Musings

Hello little beast inside my chest. Gnawing at me somewhere between my stomach and my throat. Stretching me between crying and screaming and moaning. Who are you? what are you? Are you a hormonal hiccup bathing me in acidic emotions? or chemical aberration that will pass with a good night’s sleep? Or are you the gestation of unformed words that are aching to get out? To whom would you speak and of what? Or are you some small dragon of insight into myself that’s slowly and painfully pecking it’s way out of the shell into existence? Is it your wings that I feel fluttering against my ribs? or simply excess estrogen in my arteries?

Tell me please where I can find an answer.

Let’s see…raise your hand if you thought that I was going to divulge some secrets in this post based on the title.

Sorry to disappoint you. What I want to write about is soap. Simple soap. More specifically bars of soap. I’ve never quite understood the attraction of liquid soap. Well, except for laundry and dishsoap, there it makes sense. But for washing my body it has always seemed like a waste. Here’s what I mean. Tonight I am finally finishing off the simple Ivory soap bar in the kitchen of my cottage. I think I started it when I bought this place nearly 10 years ago. Heck, it might have even come partly used with the place, I don’t remember. Granted, I only use it at the kitchen sink and I only use it a few months of the year (less when I first got the place). But still, I would have gone through a small bottle of liquid soap a year. And with the liquid stuff you end up with a plastic bottle to throw away when you’re done. Oh, but refill and recycle you say? There will still always be an empty bottle to throw away in the end. With a bar of soap all that is tossed is a simple paper wrapper. Bars just make more sense.

There is however something that bugs me about bar soap. Why is it so hard to buy a SINGLE bar of soap at the grocery store? Except for the overly harsh “Pure Castille” or “Fels Naptha” none of the commercially available soaps are available in single bars. How dirty do they think we are? Oh, I can understand the economy of buying multiple bars if you have multiple people living in your household. Especially if you have kids. But for those of us who don’t, why don’t we have the option of single bars? At the rate I went through my last bar of Ivory the four pack I bought today (smallest available) should last me, oh I’m guessing somewhere around twenty years! So soap bar companies if you’re listening (which I highly doubt) where is the economic sense in that? Don’t you want more chances to lure me over to your brand by offering single bars to sample? Sorry, you’ll have to wait for the next generation.

Let’s hear a round of applause for simple bars of soap.

July 20, 2007 11:40 PM…I get in the car and drive around the lake to go to the Cottage Book Shop where it awaits. Ten minutes there and ten minutes to wait. Somehow, smack in front is a parking space for my little Mini Cooper. What luck. Christmas lights are strung up across the trees enveloping a crowd of I’m guessing a few hundred. One line stretches inside, another outside towards a small blue canopy, another crowd is gathered around the storytellers reading from the last volume. All ages intermingle and share equal anticipation. A young girl in front of me talks of being the same age and growing up with him. I think to myself how I have grown over those same years.

I’m a bit unsure which line to be in. One is for pre-ordered with receipts and the other is for not pre-ordered. I, alas, am somewhere in between having pre-ordered but lost or tossed out my receipt. I opt for the receipt line since the owner will be able to answer my question.

And then the countdown begins. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one! A chorus of cheers arises and the crowd liquifies and flows forward. The giddiness is contagious and ripples back to where I am at the back of the line. Much quicker than I anticipated I find myself at the table with the treasure. Unluckily my quest must detour to where they have the pre-order list inside. So I dutifully move to the back of another line. But this again moves quickly.

Soon enough I reach the counter where the clerk checks the registry and confirms my eligibilty to receive the vaunted tome. I overhear one ahead of me, who has in hand the night’s treasure, “it smells like magic”. Soon it is in my hand as well and I clasp it to my chest, stroking it like softest silk. I’m happy now.

This treasure, a simple book has magically awakened the slumbering child inside of me, melted a mental malaise induced by the daily news, cut short a creeping cynicism brought on by a barrage of contemptuous fools that are running, or is it ruining, our country. This night has reminded me that yes, imagining IS important, communities can be creative and come together in all kinds of ways, and that I still have the ability to let small things bring me great joy.

And now my childlike curiosity is getting the better of me and I must log off and dive into my new treasure.