Warning : I've Been Impersonated

I received an email from a soapmaker asking me how I liked her soaps. Her name or soap company name didn't sound familiar so I told her I didn't know what she was referring to.  She had sent a number of bars to a person claiming they were me:  Jo of The Soap Bar Blog (right here, folks).

I have been doing soap reviews for almost 7 years.  I do not solicit soapmakers.  Soap is either sent to me for free with the request for a review, or I purchase products I want to try.

If someone claims to be me and asks you to send them soap for review, please confirm it is me.  My full name is Joanna Schmidt and I live in Florida, USA.  My email jo(at)absolutesoap(dot)com and I do NOT live in Texas or anywhere else for that matter.

Send your soap to anyone you want for a review, but my suggestion to you: seek those people out yourself.  Do not take requests from bloggers or YouTubers. 

That there is a red flag, folks.

I am Jo of The Soap Bar Blog.

xxoo

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

It's What You Scatter

A story passed on.....

I was at the corner grocery store buying some potatoes...

I noticed a small boy, ragged but clean, hungrily looking at a basket of freshly picked green peas.

I paid for my potatoes but was also drawn to the display of fresh green peas.  Pondering the peas, I couldn't help overhearing the conversation between Mr. Miller (the store owner) and the boy next to me.

'Hello Barry, how are you today?'

'Hi, Mr. Miller. Fine, thank you. Just admiring  the peas. They sure look good.'

'They are good, Barry. How's your Ma?'

'Fine.  Getting  stronger.'

'Good.   Anything I can help you with?'

'No, Sir. Just admiring  the peas.'

'Would you like to take some home?' asked Mr. Miller.

'No, Sir. I have no way to pay.'

'Well, what have you to trade me for some of those peas?'

'All I got is my prize marble here.'

'Is that right? Let me see it', said Mr. Miller.

'Here…. She's a dandy.'

'I can see that.  Hmm mmm, only thing is this one is blue and I sort of go for red. Do you have a red one like this at home?', the store owner asked.

'Not exactly, but almost.'

'Tell you what. Take this sack of peas home with you and next trip this way let me look at that red marble', Mr. Miller told the boy.

'Sure will. Thanks Mr. Miller.'

Mrs. Miller, who had been standing nearby, came over to help me. With a smile she said, 'There are two other boys like him in our community, all three are very poor.   Jim just loves to bargain with them for peas, apples, tomatoes, or whatever.   When they come back with their red marbles, and they always do, he decides he doesn't like red after all and he sends them home with a bag of produce for a green marble or an orange one, when they come on their next trip to the store.'

I left the store smiling to myself, impressed with this man. A short time later I moved to Colorado, but I never forgot the story of this man, the boys, and their bartering for marbles.

Several years passed.  I had occasion to visit some friends back in that old town and while I was there learned that Mr. Miller had died. They were having his visitation that evening and upon arrival at the mortuary we fell into line to meet the relatives of the deceased and to offer whatever words of comfort we could.

Ahead of us in line were three young men. One was in an army uniform and the other two had nice haircuts, were wearing suits...all very professional looking.  They approached Mrs. Miller, standing composed and smiling by her husband's casket.

Each of the young men hugged her, kissed her on the cheek, spoke briefly with her and moved on to the casket. Her eyes followed them as, one by one, each young man stopped briefly and placed his own warm hand over the cold pale hand in the casket. Each left the mortuary one at a time.

Our turn came to meet Mrs. Miller. I told her who I was and reminded her of the story from those many years ago and what she had told me about her husband's bartering for marbles. With her eyes glistening, she took my hand and led me to the casket.   'Those three young men who just left were the boys I told you about.  They just told me how they appreciated the things Jim 'traded' them.  Now, at last, when Jim could not change his mind about color or size....they came to pay their debt.'

'We've never had a great deal of the wealth,' she confided, 'but right now, Jim would consider himself the richest man in Idaho.'

With loving gentleness she lifted the lifeless fingers of her deceased husband. Resting underneath were three exquisitely shined red marbles.

***

It’s not what you gather, but what you scatter….

Weekend Post

My mother periodically writes about her experiences that she has with my products.  Here is her story of the weekend:

"I wouldn’t define myself as a miser, but when it comes to my daughter’s products, I use them sparingly or until they beg to be thrown out.  Well, this week-end my granddaughter was over and of course teenagers shower a catrillion times a day.  So I thought nothing of it, until last night when I went to take a shower.  Then I saw my prized soap, (one I had been saving, still in its wrapper, that Jo made for me some weeks ago, that smelled like fresh spring flowers in a green field and it exfoliated) opened by that child.  I was waiting until the soap Jo had previously given me was down to the size of a quarter before I replaced it.  SHE SAW IT, WANTED IT, OPENED IT - AND USED IT…….Of course Jo would say, well that’s what it’s for.  

Ohhhhhhh, she doesn’t understand.  But she’s right, of course. 

If that wasn’t enough, the second trauma of the week-end was when Jo asked me to bring my jar of Crush On You to her that I kept next to my bathroom sink.  I thought perhaps she was going to use it, I use it sparingly, but she’s the artist of these soaps so I would never deny her.  I brought her my jar and she poured it into the sink.  I drew a deep breath and said “What are you doing!?”  She said, “How old is this jar?”  “I don’t know, a year?”  She then gave me a Crush On You that had a magnificent scent of summer fresh air, freshness: Sexy Laundry Day.  “What is wrong with you? I make these products and you save them like they’re irreplaceable.  You need a fresh one.”  I said, “they’re precious to me”.   

I love my daughter. 

Anyhow, the lesson I learned from my two girls is “learn to treat yourself better, lavish yourself today or your stuff will get sour.”  That goes for everything in life………….."

