Mentholatum and the passage of time

When our society has reached a point where we're giving out free antibiotics at grocery stores, maybe it's time to re-think our approach to healing. I'm not necessarily advocating a universal "walk it off" method of healthcare, but I do believe that we'd all be better off if instead of reaching for a prescription now and then we'd just rub some dirt on it.

This attitude might explain why I'm so attached to Mentholatum. Boasting nearly primeval ingredients of menthol and camphor, Mentholatum is the stuff you find on grandmothers' bedside tables, usually right next to the witch hazel. Although sometimes it has to fight the Bag Balm for a prime spot. Of course, what more accurately explains my affection for Mentholatum is that it's awesome. Goopy, pungent, sinus-clearing, this stuff is good for what ails you: chapped stuff, stuffed-up stuff, you name it. Mentholatum also has another characteristic not often found in consumer products these days: longevity.

I was in college when I bought my first jar of Mentholatum for myself. Following my mother's habit, I wrote the date of opening on the jar: December 18, 1998. Last week, I finished that jar of Mentholatum. One ounce lasted me just over ten years. This jar is so old that it has a metal lid. Nowhere on the label is a website. It got me wondering about what other two-inch-high objects I've managed to carry around with me--not to mention use nearly every day--in the ten often tumultuous years of college and post-college. I came up empty. I have a few t-shirts that are from the same era. Some pots and pans. The Cuisinart. But nothing I came close to using on a daily basis.

The Mentholatum company in upstate New York (USA! USA!) is still going strong, and last week I placed an order for a new jar of Mentholatum. This time I went for the big dog: three ounces. I got out a sharpie and carefully wrote "3/7/09" on its plastic lid. I might be 60 by the time this thing is empty.