Soap + Clay

My true love is soap.

Thanks to all of you for that.  I really mean it.  First of all, I didn't know one thing about soap when I started writing this blog.  In fact, I was just a person who thought that handmade soap was cool and found there to be no platform for the people who made it...no vehicle to get the soap into the front light.  The connection I found within the soaping community was greater and more sincere than I ever thought possible.  It is for those reasons that I started to make soap.  I had undying support from so many of you that I tried it, loved it and haven't looked back once.  Not ONCE.  Years later, it's all I want to do.

I never imagined that I'd be happily married to my job.  I love making soap, designing soap, smelling it, cutting it, using it.  I received a beautiful letter from a friend who had had a great experience when she opened a box of soaps I mailed to her.  It made me feel all warm and fuzzy, knowing that something I am passionate about, something I made with my own hands, brought pleasure to my dear friend. I think that's part of what makes handmade soap so precious.  Handmaking soap from scratch is truly a spiritual process for me.

I have begun throwing clay and as frustrating as this is for me, it is also centering me in, a sense.  I remember the mantra, "It's the process, not the product that is the gift".  As a new mother back then (ahem), I never rushed my daughter to finish her artwork, or gave her suggestions.... her playing in finger paints or mud, glitter, glue, homemade play dough, whatever... it was HER process, not mine, and I think it really stuck.  She is extremely talented in so many ways:  she is a beautiful French Horn musician and a talented photographer.  She also makes all of the gifts she gives me; she has made some of the most beautiful things that I will cherish until my dying day.  She loves art and the process of it.  I love that.

Since the beginning of my class, I have been focusing on the clay, only.  Centering it....this can take time, but once it is centered, a feeling of relief is present.  My teacher is amazing and he has given me tips that help my mind wrap around the clay and manipulate it to where I want it to go.  The process.  The focus, the conquering of a squishy blob, that, with an ever so tender touch, can change in one second, and so... and so.... patience, time, and energy.  I gave in to it all after the first 30 minutes of the class.  Yesterday we did trimming and I, again, focused and wasn't concerned with the final product, but to master the art of carving through leather hard clay to be smooth is inspirational.  This is good therapy if you can lose yourself in it, and perhaps utter torture if you can't BE in the process.  Working it.

I have learned a lot through my photography, pottery and soaping.  It's all a learning process and involves such self awareness through the process.  I just want to remind you that whatever it is that you are doing, stop, breathe deeply and take a step back.  If your final product isn't what you intended and you are frustrated beyond recognition, then perhaps find the time to create it step by step instead of burling through it to get to the final product. 

I think life is also like this.  I have learned that, too, through parenting my two children and owning my own business.  I must continue to remember to stop and smell the roses, just for the smell....

float....

My kids: Desmond and Nina

Sliding soap. Bombs Away.

Every so often, my mother has an experience to share regarding my business, soap....whatever and writes a little short story.  This one was from last weekend and not so much regarding anything business related other than the horror I found under her sink.

the tragedy of body detergent.  Yes, this is what I found.

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A story about my daughter, a sweet freak


I don't know if I ever brought this up in any of my stories, but Joanna and her husband and children all regularly go through my pantry and medicine cabinet pointing out and tossing those things that have expired.  Even Nina's friends have been heard to say "this is expired."  This is rather embarrassing, humiliating and obnoxious on their part, but I take a deep breath, being the good sport that I am and put up with their nonsense.


However, Joanna went too far this week end. Too much coffee or something.  She was sitting on the floor of my bathroom with the cabinet wide open pulling everything out and throwing everything into the garbage pail.  I should have known I was in trouble right then and there.  Suddenly she began yelling "bombs away" and slid the first bar of Irish Spring soap down the long hall until it went under my bed.  Then the second bar, the third bar and 16 bars later (all under my bed) with my grandson, Desmond bent over laughing.  She was done.  I couldn't even speak. 


I said "you come from very good breeding.  Your father was a college professor, your mother a psychotherapist, and you're a freak.  

"The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, Ma." 

My daughter the diplomat.

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When I found a jumbo box of Irish Spring under my mother's bathroom sink (you know the kind you can get at Costco or Sam's Club bulk stores) I was semi-mortified.  Semi, you ask?  Well, I do periodically find 20 year old aspirin or a box of cotton balls, where the box looks almost vintage, so I kind of figured that the soap must have been bought from before I started making soap.  I just want to mention that my mother keeps an incredibly clean house and everything is immaculate, so I don't want to paint a picture of my mom having vintage cotton ball boxes and 20 year old aspirin in a dingy water stained, hoarder-like household.  Not even close to reality.  My house will never reach the cleanliness state that hers has been like since I left for college.  That is, unless I have a cleaning service - which I sadly don't.

I digress.

So... the soap scenario was fun.  My son (11 years old) was 20 feet away, at least and I am sitting on the floor, sliding each boxed bar of Irish Spring down this long, perfect-brand-new-and-double-shiny wood floors and would slide right by my mother (who's face looked stunned), went under her bed and my son would laugh and pick it up from the other side.   We all laughed so hard, except, I had to explain that if I ever find another commercial soap box in the house, I may have to be more extreme with my sliding measures.

;)