About seven months ago Eileen Fisher’s people told me their “branding” agency was focused on a new direction for the company when I proposed that the chain hold a nationwide search for the country’s most stylish, accomplished women over fifty.  “Good idea,” one of Fisher’s gatekeepers told me, “but not for us.”

Not for them? I thought. Have you hired a branding agency located on Mars? Women over fifty made Eileen Fisher what she is today. Women over fifty earn more, spend more, are more active, dynamic and vibrant they ever before.  I should know. I’m one of them. We’re embracing our age and turning it into a positive, like we do most everything else.

Women over 50 spend over $25 billion a year on clothes and over $30 million a day on personal care products. Almost one-third of all women in the United States today are 50 or over and this number is rising every year. Women over fifty  have more discretionary income than any other demographic group. Over 65 percent of the women 45 to 64 work full time.

That’s when I had an epiphany:

Eileen Fisher's new muse?

I will create a website myself celebrating women of style and substance over fifty. Then I set out to work, calling the country’s top fashion shops and salons to see if they liked my idea and to ask for their help finding the women. They embraced the idea, and in January we’re launching www.faboverfifty.com. More on that later.

I was flabbergasted when I read in this weekend’s New York Times SundayStyles that Eileen Fisher is now determined to attract a “younger, cooler customer who has no fear of leggings, a defined waistline or wedge heels.” Seems 58-year-old Eileen was “sad” last year because nobody knew her clothes had become “hipper,” the article reported.  So now the company is using younger women in its ads to attract a younger, hipper audience. “Gone, for the moment, are the silver-haired models smiling serenely into the distance,” the article noted.

Despite the size and affluence of this “silver-haired” group, many fashion and cosmetic companies continue to chase the younger market.  They don’t think it’s cool to pursue women over fifty. They’d all be wise to put their thinking caps back on and figure out how to capture our attention–not to mention our discretionary income.

Eileen Fisher, that includes you.  Send your branding agency back into outer space. Older women can and do wear hip clothes.  They’ve been buying them for years in fabulous shops all over the United States, shops from Mario’s in Seattle to Tootsie’s in Houston, from Joan Shepp in Philadelphia to Joseph in Memphis, from Maria Pinto in Chicago to Jamie in Nashville.

When you see www.faboverfifty.com, you’ll know just what I mean.

eReading on the road

When I recently went on vacation with one of my sisters, I was surprised she owned a Kindle. She loved books early on (I noticed her reading Exodus when she was around 8), but I didn’t think she’d turn to digital versions.

She said she likes Kindle because she no longer has to carry 10 books when she takes long trips. “I can also download magazines when there isn’t a newsstand. And it’s lightweight and easy to read.”

When I interviewed Alice Lusk from Dallas for FabOverFifty, she was raving about the Kindle her husband had just bought her. “I LOVE IT,” Alice told me. Countless other women across the country echoed her feelings.

I’ve since read that adults over 54 represent 37 percent of Kindle’s user base. I imagine women make up a big part of this group since we read nine books a year versus five for men.

Do you own an e-reader? What do you think of it?

Eileen Fisher, meet TJ Maxx. TJ doesn’t think anyone over 50 is too hip either. When my friend visited its new store in South Beach, Florida yesterday, a sales associate made a beeline for her and asked if she’d like to sign up for a “senior citizen credit card.”

I wonder what benefits are associated with the card. Will my friend only get rewards points for senior-oriented products like support hose, pants with stretch waists and flannel night gowns that come down to her ankles? If she earns enough points, can she get a free weekend at a retirement community in Florida.

Someone’s got to give these stores a few basic marketing lessons, so I might as well start now. Most important lesson: Kill the word senior. It’s outdated and irrelevant. Perhaps 60 year olds were considered seniors 30 years ago–when they were days away from getting their gold watches. Today the word makes sense when you introduce a US Senator, as in “Ladies and gentlemen, I now introduce you to the senior Senator from New York.” Or when we say: “She has seniority at her company.”  It’s also okay to use it when we forget something and we  jokingly say, “I’m having a senior moment.”

She's a senior....Senator, that is.

