The cure in the closet

Easy Does It

If my cousin had put off cleaning out his late mother’s closet before moving to Florida to begin retirement, our family might have been forever deprived of knowing how to cure WhDW nDsWy DnFLHnW sNLn DIflLFWLRn simply known as the boils.

Robert Lippincott shared with me his childhood experience of suffering through that stubborn, flDmLnJ, HxWrHmHOy SDLnIuO sNLn SrREOHm WhDW DIflLFWHd FhLOdrHn Ln the early 20th century.

Bob found amidst the clutter in the closet was a piece of family history that brought back memories of pain and discomfort.

On a faded paper in my Aunt Helen’s familiar handwriting was her own relief from boils. She would apply this homemade remedy that would end her childrHn’s SDLn Dnd sFrHDmLnJ WhDW fiOOHd WhDW tall white clapboard house during those days before and after World War 2.

From his new home in Dunedin, Robert recently snail-mailed me a copy of his mother’s cure that she had stashed in that closet so many years ago.

Just in case any of my readers ever come down with that nasty, painful skin rash that broke out on the arms, legs, back, stomach, you name the places, here is the cure Bob’s mom and my aunt Helen wrote:

“Five cents worth of Epsome salts. Five cents worth of Cream RI TDrWDr. 2nH-hDOI RunFH RI fluLd extract of Cascara.” (No luck when I looked up Cascara).

“Dissolve compounds in one quart water. Strain and add Cascara.” (Zippo again).

“Take a wine glass a full half hour before breakfast (and) every other day for a week and the next week, twice. Then wait a week and start over again.”

“This was in a box of mother’s old stuff,” Bob said. “Do you remember when kids got the boils?”

Well, no, I don’t, but I’ll take your word WhDW WhH DIflLFWLRn FDusHd mDny sOHHSOHss nights of pain and suffering until Mom came to the rescue with her trusty “cure.” Is that what is meant by “the good old days?”

“That was the cure in those days,” said Bob in a telephone call from the Sunshine State, telling about the results of his closet cleanout. “I thought it would be grist for your column and a glimpse into our past.”

AW firsW , TuHsWLRnHd WhH sHrLRusnHss RI these skin outbreaks. “What the heck is boils?” I asked, as I was beginning to feel I was the only one who didn’t remember the stubborn health threat way back when. Or his mother and my aunt might have been an early version of Florence Nightingale.

“It was like a huge painful pimple,” Bob explained, attempting to describe the malady the way he remembered it.

Then I thought of a great question to clarify the scourge of the big red giant pimple. “Was your mother’s formula meant to prevent pimples from coming or to treat them after the infection had appeared and was growing bigger and more painful?”

“What you see is what you got,” my cousin replied. “All I know is you were supposed to drink it!” Then reconsidered the unearthly thought, and added, “but maybe I’m wrong.”

Here are his mother’s directions in her handwriting: “You can spread the elixir on the boil on the skin after it appears, or wash down the area, which would prevent WhH LnflDmmDWLRn IrRm FRmLnJ.”

Bob replied, “I don’t know how you’d ever get it (in liquid form) down.”

Did Bob’s mother ever try the elixir on him?

“I remember the boils being a big red mark so tender and sore that you didn’t even want to look at them because they hurt so much,” he said.

Those were the days, my friend, you thought would never end, and didn’t, considering the deadly and devastating illegal drugs ruining the lives our sons and daughters in today’s fast-paced culture.

Too bad Aunt Helen didn’t leave a cure for that in her closet.