully opened, the fabric's earlier pristine state had been slightly reduced by light crumpling. Nevertheless, it was a beauty: a tiny, embroidered pink 'R' in each of three corners; the fourth embellished with a huge 'R' monogramme surrounded by garlands of pink and grey flowers. Feeling that her handkerchief was only one nose blow away from being consigned to her laundry basket, Rachel dealt it precisely that. To her own surprise, and this wasn't what usually happened, her efforts produced a distinct honk accompanied by only a modicum of wetness. But, in her eyes, the threshold of acceptable cleanliness had now been breached: the offending handkerchief was tossed into the laundry basket with an air of near disdain, its place in Rachel's pocket taken by one of her lace ones laying, still warm, at the end of her ironing board.  She went out to meet Julie

Five minutes later Rachel, seated on a promenade bench, awaited her friend. Once more her eye was drawn to the sky, the sea, the gulls and the ships. Now closer to hand from Rachel's perspective, the advancing and retreating rhythm of pure white froth moved over the beach. This time, the rhythmic movement was accompanied by clearly audible surges. Sensing something out-of-place within the pulsating whiteness: a vague darkening, perhaps, Rachel took a closer look

Lowering her frothy white lace handkerchief into which she'd been rhythmically and vigorously blowing her nose, thereby ending the audible pulses, Rachel discovered the cause of the darkening. To her mild irritation, some of the snot which she'd hoped was being directed entirely into the centre of her handkerchief had sprayed onto, and sullied, its sumptuous frothy lace border. 

'That's beautiful, I haven't seen one of those for years,' came a voice from the other end of the bench. An older woman, unnoticed by Rachel and clearly not sharing any sense of irritation, had apparently just sat down there. 'I know I've got a whole stack of lace handkerchiefs stashed away at home; now I've seen someone else blowing their nose into one, I'm going to retrieve them and start using them; thank you for inspiring me.'

Feeling mildly embarrassed by the state of her handkerchief, especially its lace, Rachel merely offered the woman a friendly smile before again raising to her nose the huge, somewhat sullied, square of cotton and lace to mop up any stray snot. Peering again over the besmirched frothy lace, she noticed Julie now approaching; she would have to finish quickly, hide away her horribly dirtied handkerchief and find another clean one

[Rick]

Loved that Rachel can have a good big honk, but that it catches her by surprise when she does.

Very clever how you described her nose-blows as having their own "rhythm"...

[launderedlace]

Part 2: Julie’s domestic chores have consequences

At the same time that Rachel was busy with her laundry, Julie, at home in her apartment flat, was energetically multi-tasking: baking cakes, tending to plants on her balcony, and beginning to ice the cakes once they’d cooled. Unsurprisingly, it had recently become very much her style, her skirt was protected by a voluminous ruffled white waist apron, its huge bow crafted symmetrically behind her. Amazingly, despite being exposed to the various hazards of two hours of messy work, the only marks on the apron were a smudge of pink icing close to one of the pockets, and two hand-shaped outlines of cake mix

Crouching on her balcony as she re-potted one of her plants, Julie felt her nose begin to run. Sniffing, she touched its underside with the back of a floral gardening glove: a small tell-tale glisten gave away the true state of affairs. Removing her gloves, Julie searched all her pockets and both sleeves for a handkerchief but failed to find one; deciding on a course of action, in the midst of transferring the plants, which would avoid her having to go inside to find a handkerchief, she raised the hem of her apron to her nose and blew into it lustily and messily. After a final wipe and dab, she let the pretty broderie anglaise frill tumble back to the surface of her balcony as she continued to crouch. The compost she was using was dry; up until now, in its fibrous form, all that she’d spilled had merely bounced off her apron and fallen to the balcony floor around her. Now, although she didn’t notice this happening, some of the compost began to stick to the two patches of snot near the bottom of her apron