The AARP thinks we’re seniors when we turn 50, automatically inviting us to become card-carrying members on our 50th birthday. At least it began to rethink its target audience when it stopped identifying itself as American Association of Retired Persons.  I do think it would be better off creating a new name entirely–not to mention a new marketing program–since even the initial “R” has no relevance to people in the 21st century, especially women.  The only thing retiring about us is when we go to sleep.

When you see www.faboverfifty.com, you’ll know just what I mean.

I usually face most everything head on, but any time I needed to buy insurance, invest my hard-earned money or think about subjects like estimated taxes and lines of credit, I wanted to hide under the covers. Frankly, I’ve usually leaned on a man to help me make financial decisions, from a former boyfriend who chose the mutual funds to buy when I received a big bonus years ago to my accountant uncle who made the decisions about how to structure my will. Just deal with it and make it go away, I always thought.

It’s a well-known fact that most women, financially independent or not, are fairly insecure about handling financial matters.  We despise the unintelligible jargon thrown at us and we don’t seem to get sensible answers when we ask too many questions.  So we abdicate.

You say I need what kind of insurance?

Women really do look at money differently than men.  Money isn’t simply to accumulate or used to measure our importance in the world.  It’s the tool to make our lives—and the lives of our family—healthier and happier.

Thankfully, a few financial institutions are starting to recognize that if they respond first to the unique needs of women, they probably will sell them more products and services. Fab Over Fifty Women, whose lives are often dramatically changing on many fronts, will welcome financial education that’s delivered in an uncomplicated, relatable—and understanding—style.

When we launch www.faboverfifty.com in the New Year, we intend to partner with one of the institutions that wants to give us just what we need.

"You are woman, I am man...."

Ever since blogging yesterday about how Fab Over Fifty women crave variety and experimentation, I’ve been thinking about the reasons why. I’m absolutely convinced that the fifties and sixties set the stage for how we’d be living in our fifties and sixties.

Let me explain: I was born nine months after my dad returned from overseas in 1946. He was away three years during WWII and my mom couldn’t wait for him to get back so she could stop working and have a baby. I think my dad could easily have waited, but my mother was determined to start a family, buy a home and get the whole life process moving. Dad’s job was to be provider. That’s what dads did in the fifties. So what if he didn’t have a minute to relax after coming home.

Mom never worked again. She sent us to school in the morning, waited for us to return at 3:30 pm, made us TV dinners (you didn’t really make them, you removed the foil lid and popped them in the GE toaster oven) and then filled her nights with Mah-Jong, beauty parlor appointments and TV. That’s what lots and lots of moms did in the fifties.

Dad worked 12 hour days as a dentist but he found time to push me to succeed in school, (helping me with homework well past midnight), to be social (he encouraged me go to dances even though I hated them and couldn’t dance), to appreciate music (classical music and opera played all the time), to exercise (I had tennis lessons when I was seven, even though I was chunky and a complete klutz).

Please don’t get me wrong.  Mom was talented (an artist), well read (she usually had a book in her hands), a good cook (when she wasn’t involved with TV dinners), and more.  She just wanted to be a wife and mother. That’s the way it was.

And just look at her now (from a Dove campaign)

I remember fantasizing when I was a teenager about becoming a wife and mother too. By the end of the sixties, we all had learned that the world was a bigger place than we had seen. Our parents were too set in their ways to explore, to experiment, to change. We were poised to shake it up.  I started to see I could have a husband and children, a great job, good friends, and be able to cook, travel, knit and write all at the same time. It hasn’t always gone as smoothly as I would have liked, but I’m proud to be a member of a generation of  Fab Over Fifty women that wants it all and refuses to stop trying.

“If Botox sponsors Fab Over Fifty, I want nothing to do with it,” a California woman told me. She’s against anything unnatural.  “Hmm,” I thought, “I see nothing wrong with ‘cosmetic facial injectables’” (a phrase used by the American Society of Plastic Surgeons.) She was emphatic, so I didn’t plan to debate.

Over 10 million women every year swear by these non- and minimally-invasive cosmetic procedures and the number keeps climbing.  They’re not cheap (think $2,500 a visit) and they should  be repeated about every six months. But over 75 percent of women 35 to 69 say they’d have the procedures to make them “look better,” according to a 2005 Harris Interactive survey for the ASPS.

