When I was a kid my Mom would always drag out our trusty old "steamer," aka vaporizer. It was an old industrial appearing device with its black melmac base, heavy glass reservoir, and multiple sticky perforations for delivery of a therapeutic vapor. Mom would load it up with water and tincture of benzoin. She would park it bedside as you drifted off to sleep with the aromatic vapors providing a comforting fog. I don't know if it actually had a therapeutic benefit but its presence was a comfort in childhood.
There was another weapon in her arsenal in the war on seasonal congestion: Mom's real infantryman was Mentholatum. Mentholatum was the front line in relief when it came to colds and congestion.
There are Vick's families and there are Mentholatum families. We Schmidt's are of the hardy Mentholatum breed. I think either Vick's wasn't on the market back in my Mom's day or she just didn't think it had enough horsepower. For whatever reason, I grew up on Mentholatum ointment and you'll find one of the green jars in my bedside dresser to this day. Don't look. Take my word on that one, it's there.
When Kelsey got home today, stuffy and feeling like crap I had to offer: "Do you want some Mentholatum?" "No," she answered. "I always have a jar in my backpack." See? They don't take dummies at the University of Michigan.
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