Analog Soap in a Digital Detergent World

One of my favorite gifts was a rotary telephone; black and shiny, it had heft, a short cord, and a commanding ring. Reaching your person on the other end meant, by today’s standards, enduring a laborious process of dialing…Every…Single…Number…and patiently waiting for the click-click-click as the dial returned to its neutral position after each number. Sometimes, you had a couple of nines, and your patience was tested as you willed the dial to rebound just a little faster. Ones, twos and threes felt especially satisfying and efficient to execute, with your index finger smartly smacking in quick repetition against that curvy little metal stopper thing. 

The short cord didn’t let you wander far – talking on the phone was The Thing you were doing. And if you were doing The Thing, no one else could do it until you were finished. Oh, the power – and, sometimes, the agony, like when you discovered with horror that your brother had imperceptibly picked up the line in the other room, and was eavesdropping in an effort to collect material for future extortion. 

I adored the simplicity of that phone and the childhood memories it triggered, at a time when the world was rocketing deeper into digitization with each passing year. It had a singular function, and your success in using it was binary – you either connected, or you didn’t.  It was a Christmas gift in 2005, two years before the iPhone’s debut, and was the result of my pleading for a phone that I could just pick up, say, “hello?” and not know who was on the other end – because, surprises! 

It wasn’t long before telephone land lines went by the wayside, and today my shiny black rotary phone is just a quaint piece of décor; a quiet reminder of a simpler time, when our minds had more space and our bodies didn’t feel quite so hurried.

It makes perfect sense that I would be drawn to the timeless art of making real soap. Along with its simplicity, there is an equally opposite level of effort in making it; it is The Thing you are doing. It’s a messy and laborious process, but there is immense satisfaction in pouring a 20-lb batch of lye and oils, waiting patiently for weeks while it cures, and finally luxuriating in this most elemental of life’s necessities. Like that rotary telephone, real soap has heft, and commands your attention; not with a piercing ring, but with an essence that fills your soul, and inherent sacredness. It is not complex, yet is special and timeless. 

2020 has been one heck of a year. As it comes to a close, I am reflecting on how satisfying the basics can be, and recognizing them as the gifts they truly are.  Let’s all carry that into the new year. Now go wash your hands.

Love,
d