Dove Bathsoap, Oil of Olay, Pink, and My Grandmother

Believe it or not, these things are all related.  Read a bit and find out how:

My dad was in the Army for the beginning years of my life.  When he retired, my parents picked Colorado, rather than their home state of Indiana, for several reasons.  First, they were told to move to a dryer climate to help my oldest sister's asthma and, hey, National Jewish Hospital is right here in Denver, so good move!  Next, they had fallen in love with it on a vacation.  Third, there was a military hospital, Fitzsimmons Army Medical Center, close by.  All in all, a good choice for our family. 

However, this move meant we were not close by our only living grandparent, my mother's mother.  She flew out to visit us - back in the days when you dressed up to fly because it was a special event and not something people did all the time.  Sometimes we vacationed "back home" in Indiana to see her and other relatives.  But overall, I was relatively distant with her when I was small.

As I became a teen, I began to have a bit more contact with her.  We spoke on the phone off and on and I began to write letters to which she always responded.  I still have those precious words tucked safely away.

My grandmother was a member of The Daughter's of The American Revolution, meaning she could trace her ancestry at least that far back.  In fact, a relative of hers, Jane McCrea (spelled also as McCray and the way my grandmother spelled it), was one of the factors in the escalation of the American Revolutionary War when she was scalped, thus killed, near Fort Edward in New York by Native American Indians fighting on the side of the British.  There is a painting from 1803 or 1804 depicting the scene.  There was also a poem which became a folk song called "The Ballad of Jane McCrea". 

Ah, I got carried away with an interesting part of my family history.  Back to my grandmother.....

She was a business woman and belonged to a group I believe was called, Women Business Association.  She worked in a gift shop a few hours a week up until a week before her death at 89 years old.

I admire my grandmother.  I strove to be like her.  And she was my encouragement when I began my own journey into the business world.  She gave me advise, suggestions, and praise for my accomplishments.  And it meant the world to me. But when I was just 21 years old, my mentor, my good grandmother, passed away.  And it was devastating.

So here is the paragraph that brings my title together for you.  I love the color pink.  Always have, always will.  My grandmother left me her pink mixing bowls, which I use to this day, a pink handheld mirror, which I also use to this day, and two pink vases displayed in my hutch.  She told me to use Dove bath soap for always soft skin.  She was right.  I hear compliments on how soft my skin is when I have to see a Dr. or someone touches my arm when speaking to me.  She also told me to use Oil of Olay and although it has improved greatly since those days, I use one of their formulas every day on my face.

My grandmother liked pink, too.  She gave me great advise about skin care.  And, she gave me confidence and support in my career as I tried to be successful.  And I was.

Thanks, Grandma, for all those letters, all the support and praise, guidance and love.  It helped shape who I am and I feel pretty good about that.

Wait For It

Rachel and I were talking tonight and something she said made  an old memory pop back into my head from my childhood.

When I was a teen, we lived in a trailer on the edge of a small town.  Across from our house to the east was a basement that had been dug for a new house to be built on but it had set there a long time before anything further was actually done. 

My parents, my younger sister and I were all home at the time and the weather changed in a manner that caused us to step outside and look to see if there was a tornado in the area.  This may sound insane "to one who has been long in city pent" (John Keats, 1884), but to us, it was a normal practice.  Sure enough, as we looked to the northwest, not one but two twisters were heading at a diagonal directly toward the trailer park we lived in.  We asked my dad, "What are we going to do?" And he calmly replied we would run across the street to the dug out basement and lay flat in it.  Immediately, we asked if we should go now.  He replied, "No, wait for it."  I think back to that now and it makes me laugh.

He said this in a normal, calm voice with little inflection but all I can think of now is hearing it like this:



Thanks to my daughter for helping me get this recording on here.  I would have never figured it out!!