Soap Stamps

Soap stamps (usually acrylic) are used to make impressions in your handmade soaps in order to personalize them. Most acrylic stamps are available in online stores but I had wanted to create my own design. You could always hand in your design to have a customized acrylic stamp specially made for you but they cost about an arm and a leg.

So I thought some. There had to be a better way to do this without costing so much.

Wood Carvings! Now that's a thought. I had taken up wood carving (not that I had a choice) when I was a wee little kid in school. After submitting failed projects with cuts and bruises in my hands to show for it, the Art teacher (bless her soul) suggested that I gave up Art and Craft and took up Designing instead. Surprise, surprise! I discovered I had an aptitude for Designing. Not much were taught us back then (We did not have a proper Design teacher). We were asked to acquire an osmoroid pen and practice with it.

When the big day came (that's the major examination, the mother of all examination) my art papers came with a single line of instruction. Design the word ART in the shape of a leaf. Could you even imagine how astounded I was? Gosh! That isn't even a task. I read the instruction again and as sure as the morning sun rise, there it was, the same instruction without a word out of context. Almost in a daze, I finished what was required with a lot of passion and gusto.  While the rest were still struggling with the sketches in their water color paintings, I was already good and done. For this paper, I got an A1, by the way. Puzzling and intriguing for someone who had been consistently getting Ds for water color paintings and F for wood carving, paper mache and God knows what other craft there were.

So wood carving, it is. I acquired little wooden cubes and a set of carving tools. My husband showed me how it's done and after numerous failed attempts I finally produce a piece of craft. It is crude and not the best but who cares? This is one I personally carved with my arthritic fingers! And that's got to count for something.

Wood Carving - Soap Stamp

The letters "C" and "S" designed to look like an apple. I know. It's not quite there. Just imagine its an apple, will ya?.

The final package

Soap Balls

The Jitters

This is starting to become the norm around here. One week before the dreaded blood test, I'll be in the jitters. This jittery frame of mind increased exponentially as the dreaded day draws near. On the day before the blood test, I'm literally a bundle of nerves.

Now if such a thing as a time warp existed, why, I might sneak into one and emerge in the future to circumvent the here and the now. If. ~~~ I loved the iffys. ~~~ So much room for the imagination.

The day came as it came. I was fortunate. There was a major renovation going on at the hospital and patients were just wandering all over the building looking lost because the various clinics had been relocated for the duration of the renovation. Hence, thanks to all the lost souls all over the building, I did not have to wait long. The attending nurse, who was young and sweet, could not find my veins. Chemotherapy, if you haven't already known, shrinks the veins. She smiled apologetically and told me that she'll have to dig deep for the blood. So that's where my jitters came from, you understand? Each time they dig deep, they hurt, and I get blue blacks from the digs.

Let me tell ya. It's no fun growing old, no fun at all.

They've replaced Tamoxifen with Arimidex and after about a month of popping in Arimidex in the morning, I believe I now have rheumatoid arthritis. Couldn't bend my fingers in the morning and the old trigger finger thingy had returned. Isn't that fun?

On the day after my blood test (two days ago), I was scheduled for a bone scan. Some sort of base line since I'm now happily on Arimidex.

The lad (for want of a better word) handling the bone scan machine was in his mid twenties. Young, charming, polite. I was asked to remove everything with metal in my clothes (and I'll leave you to imagine the detail) given a robe with plastic buttons and led to the machine.

Three parallel white lines ran along the middle of a flat surface with a pillow at one end. I was asked to align my spinal cord along the middle white line, then directed to stay completely still. A horizontal bar above me burred to life. It ran down the length of my torso, rested now and then, make more high pitch noises then moved along again. It was over in no time at all.

It wasn't as scary an experience as the one I went through for the CT Scan where I was given a cup of horrid orange fluid (the contrast) to drink, more contrast injected into my other end, and even more injected into my veins just before the scan.

I asked myself.  How many more such nonsense will I have to go through?

The Goliath's Fall

(... continued from The Goliath Came For Me.)

For some time indeterminable, we did not belong to or regularly attend any church. During this time, we contributed to The Daily Bread by way of tithe. They sent us inspirational booklets together with a newsletter on a regular basis. An old forgotten copy tarried upon the coffee table by the door. After my quiet moment with God, I lifted my eyes and the first thing I saw was the abandoned newsletter.