Completing one plant’s re-potting and deciding that she really ought to have a handkerchief about her, Julie went back inside to fetch one and placed it, freshly laundered and fully folded, into a pocket of her apron. She proceeded with her work: putting those plants which needed them into larger pots; she remained unaware, as she knelt, of those two still-wet ovals of snot continually dragging through the detritus of powdered compost. Time to step back and appraise the overall effect of her work on the balcony: she suspected that boyfriend Fred, something of a horticulturalist, would be impressed. Bathed in sunlight and immersed in a scarcely detectable breeze, she felt perfectly justified in her belief that the atmospheric, lush, micro-environment of her balcony was evolving successfully. A dark green creeper on the wall provided the background; in front of this was the array of her newly-potted plants; with only one plant remaining, all that would then be needed would be a refreshing sprinkle of water. Closest to her were sprays of small white flowers, around which danced a pair of white butterflies. A sudden, relatively strong and localised gust sounded within the balcony, animating the butterflies further and twitching the flowers they had been circling; amongst the disturbed flowers closest to her eyeline, Julie noticed areas of light green appearing for the first time 

Knowing full well what she’d find, Julie inspected the handkerchief into which she’d just blown her nose: as expected, a sizable portion of the prettily embroidered flowers and appliqued butterflies was now covered in green snot. The remainder of the handkerchief was still criss-crossed by a network of precise squares, remnants of her meticulous laundering. Massaging her nostrils to finish, she casually thrust the handkerchief back into the same pocket of the apron and turned her attention to the final plant. Once again, with her focus on the particular task in hand, her attention for anything else was distracted. The snotty portion of the casually thrust handkerchief had been pushed against the front of the pocket; unnoticed, an off-white stain soaked through onto the front of her apron. Predictably, a little more compost tumbled from her trowel as she dealt with the final plant; some of this fell into the pocket, sticking to the snotty handkerchief; a little more adhered to the damp, slowly expanding, patch, so dirtying more of her pocket on the outside

Emptied watering can in hand, Julie made a final appraisal of her work: yes, it was good. With little time remaining before she had to leave to meet Rachel, she quickly checked that affairs with her cakes were as equally satisfactory. Tugging apart the bow behind her, she untied her apron and hung it on its kitchen door hook. Only then did she notice the full evidence of her morning’s work besmirching the expanse of white fabric: in a way, she was impressed and reflected with pleasure that Fred would be as well. Now in something of a real hurry and without examining it a second time, she grabbed the handkerchief she knew she’d used only once from within the apron pocket, stuffed it fully into her sleeve, and rushed out of the door to meet Rachel on the promenade

‘Julie, that’s disgusting, you can’t possibly use that; whatever’s happened?’ Rachel admonished in a horrified tone, staring at the handkerchief now clasped to Julie’s nose

Reacting to her friend’s evident consternation, Julie lowered her handkerchief and, for the first time, noticed its condition. She realised immediately what must have happened with the compost and explained this to Rachel; to a degree, she agreed that her handkerchief was now in something of a distasteful state

‘I thought mine was bad enough, look’ Rachel confided, pulling her own lace handkerchief from her pocket, ‘but your one certainly takes the prize!’

‘Rachel, don’t be ridiculous, yours is near-pristine, as usual; what’s wrong with it? Nothing: one small part that’s crumpled and probably just a little bit snotty; I know what you’re like: just give it to me, I’m certainly happy to use it for the rest of today!’

Hesitating only momentarily; it was now commonplace for the two friends to share handkerchiefs; Rachel handed it over. Julie, selecting from the extensive remaining area of clean fabric, raised the enormous and exquisitely lovely lace handkerchief to her nose. It was true, the vast majority of the fine lawn cotton was still unsullied: its starched folds caused it, to a degree, to defy gravity rather like the seagulls Rachel had witnessed earlier; so, rather than hanging vertically as a single sheet, it formed a series of slight zigzags below the point where Julie grasped it. She blew her nose with escalating force: the snot within her nostrils gurgled increasingly until, losing its grip, it spurted out into the awaiting cambric and lace. The slightly-concertinaed section of Rachel’s handkerchief, framed by the deep lace, swung, like a slightly out-of-control pendulum, in response to Julie’s determined, messy, blasts

