Sunday, May 15, 2011

What we know when we know nothing

None of my brother’s things came home, apart from the wristwatches and his last sports car. Nothing. Not to hold and read, not to throw on and casually wear, not to polish, not to hang; not to harbour some trace of him. As to that, there are two scents. His natural scent, which permeates memory without diminishment; and, almost hilariously, Noxzema. Does anyone know Noxzema, anymore? We would summer in Santa Barbara, after the La Jolla years; and our father would come up on weekends, sometimes for a week. 

These were the years when we knew nothing. The evenings were so quiet, you could hear the distant trains, and fall asleep at once. The first day or two, he and I would be sunburned; and the garçonnier we shared in summers would reek of sharp Noxzema in the evening, and in the morning, of eucalyptus and the Channel fog.



9 comments:

  1. Beautiful words. Beautiful memories. And I do remember Noxzema.

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  2. This is brilliant. Did you write it??

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  3. Bruce, thank you for noting these occasions so generously.

    Anon, I do write the texts which appear here, unless noted, almost always with a proper accrediting footnote. I thank you for the kindness of writing.

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  4. Beautifully written, and quite moving. And yes, Noxzema is a sense memory of mine, too, from those summer days long ago and far away. Also, freshly unwrapped bars of Ivory soap, Coppertone suntan lotion, and Prell shampoo.

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  5. Thank you, RD; aren't the sometimes unending lists of our toiletries' ingredients today, almost hilarious in a different way, when one thinks of it? I remember the arrival of Coppertone and Prell! The first was possibly 'the first' to shift from the functional name of the preceding brand (Sea & Ski) to the sensual dimension, and Prell took a similar tack with its focus on conditioners, dear old Ivory remaining dear old Ivory - even today, its logo substantially unchanged. The founding family still flourishes, the stock remains blue chip, and The New Yorker's cartoon about the day a bar of it sank is immortal.

    Not to detain you, I'm convinced I couldn't have sustained the simpleness of these thoughts if I'd not been in remission of recalling the extremely useful phrase, "sense memory." If I'd remembered it, I'd have been sure of what I was saying, rather than feeling the necessary struggle/calm of 'knowing nothing.' And then one would be writing from authority, so to speak, rather than from desire; and I could not have indulged belief in the rightness of what I'd said. So I don't say, that you are right in your critique, but I thank you for the hint on method.

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  6. Ah Noxema. I remember a period in adolescence with my brother when we used Noxema nightly on our faces. I don't know whether we were dealing with adolescent complexions are just maintaining the youthful essence of our faces without even knowing that someday we would neither be youthful nor possess the skin possessed only by the young.

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  7. Wow, the self-application of Noxzema is not an indulgence I've entertained, much less at the advanced phase of development of which you speak. Of course I make exception for the shaving foam, which earned its place in adolescent confidence based on prior authority: a 'brand' administered with love in one's single digits has its foot in the critical door, and then some. With mixed results, in any American life.

    As to the ineloquent, if not anonymous skin of youth, I have long wondered, that it is so much discussed with favour. Now you put your finger on the reason for me, and one could not be more grateful -- that it is confined to them, as well it might be, where it is apt to create the least confusion.

    Thanks for suffering the page so sportingly. :)

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  8. But my dear Laurent, no criticism was intended . . . In fact, rather the opposite, I am afraid. One's intentions are not, perhaps, as dark as you may have supposed.

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  9. A misunderstanding, which never happens here of course: I use the word "critique" neutrally, and to decline to say that praise is right is a natural reflex of conventional modesty (if convention and nature should ever meet, that is). :)

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