I flipped it open. Right smack in the middle of the newsletter was this little article.

A photocopy of the original cutting

I was gob-smacked! Every concern of mine, whether or not I was aware of them were answered. Was this mere serendipity or would you call this an answered prayer? I believe in the latter because past events in my life supported this theory

"Meekness is an expression of attitude rather than the avoidance of conflict. If we have set a goal and believe that our goal is reasonable and worthwhile, we will have to endure conflict with other people in our efforts to achieve it. When these conflict come, however, a meek person will be firm but not proud, determined but not arrogant."

My misgivings were laid to rest. I invoked the Grievance Procedure by submitting a form to The Union-Man. They took it up from there. Now that the decision was made, I was finally at peace. I knew that God stood steadfastly behind me. I remembered that hot humid night all those years ago when I woke up trembling during the unearthly hours, my ears ringing with the beautiful words resonating through my mind ..... ".... Everything that you want to do in life, go ahead and do it. Do Not Be Afraid...... (Read HERE for detail.) "

There were meetings and more meetings after the Grievance Procedure was invoked. I was pleasantly surprised by the moral support from my fellow colleagues. One of them (from downstairs) glared venomously at Mr Goliath each time she passed him on the way to the washroom. The rest just smirked in a satiated manner. I felt sorry for the poor man. Seeing him squirm uncomfortably under the scrutiny of the masses was not a pleasant sight for I did not wish to bring the man to his knees. It seemed cruel, almost unkind but the unpleasant motion had been triggered and it was on a collision path of its own.

This action had its consequences. At night when I lay in bed, I imagined the sharp pointed edge of a dagger in his hands plunging into my innards, blood gushing in the growing dusk. My anxiety was not without justification for nothing is known of the man. A man who harasses is often himself harassed. So anything is possible from such a man. I made sure never to be left alone with him. In the subsequent day to day work interaction with him, I made sure I knew where his hands were. For the record, the dagger never showed up.

The decision was prompt and to the point. The Union-Man demanded a public apology from Mr Goliath. In the absence of such an apology, a nationwide boycott by all members of the union in the same industry (which was pretty substantial, mind you) will drive the Goliath into a tight corner. Now a public apology is a humiliating punitive action for it meant that the accused is made to wait in an open space for the entire staff to assemble (and some of them took their time, in order to compound his humiliation) before he could, with humility, utter the apology to the satisfaction of the aggrieved. 

Feeling sorry for the defeated Goliath, I pleaded with the Union-Man to have the "sentence" reduced to a written apology. This did not sit well with the Union-Man who was bent on having a dramatic settlement.  I managed to talk them into a written apology which was subsequent handed to me by Mr Goliath in the presence of a witness. I kept this "document" to this day. (And I can show you to authenticate my story.)

About a week after the case was settled, I offered some cookies to fellow colleagues on the same floor. As I neared Mr Goliath, a little voice inside told me to serve him first. I obeyed this voice. Mr Goliath accepted my cookies. We've made our peace.

The biggest reward following this unpleasant experience was Asha's joy as she hugged me and whispered, "You are so brave to stand up for us. Thank you!"

If only she knew ... that I was anything but brave, ... that I'd rather avoid a conflict than to face it, ... that ..... -  All protests died on my lips when I saw the watery gratitude in her eyes. I wasn't much of a huggy-hug-hug person but I returned her hug. It felt warm and fuzzy.

What was that they said about choosing your battles? Choose battles small enough to win, big enough to matter? Nah .... I'll say the victorious battle is the one which came with God's blessing, Even a pusillanimous person can be a warrior if God wills it. Sometimes, we need to step boldly into the shadows believing that the hand which guide will be right there to take us beyond.

Easier said then done, right? I had to agree. Nobody wanted to be a hero because a hero gets beaten to a pulp. It is easier to bend with the wind than to fight it. No? For this reason, I understood Moses's qualm when God asked him to lead the Israelites out of Egypt to the Promised Land.

Note: A few months after the incident, in the face of persecuting looks from his fellow colleague and peers, Mr Goliath resigned. It was said that he became an insurance agent for a while but left soon after without a trace. 

It had been twenty years or thereabout since I last read the newsletter cutting in the picture above. (The cutting was left between the pages of an old forgotten bible.) Reading those words which settled my misgivings all those years ago brought me a new revelation to a recent conflict but that's a story for another time.