‘That’s better,’ shared Julie, in a satisfied manner, ‘thank you. Now listen, while I explain to you my ideas about a sneezy café’

As she then began, Julie relegated her own darkly stained handkerchief to her bag, and tucked Rachel’s beautiful white one, nestling their joint snotty endeavours, into her sleeve. She ensured, of course, that a clean section of the intricately hand-crafted lace was clearly on view for all the world to see

 

[Rick]

Sweet that the friends are so willing to share handkerchiefs, even when used - comes from a time when everyone was less concerned about infection control than we've been conditioned to in recent years I guess! I remember when I was younger I had a number of friends who were continual snufflers, and I'd happily use my own handkerchief to blow their noses for them without giving it a second thought!

[launderedlace]

17 hours ago, Rick said:

Sweet that the friends are so willing to share handkerchiefs, even when used - comes from a time when everyone was less concerned about infection control than we've been conditioned to in recent years I guess! I remember when I was younger I had a number of friends who were continual snufflers, and I'd happily use my own handkerchief to blow their noses for them without giving it a second thought!

Hopefully, I've paced the evolution of how Rachel and Julie use their handkerchiefs about right: when the characters were first introduced, Julie had only just begun to use handkerchiefs. Both characters are moving up the learning curve of handkerchief use (if there's such a thing!); in some respects, I suspect Julie's now overtaken Rachel

[launderedlace]

 

Part 3: Julie explains a little more ... some historical background

Julie had begun by describing how, at home a little earlier, she’d used her apron to blow her nose; Rachel conceded that she too, when busy in the kitchen, had occasionally pinched an apron hem to her streaming nose. At intervals during the next hour or so, as they strolled along the promenade, Julie went on to outline how this idea, and others, might be incorporated into the concept of a sneezy café

‘So, you’re suggesting that customers, along with everything they could expect from a regular café, would also be able to blow their noses using the handkerchiefs we provided or onto the waitresses’ aprons?’ suggested Rachel, by way of enquiry. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I’m more than happy to put in the hard work of organising a pop-up sneezy café and waitressing in it, but are we both going to be comfortable walking around covered in other people’s snot? By the way, when you ran through that list of things we’d need, you forgot linen napkins; not that I’m suggesting they should also be used for noses, of course, that feels like a step too far!’

They walked on, in silence, a little further while Julie considered

Eighty years previously ...

The woman well understood that her eyesight was no longer as sharp as in her youth; nevertheless, with her mind and fingers honed by the experiences of decades of skilled work, she was confident of success in the intricate task which now lay before her. With her workbasket, needles and threads ready at hand, she reached for and gently unfolded the beautiful heirloom, already three generations in the family: the wedding handkerchief of herself, her aunt and her grandmother. She found the area in need of attention, midway between the handkerchief's centre and its border of deep, exquisite lace. She blamed herself for the tiny area of damage to the fabric: despite using the handkerchief only very lightly and occasionally during the twenty five years she had been its custodian, she really ought not to have entrusted its laundering to a succession of maids who only partially, at best, comprehended caring for delicate linens. Moving a little closer to the natural light coming in through the window, she began the process of darning the break in the fabric, using the finest and neatest hand-stitching techniques possible. Several minutes later, she held the fully unfolded handkerchief up to the light discovering, to her considerable satisfaction, that the repair was as almost invisible as it was effective. Carefully re-ironing the handkerchief, she returned it to the silk handkerchief case containing her other most ornate and cherished ones, surrounded by lavender-scented sachets

