Skip to main content

Porcelana. Eleanor.

I want to remember. I want to remember childhood. I want to remember childhood me.

But I don't really. And it has bothered me for years.

I was walking through Marc's today when I saw this display of "Porcelana"creme .

I was told a story at some point about being just a young pup and walking around and repeating the name of this creme over and over again. So I asked my mom for the story...and then my grandma - the daughter my great grandma, Eleanor Polk. Eleanor Polk who was affectionately coined "Honey" for me. Honey, the woman I spent a considerable part of my toddlerhood side by side with.

In one version of the story I repeat "Porcelana. Eleanor. Porcelana. Eleanor."
In the next version of the story it's just the "Porcelana".

There's debate on whether Honey used this lotion or whether at 2 years old I audibly snatched the word up from the 1980 televersion commercial for the creme. In one version, I'm told I "became obsessed" with the word.

But no matter which version of the story I choose to remember, it is a bit endearing to me that I spent the earliest years of my life "obsessed" with words...paying close attention to their sounds and plucking them right off of the television...and how I now spend the adult part of my life "obsessed" with the sound of words and make a career out of putting them together for the pupose of advertising.

Maybe if I really want to know the childhood me I just have to examine who I am today.
I miss my great grandmother. My Honey. My, Porcelana Eleanor. And today I'm thankful that among all of the chaos in Marc's...there was one itty bitty retail cue that took me back to my childhood and my time with her.

Today I got to unshelve another little piece of me.


cp said…
Funny, last night I was trying to remember some childhood memories, but some I cannot decide if I remember them from my mind or from photos I would look at of me as a child.

Those are two fun words to say. I love the name Eleanor.
Nick James said…
I like this story. As always, I miss her too. One of my favorite memories with Honey was when she would sing "I'm forever blowing bubbles."

Popular posts from this blog

The knowing.

You settled into my dream. Stared me from my sleep. And told me it was time for a birth.  I asked if I could stay by your side.  A tender “no” was pushed from your lips. I stood to leave while the others danced around me. Your fear and my rejection walked me out of that dream.
That morning, grief was born. It poured from my body for 7 straight days.
You ghosted my life with coffee, clowns, and diamonds - A knowing that slipped between us. Then a person of your making began to stain my thoughts. He received the words I couldn’t say to you. And we connected over the beauty and pain you left behind.
We both miss your song.

Impaired Judgement

I live a life of impaired judgement. That’s why the wildest flowers rush to bloom in my arms. And stories filled with truth boom inside my ears. Your stories. His. Hers. And, my stories.
I can’t sleep with all these rules. The air is too thin. I want to learn to thrive in the thick of it. And, melt magnificently in the heat of it.
Unravel and tangle into all new knots. Find a way to slip through the cracks and expand to create space. Experiment with a stance that is completely still and strong. Then, crawl desperately towards the feet of everything I am afraid of.
Thrash around. Kick up dirt. And, rise again covered in messy, beautiful life.


Press the seed of this story just inside my lips
I will nurture it with warm breath and a low hum
Let it dance from the tip to the cup of this tongue
Then tuck it safe inside my cheek for later
When it's time to swallow it whole