When I was a little girl I remember my mother having a fancy soap “dish” in our bathroom with a fancy bar of soap in it.  I believe she got it from her time in Florida when she visited an aunt and uncle after high school.  As I was going through her things I found it.  An integral yet insignificant part of my childhood, it was was at once both ordinary and extraordinary.  Cradling it gently in my hands, I studied it.  I knew it was some type of shell … abalone or Mother of Pearl maybe?  I know I always found it exotic, having never been to the ocean as a child and having grown up in a land-locked city.  I associate abalones as being my beloved blue, while I think of Mother of Pearl as being white.  This is an exquisitely delicate, smooth pale pink which I remembered so well.  I recalled it being studded with tiny “seed pearls” (or some other type of shell which I still cannot identify) and noticed with a trace of melancholy some had fallen off and were missing.  Turning it over, I saw it was just as smooth on the back and I noticed the clever little detail that had always fascinated me:  one of the pointed, spiraled little white shells had been glued at just the precise spot underneath so as to make it level.  I confess I had not immediately given thought to the rise in recent years of “anti-bacterial” soaps in plastic containers.  I now know that eliminating ALL bacteria is actually not a beneficial thing and can leave one actually “weakened” in terms of immunity and protection against germs.  And then there is the issue of all the disposable plastic.  Somehow I figured since we were recycling them it would be OK.  For years I have been concerned, worried, and progressively terrified for our earth’s health and environment.  Of course I’ve been recycling for as long as I can remember, starting with newspapers.  The first Earth Day commenced the year I was born.  But it has only been within the last five years that I began carrying “permanent” bags.  My dad once told me when he was a kid he could remember his grandmother carrying things in bags made from old grain sacks.  I have not eaten seafood since I was three and I have always ADORED shrimp — not to eat, but rather as pets.  They are just so darn cute and I cannot help but think of Jacques the “cleaner shrimp” in both “Finding Nemo” and “Finding Dory.”  For the past several years I have read about all manner of sea creatures dying from pounds of plastic in them.  The plastic accumulating in our oceans and on our beaches has become a global crisis.  According to the Center for Biological Diversity nearly 700 species from seals and birds to turtles and whales have been affected.  I understand it has filtered all the way down to the ocean’s bottom feeders like shrimp and even the tiniest of krill, who are ingesting our used plastic as well.  It seems to me that folks don’t really care enough until they discover that same plastic winds up going back into them.  I have belatedly realized that simply recycling is not enough; real environmental change lies within consumption itself.  I thought back to how much Mama treasured hand-milled soaps.  I realized that, although I had not really used them in years, I had inherited my mother’s affinity for them.  One of the funniest memories I have of my husband is the first time we traveled together.  We were in a lovely hotel and, before he had put his things away I managed to sweep the room like a crime scene.  I can still see him coming out of the shower with water dripping from his tousled, dark hair.  Holding his towel around his waist and looking bemused, I remember him saying, “Hey Baby Doll, this must not be a very nice hotel … they have no soaps!”  Of course he has since caught on to my penchant for keeping small toiletries.  In part, they are mementos of places we’ve been fortunate enough to visit.  Just opening one evokes the scent of that moment and time … Paris, Venice, Santa Fe, San Antonio, New York, Montreal, Québec City, New Orleans, San Francisco, Vancouver, Colorado, Alaska, Florida, London, Spain, Mexico, the Bahamas, and Guatemala that I can recall.  The song, “Everything Old Is New Again” springs to mind.  Among the lyrics:  “Don’t throw the past away, You might need it some rainy day …”  But the part that really sticks for me is, “Let’s go backwards when forward fails.”  I feel we are going “backwards” in many ways and that is not necessarily a bad thing.  We are returning to aboriginal remedies Europeans tried to eradicate (witness the recent bush fires in Australia; Native lands were not touched because they understood the proper burning techniques) as well as a return to ancient gardening techniques used by the Mayans and Aztecs where plants and fish fuel each other symbiotically.  I distinctly remember watching a film in elementary school which touted that Americans were consumers.  I knew even then that simply to “consume” was not a good thing.  And so I have decided to place Mama’s seashell soap dish in our guest bathroom; a small return to my childhood I hope my little girl will enjoy the way I did.  I may only be one person, but I believe together we all can make a difference.  I am going to start being even more conscious of what I put out there, and I am starting by going back to the bar.