As the subsequent years came and went, the woman deployed the handkerchief on no more than another half dozen occasions. All of these were social gatherings of her dwindling number of discerning friends. Customarily, part-way through such an evening and whilst speaking with a friend, she would have recourse to unclasp a diminutive purse, extract the clean handkerchief, gently shake out its folds and discreetly touch it to whichever nostril might otherwise require the inexcusable vulgarity of a sniff. Naturally, the friend’s attention would be caught by this performance but, grown accustomed to it over the years, they would be assured that the woman was happily maintaining the charming standards in life that were important to her. For the remainder of any particular engagement, the woman would glide around the room from conversation to conversation, masses of frothed lace hanging below the hand which also, invariably, held her glass of champagne. She believed the compliments she was paid increased once she had her handkerchief on display: from the gentleman, compliments about her appearance generally; from the ladies, more than a few about her gorgeous handkerchief which they knew to be the one she’d carried at her wedding

Towards the end of her life, the woman bequeathed her treasured handkerchief case and its contents to a great niece who subsequently, contrary to assurances she gave the old woman, carelessly shoved the unwanted relics into a cardboard box containing other superfluous knick-knacks, and then abandoned them in an attic for a further four decades. Time did not treat the delicate silk kindly: it rotted and disintegrated; fortunately, the handkerchiefs it contained, although a little yellowed with age and latterly acquiring a faint musty smell, survived intact. At the ensuing house clearance sale, the repaired handkerchief, along with the others, was rescued and restored by the vintage linen trader, from whom Rachel then bought it

On the point of answering Rachel's questions, Julie sensed her nose again beginning to run, so yanked out the handkerchief from her sleeve. Seeking a clean section in which to blow her nose, she pulled out the fabric to its fullest extent; the crumpled area caked in Rachel's now crusty, hardened, snot allowed itself to be opened with an audible crackle; Julie's own later messy addition lay, congealing, elsewhere on the handkerchief. Something else caught Julie's attention: a tiny white area where the fine cambric material had an opaquer appearance. Delaying her blow and, of necessity, sniffing deeply, she looked more closely

'Whatever do you think that is?' she asked, now holding out the handkerchief to Rachel and indicating what she'd noticed

'Good heavens, I've not spotted that before,' Rachel replied, at least temporarily overcoming her distaste of the handkerchief's besmirched state, 'to me, that rather looks like a meticulous repair that a former owner of this handkerchief must have made, doubtless as a labour of love. I wonder what the full story is: this handkerchief obviously meant a lot to someone?'

'Sorry, Rachel, is it okay to have it back again, I really do need to get rid of all this snot I'm sure is otherwise about to pour out of my nose?'

Finding a clean area of the handkerchief where remnants of Rachel’s neat laundering survived, albeit modified by light crumples from being inside her own sleeve and Rachel's pocket, Julie began a series of thick, loud gurgles. Still intrigued, looking on, and trying to ignore the all-too-obvious patch of her own hardened snot, Rachel continued to contemplate the mysteries of the repair and the person who had so carefully crafted it. Her nose now again emptied, Julie held the handkerchief up to the light for them both to see: so fine and delicate was the fabric, their large areas of thick snot and the petite historical repair seemed suspended, unsupported in the surrounding air, framed only by the broad border of lace 

‘Oh dear,’ shared Rachel, thoughtfully, ‘I wonder if we’ve both treated someone’s much-loved treasure a little too harshly?’

By way of response Julie, in an almost reverential manner, returned the delicate lawn, snot, sumptuous lace and skilfully crafted repair to its place inside her sleeve

‘Yes, I get your earlier point, Rachel, and it’s a fair one, so what I suggest is that we have a trial run of a sneezy café where we’ll be more at ease trying something new. How about I also sound out my friend at work, Denise: you’ve met her, and know that she’s certainly a big fan of both handkerchiefs and aprons. I have an inkling that she’d at least consider something like this; if she were interested, maybe the three of us could try something out quite soon: what do you think?’

Rachel agreed that was a good way forwards, offering to get everything together at home in order to host the possible trial run. They continued their stroll along the promenade

[Rick]

Not sure about the customers using the aprons, but sure they'll test all these concepts out in the next part! Maybe Rachel loses control of her nose in the kitchen, starts stifling a long string of sneezes, and Julie applies her own apron to help?