The Goliath came for me.

"A grievance procedure is a means of internal dispute resolution by which an employee may have his or her grievances addressed. Most collective bargaining agreements include procedures for filing and resolving grievances."  - Read More Here.

Asha (not her real name) slipped into the chair behind her desk, her shoulder laden with anguish and despair. She stifled a silent sob while Ruth (not her real name) and me exchanged glances, then dropped our gaze upon the work at our desks, each wrapped in rueful thoughts.

This wasn't the first time Asha brought a sob to her desk.

Ruth, Asha and me shared a genuine camaraderie. Ruth was gentle and kind, never a harsh word crossed her lips. The petite Asha  was a breath of fresh air, charming and delightfully cheerful. We got along splendidly. Our job description overlapped in a congenial manner. The nature of their character ensured that no friction prevailed. Unfortunately, some good things never last. Mr Goliath (not his real name) joined us as our immediate superior. His desk was located outside our room on the first floor along a passage that led to the washroom. We numbered about 30 employee at this particular branch, one out of many, belonging to a foreign incorporated organisation. The washrooms were located on the first floor and all staff entering the washroom passes Mr Goliath.

The man was a solemn quiet chap with a goatee. His smiles often appeared forced and unnatural, as if convalescing from an imaginary wound. Not much is known of him except that his leisure hours were spent gazing pensively at distant thoughts.

"You okay?" asked Ruth hours later when Asha was calm.

"Yes, yes. I'm all right," answered Asha quietly.

"What happened?"

"He is so mean," Asha groaned as she pointed in the direction of the Goliath.

We had nothing to say and indeed there was nothing to be said. Ruth gave Asha a comforting squeeze on the shoulder and walked back to her desk. I lowered my eyes and a selfish thought nudged my mind. "I won't get involved. As long as he left me alone, I won't get involved."

"He is so mean," Asha had muttered. Yet Mr Goliath is not a foul-mouthed, roguish cad. He never yelled or throw files at you. He never used brutal force or sexually molest anyone. He just kept pretty much to himself in a firm obstinate sort of way. It was the way he spoke, the menace and sarcasm in his quiet voice, his brutish force of will which made him mean. He can be fastidious to a fault leaving no room for any discourses.

In a disciplinary line of work, he would have shined like a beacon in the night. But here, in the service industry, he was a nightmare.

If he had apologized to Asha, we heard nothing of it. They made their peace but it wasn't long before Asha slipped into the chair behind her desk and once again, stifled the injurious sob.

"I won't get involved. As long as he left me alone, I won't get involved." the thought reiterated itself. People fight, they make up. Then they fight again. Part of life. Very typical. Very natural. Nothing to fret about.

And then, one fine afternoon, it was the gentle Ruth who dashed into her chair to stifle the extraordinary sob. In a flash, we knew what had happened. Asha bent over her work as I did mine, stealing the occasional glimpses at the curly locks of hair shielding the lowered teary face of Ruth.

"I won't get involved. As long as he left me alone, I won't get involved."

*******

First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Socialist.
Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Trade Unionist.
Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Jew.
Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me.

- German Lutheran pastor Martin Niemöller (1892–1984)

*******

Yes. It finally happened to me.

The detail of the instance is lost through the passage of time. (Twenty years, to be exact.) I only remembered my rage and tears of indignation. All sorts of unladylike thoughts rammed through my mind, The mean Goliath had uttered hurtful words I no longer remembered.

Did this justify some sort of action, I wondered as I discussed the matter with my husband. He thought it did. I was torn by indecision. The Goliath was my immediate superior and one does not lock horns with the immediate superior. The politics did not work this way. Yet those who shared my story encouraged me to act and soon I was troubled by another thought. If I invoked the Grievance Procedure (see above), am I being spiteful? What happens to "The Meek Shall Inherit the Earth?" Would God be displeased if I take this path?

The days went by and the minutes slipped through the hour. Mr Goliath was not remorseful. I was not decisive.

In those days, I had a habit of flipping the bible randomly and reading the passage that revealed itself. (Later, I learned that this was wrong for some reason I no longer remembered.) Unfortunately, no earth-shattering revelation came from this end. Knowing that this matter required some resolution, I brought my troubles to God in prayer. And the living God answered. 

(to be continued)

PART 2