Personally, I put these injections in the same category as capping teeth, dying hair and jumping around in aerobics classes. If we look better and even feel better as a result, I say, “Go for it.” You might prefer gray hair and slow walks. And you think your laugh lines are pretty cute. We can be Fab Over Fifty, whatever we decide.

On average, women 35 to 69 would prefer to look 13 years younger than their actual age, according to the Harris survey. That’s just about right as far as I’m concerned. When someone tells me I look fifty, I’m tickled pink.  Why not? Does it make me vain if I’d rather not look my age?

Just enough

More than a tad too much

Of course, there’s a big difference between wanting a natural looking, refreshed appearance, and trying to defy your age and look two decades younger. That’s not going to happen. One too many injections or skin that’s pulled back just a tad more than it should be will make you look perfect one day a year…Halloween.

Just a minute, I have to answer the door.

We spend $25 billion on clothes, but exactly who do we want to impress? Celebrities put on a show for us when they prance around the red carpet (in borrowed baubles and ball gowns). But are we putting on a show for anyone?

I used to. When I had a date during my first semester at Syracuse University in 1964, I ran to buy a pink sweater to go with my lipstick red skirt because I wanted to look nice for Walter  (how I still remember his name after 45 years and a single date astounds me). I spent hours choosing my outfit for my first dinner with my future in-laws in 1967.  They lived in Manhattan and I lived in Queens, so I had to show them I was stylish although I lived in a borough.

After losing fifty pounds in 1988, I couldn’t wait to show off my new clothes—and shape—to my co-workers.  I even loved department store dressing rooms because I could parade around in front of all the other women.

When we were young, we used our wardrobe to impress, attract and fit in. We could change our style on a moment’s notice. If our friends wore Bass Weejuns, we wore Bass Weejuns.  Clothes play an entirely different role for me now.  Sure, I’m glad when my husband, friends, relatives, clients and children say I look nice, but I’m not thinking about any of them when I shop.  I dress for myself first.  If I feel good in what I’m wearing, I don’t really worry how anyone else feels.

I don't think twice about wearing chartreuse, even if I know everyone else will be dressed in black

My style is my own.  It’s one of the nicest things that come with being Fab Over Fifty. Just wait till you meet all the spectacular shops that are associated with www.faboverfifty.com from coast to coast.  We love every single one of them because they help us bring out our style like no one else.

When I prepared for my date with Walter over four decades ago, I looked at myself in the mirror and said: “I hope he likes me.”  When I look in the mirror now, I say: “I like me.”

Millions of Fab Over Fifty women are entrepreneurs, and superb entrepreneurs at that. Why not? We possess all the qualifications necessary for success:  We come up with great ideas backed by drive, passion, creativity, resources, diligence, industriousness, emotional security, wisdom, contacts, personal and professional networks and a willingness to take risks, to name a few talents.

Some of us became entrepreneurs when we were young. Lois, one of my oldest friends, left her editorial job at Fairchild Publications when she was 26 to open her own public relations agency. Over 35 years later, HWH Public Relations is as vibrant as ever. Lois plunged ahead while her co-workers at Fairchild (including me) were too timid to leave secure jobs.

Others waited. I got the entrepreneurial calling when I was 51 and had spent 23 years with Fairchild. The company was good to me and I to it, but I knew that if I didn’t finally “do my own thing,” I’d never leave.  It was one of the best decisions of my life.

Once we become entrepreneurs, we also have the magical ability to reinvent ourselves at a moment’s notice.  Lois calls her PR firm HWH Public Relations and New Media. As the media world began changing, Lois knew she had to change right along with it.  Now she’s become an expert in social networking.  I mean an expert. She could have run the Obama campaign. If John McCain had known about her, he probably would have won.

Sandy, whose thriving interior design business was impacted by the economy, came up with a brilliant idea this year called www.decoratortagsale.com. Interior designers will be offering their samples and unsold merchandise on her site at great prices. It will be launched soon, but you can sign up now.

And I happily spent most of this year conceiving of and working on www.faboverfifty.com, which will be the first social networking site and resource guide for smart, stylish, accomplished women over fifty. Whether you’re an entrepreneur or work for someone else, raised a family or raised the glass ceiling, dress in designer duds or don’t know Dries from Dior, it will be the place where we can share the things that make us so fab—the shops we love, the creams we swear by, the books we can’t put down, and the wisdom we’ve amassed.