Ugh, my mother who saves her soap for two years... what am I going to do with her?  She can have anything she wants from me and she uses the products as if she can't get anymore.  I am trying to teach her that USING the soap and sugar scrub is good and that I will replace it whenever she needs it.

Hopefully, she will learn.  ;)

Follow Up On My Day From Hell

My post "Burning Joanna" was sort of comical as I read it back to myself today. Yes, when one steps away from a flame, it's not so hot anymore, is it? I really appreciate the time you all spent writing your comments. I know it takes energy, but I felt the warmth come right out of the monitor.

Thank you for being so supportive and sweet... and thinking it was humorous, because it was, in retrospect. That first experience in the morning:

Pour.

Stir.

KABOOM.

Clear "burn your skin off" liquid.

Pooling.

Dripping.

Everywhere.

Screaming, "BRAD! Brad! Brad!"

Charges in.

Barefoot.

"GET OUT!"

Fumes.

Toxic.

Spreading.

To the sink.

Lava.

Destroying.

To the sink.

Burning.

Stinging.

To the sink.

Kill. Kill.

Focus.

Clean.

Soak it up.

Soakkkkkk.

Open cabinets. Wet.

Open drawers. Wet.

To the sink.

Skin stinging.

Shower.

Ahhhhhh.

I'm not even going into the second part of my day. It's too exhausting to even think about it. I have good news, though! I took all that lumpy bumpy weird volcanic ugly soap into a crock pot because I knew the calculations were correct and I cooked that sucker for a long while, then I added some color later on, did the zap test and shoved it all into a fat mold. This morning, I cut it all up and this is what I found:

Hot Process Fresh Linen

FROM MY PERSONAL HELL DAY

Yielded 30+ bars. One of my wholesale customers (private label) has already claimed them as hers for the taking. Something good came out of the day, at least.

I haven't gone in the lab today. My crock pots are still needing to be cleaned and my lab sink is filled. I couldn't pull it together to go in there today. I worked administratively today. All day. I'll get back on my horse tomorrow.

I still feel stingy...

I'm Mad At Titanium Dioxide

WHY?
First, we had a nice lovely discussion about Titanium Dioxide (TiO2) like adults that we are. But it did cause a raucous didn't it? By the way, TiO2 is the chemical formula and I'll be referring to it as TiO2 throughout the post.

Then, a few days later, a puff of TiO2 blows directly in my face just at the moment I inhale. (Lungs. Seized. Help.)

And then, I make Ruby Rock Star soap and decide to create a pretty swirl with some TiO2 blended soap, and {{wham!}} 24 bars are now SALE BARS because I now have some soft crumbling sides. I am convinced it's the TiO2. Why? Because the soap is great except it's falling apart. Update: I think it IS the TiO2, but it also must have been a temperature thing even though I covered my pans of soap... see?

The compromised peach sides are my problem.

Do you remember the first time titanium dioxide ruined my other Rubies? The snow on top and what was up with the center? They were pretty AND ugly all at the same time. Just like lizards!

old rubies

I think I'm done with titanium dioxide. Hmm, let me think.... are there any soaps that would suffer design -wise? Only the Raspberry Linzer Cookie and I already went darker again with that because I wanted the cookie part to look more well done from the oven.

And why attack my Ruby Rock Stars? What have they done to the TiO2 anyway?? They are sweet, like princesses, is that why you hate, TiO2? Because you don't want them to be their pretty little sparkly little things? It's always picking on Ruby. Ruby The Rock Star.

Jealous.

Left me mad one too many times. I'm done wasting my time and soap on you... Here I come with my brown and creamy hues. I'll just make it interesting for Spring....another challenge (as if I need one). The 10 years off my life when I breathed in an ounce of the stuff and then my two loaves of soap... yeah.

Damn you, TiO2

Brown Rice Family

The Etsy video team has invited experimental and documentary filmmakers to contribute to our original video series and photographer Pascal Perich produced this first guest filmmaker episode on soap and music makers, Brown Rice Family. The Brown Rice Family is a multi-ethnic group that makes soap from Japanese brown rice in Brooklyn, NY. The also create music together!

This is their message on their Etsy shop (I love it!):

We are Brown Rice Family and we firmly believe that the most natural way is the most civilized way. BRF initially started out as a world roots band that gathers inspirations from all corners of the world in order to create fresh and healthy music. Now, however, we have evolved into an independent company. Ancient rhythms of the world inspired us to see that core values of our life are being compromised due to our society’s foolish ambition for mass production. We learned that almost all products that we consume contribute to our severe global pollution. We want to be free from these poisonous and low quality products that big companies are feeding us. We know that in order to be a true independent organization we must have control over our own necessities such as food, clothing, housing and personal care products. Our goal is to make high quality natural products that would meet the necessities of first, the Brown Rice Family. Then we want to share the same products in accordance with one love.

Thank you, Heather, who works over at Etsy, for giving me the opportunity to share this with you.  These are definitely some of the things I miss about Brooklyn.  It would be great to walk over there and perhaps sit with Mei, their dog, and watch them and hang.

Thank you to all the members of The Brown Rice Family!  Beautiful soap AND music.

*

Sadly, It Looks Like Cheese

Ah, yes, my Peach Apricot soap sort came out looking like a loaf of American cheese. In fact this young, completely tattooed from head to toe teenager came in to check out the shop the other day and took one look at the soap in the case and said, "Hey, looks like cheese! I'm from Wisconsin, and I know cheese!" Big cute smile with a cute Wisconsin twang. She really was cute as a button.

Sharing a building with a fish and tackle shop and a tattoo shop has its ups and downs. The tattoo folks that come in here are definitely some of the sweetest people who walk in here. Especially that cheese girl.

Here's the peachy cheese.:)