ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I’d like to acknowledge several people who have been of great help to me without even knowing it.

Macky Miller, my mother, who has always been there for me. Your love and nerve spread my early soaps across state lines. You have given my products as gifts to the same people year after year, and, though I know you like my soaps and feel good about giving them, I know better why you’ve done it.

Harris Miller, my father, a great listener, who lets me bounce ideas and troubles off of him, soapwise and otherwise. You spent countless hours prodding me toward computer literacy — long-distance, often after midnight, and always with patience and humor.

Steve Miller, my brother, who as a feisty five-year-old could do no wrong by me — whose undisciplined honesty developed over time into mature truthfulness. The little brother you nurtured becomes the adult who nurtures you right back. You listened and responded to talk of juniper berry meal and shea butter when you had other things on your mind, and you always bothered to ask for progress reports. Thank you.

Betsy Cohen, my sister, for her conditional seal of approval. When she began calling for refills, I knew I was on the right track. Perhaps no two people share as much history in common as two sisters who grew up just a couple of years apart. You and Steve could always make me laugh, and I’m grateful for all of the laughter.

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Sylvia Fish, my grandmother, who has been a second mother to me. You have fed a constant supply of love and fun into my life.

Heidi Hurwitz, my friend and confidante, who instinctively understands. You taught me through example to put myself on the line, as is, with no pretention. You love completely and honestly, because you take nothing for granted and deeply appreciate all of the gifts. Thank you for thinking creatively for me when I ran low.

Gertrude LeVine, my great-aunt, who has always shared with me, and I with her, as if there were no age difference.

Alfred Weller, my great-uncle, who took me under his wing throughout my college days and never pushed me out of the nest. I still call long-distance the only pediatrician I thoroughly trust.

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Danny Klein, my uncle, who gives wholeheartedly and lightens things up. Your enthusiasm inspires the rest of us to take time to play.

Linda Griffith, my cousin, who surrounds herself with color and inspires so many of us to see the art in all things. You have always recognized your knowledge and talents as gifts, passing them along freely to others. This example encourages the rest of us to be forthright and generous.

Pernille Våge, a friend brought to me from across the ocean in a most unlikely way. Long before you offered me your creative efforts, I considered you a gift. Thank you for lasting designs and lasting impressions.

Urania Erskine, my friend, whose faith and humility allow great works to flow through her. No nonsense and good humor are indeed compatible, for they are the best of companions within you. I’m grateful for the fires you’ve started beneath me.

Sally Whipple, my friend, the cookie lady. Grandma babysits in her eighties and affects all of her children with her pure faith. Your example reminds us all to take the time to walk the aisles slowly, to chat over a cup of tea with a friend, and to talk to our photographs.

Deborah Balmuth, my editor at Storey Publishing, who made this a better book. Though I’m in Tennessee, and Deborah is in Vermont, and though we were complete strangers up until recently, I have been enriched by the short time we’ve worked as a team. Thank you for your professionally persistent, yet gentle, criticism.

The chemist, who shall remain nameless, who was helpful and friendly from day one — whose New Jersey accent and New Jersey wit kept me laughing, in spite of my failures.

And a few others I miss daily, but feel nearby: Mary and Harry Weller, my great-grandparents, who showed me all I needed to know about appreciating your eternal mates; Maurice and Freida Miller, my grandparents, who took the time to fuss over us, and whose open-door policy offered me one of my quietest places; my grandfather, Albert Fish, a real gentleman, who brought out the best in people and didn’t judge the least; and Marie and Jean Berthelot, who adopted me as their own and taught me to work hard, and who put German and French lullabies into my head.

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