We’re the best group of women in history.

It’s time to let the whole world know.

Naughty...

Nice guys may finish last, according to the cynical proverb attributed to baseball manager Leo Durocher, but they come in first in my Fab Over Fifty book of wisdom. Despite how we felt when we were dating in our twenties, FOF women have learned how nice nice really is.

How nice it is when your husband, partner, boyfriend (whatever he is in your life):

Smiles his way through your whims and idiosyncrasies

Doesn’t seem to notice you’re not the same size as when the two of you met. And  if he does, doesn’t give a darn

Loves your children, even if they’re not his

Walks the dog every morning before he goes to work (and lets you sleep)

Enjoys shopping with you (and has impeccable taste)

And Nice

Is unequivocally loyal

Urges you to see a doctor when you’re under the weather

Offers to go out of his way to pick you up at the airport

Listens to how your day was (at least half the time)

Agrees to take your 85 year-old-mother to dinner with you (every Saturday)

Agrees to spend every Thanksgiving at your sister’s house (every year)

Doesn’t pout when you announce you’re going out to dinner with friends (two nights in a row)

Acknowledges how Fab you really are

Passionate sex, sarcasm, looks that could kill, and all that jazz may seduce us when we’re 25, or perhaps even 45. They don’t, however, stand the test of time.

I had a boyfriend 14 years my senior.  He died at 67, ten days after a stroke. I was 53.  Before the attack, he was slowing down—but I was gearing up.  He wanted to simplify his life, while mine was becoming more complicated every day. He was retired and I had just started my own business.  He preferred to be in Florida full time and I didn’t intend to leave New York or my kids.

When he took sick, I would have dropped everything to help take care of him had he survived the stroke. I loved him.  Sure, it wouldn’t have been my first choice to put everything on hold, but hey, that’s life.

A man I know in his sixties told me he was glad his wife was the same age because she could relate to him when he woke up with an ache here, a pain there.  Great point, I thought.  Big age gaps generally make less of a difference when both partners are younger, say 28 and 43, but they can become more troublesome at a certain stage.

In sickness and in health....

Troublesome or not, loving each other is the most important issue. I have incredible admiration for one Fab Over Fifty woman who is helping to care for her older husband with a reservoir of grace, class, and good humor. She is grateful he is in her life, ill or not.

Ivana Trump is another story.  When I saw her recently on The View, I almost felt sorry for her loveless life. Barbara Walters asked Ivana, “You like them younger, right?”  And Ivana’s answer: “Yes, I like them younger. I have so much energy, they usually die within a month.  So I’d much rather be a babysitter than a nursemaid.”

Funny how Ivana thinks only older men get sick.  Even energetic 60-year-old women can get sick too. I wonder which of her young men would come running to her side.

A yellowing photograph of me kissing my father’s cheek sits on a table in the entryway of my apartment.  I’m about 24.  It must have been summer because I’m wearing a sleeveless shirt.  My hair is short and ultra curly.  I have a big smile on my face. My dark brown eyes are wide and sparkling. I don’t have an ounce of flab on the arm wrapped around my dad’s back.

When my 30-year-old son and I were recently discussing the photo, he commented: “You looked pretty hot then.”  Staring at the picture now—at 62—I answered,  “Yeah, I guess I did, but I never looked at myself that way.”

Me and my son and daughter, Colby and Simone

This got my mind churning. How is it that I think I look pretty darn good today, 38 years later, when my hair is thinner, my eyes a little less sparkly, my arms a lot less toned?  Simple. My self-image in 1978 wasn’t so hot.  I like myself in 2009.  I like my energy, my style, my attitude and my sense of humor.  I don’t even mind my midriff bulge and my less-than-perfect legs. I like what I’ve accomplished and look forward to what I still can accomplish.

I love my children, my sisters, my brothers-in-law, my nephews, my friends, and, of course, my husband. I like it all.

My husband often reminds me of the saying he saw years ago on a swimmer’s tee shirt: “The body achieves what the mind believes.”  Wow! Isn’t that the truth? Feeling good inside makes you look good outside, no matter what year of life the calendar claims you’re in.

Note: Of course, my Olay Pro-X anti-aging lotion, my Stephen Dweck moonstone bracelet, my hair colorist (Tara from Butterfly Studio Salon in New York), my Alain Mikli checked eyeglass frames, my vitamin packs from GNC, my yoga lesson (Adam from Pure Yoga) and the clothes I love to wear don’t hurt the look either.

When you’re Fab Over Fifty, you might as well have fun with the whole package. That’s what FOF women across the country have been telling me for months.  And that’s what we’ll all be able to share when www.faboverfifty.com launches in January.

oxo

A single woman on the streets of Paris

When my boyfriend died in 2000, it was the first time in my life that I wasn’t involved with a man. Trying to find a new one was a pain in the neck.  I was 53 and had never been much of a dater before marrying at the ripe old age of 21. So I started going to dinner after dinner, away for weekends, and on all manner of cockamamie rendezvous. There was the Princeton graduate with the Ph.D. from Cal Tech who wanted a golf companion and someone he could show off at his fancy Connecticut country club, the Robert De Niro look-alike who was on-again of again with his deceased wife’s best friend, and the man who was still moaning about the wife who left him 20 years before.

I worked every angle imaginable: Bought ads in the personals sections of the New York Times and New York Magazine; answered personals ads; asked every friend, relative and acquaintance if they could fix me up; paid (or should I say lost) $5,000 on a dating service that promised me five dates and delivered two (and they were awful at that.)

I made out with a police detective like I was 19, drank way too many martinis with the Ph.D., and shed pools of tears over the De Niro look-alike. Why didn’t he call in three days? Was he going back to Gloria? I was a top editor and publisher with a thriving business but didn’t have the slightest idea how to be successful at this meeting-a-man business. I was acting like a jerk.

Those were two grim years.

If only I had known Cheryl Ann Savage, a 54-year-old Fab Over Fifty woman who I recently interviewed. Cheryl owns a successful real estate business in Monterey, CA, but recently opened a second business as a “dating coach.”

“A dating coach,” you ask with a quizzical look? Yep. Here’s how Cheryl explains it: “I don’t set people up together. I am not a dating service.  I don’t teach women how to throw their hair up, raise their boobs and become overt to attract men. I teach them that single—whether they’ve never married, are widowed or divorced—is not a ‘condition’ and they need to be comfortable with it.

“We’ve fought to be equal with men in so many ways,” Cheryl said, but when it comes to dating, even powerful, strong women feel like they did when they were “juniors in high school.”  She believes we still have a powerful need for companionship and dynamic social interaction and that she can give us solid advice based on her extensive dating experiences.  ”We can approach dating like adults and still have fun like we did at 17.”

Now, in my sixth decade, I finally recognize one of the primary reasons I was put on earth: To tell the world about the most fabulous women in the world (who are now over fifty, of course).

Mind you, I think some pretty cool women are wandering about who are under fifty (my daughter Simone, first and foremost), but they can tell each other how fabulous they are in two decades. Now it’s our turn.

I conceived of Fab Over Fifty earlier this year because I know how much my generation of women (51million of us in the US) has accomplished and how much we appreciate, respect and adore one another. How great would it be if we could share our stories, our Fab Faves in everything from where we shop to where we dine and what we read, and our great style and wisdom.

As women began registering on the site (we launch towards the end of January), I became more excited every day to read their messages, which confirm just how extraordinary they really are.

Barbara Mangini

Without further ado, meet FOF Barbara Mangini from Newburyport, MA, a city 35 miles North of Boston that’s oozing with New England charm.  “My friends and I are Fab Over Fifty because we are creative and inventive, with hearts of twenty, wide-eyed optimism, and new found wisdom. Hats-off to a wonderful website concept that I am very much looking forward to. I am 52 and I blog at http://www.mydogearedpages.com.”

Every inch of this blog sparkles, from Barbara’s warm and witty prose to the photos and graphics. She muses about anything and everything she loves… film, books, fashion, friends, design. You will enjoy her recommendations. Although Barbara hasn’t given up her day job as an ad exec helping to brand clients, she thinks this time of life is about “who we are rather than who someone else is.”

Barbara logs in a lot of bloghours, when she isn’t working, and she loves every minute of it. “The coolest thing about being over fifty is knowing enough to share the things that make life simple and grand.”

It’s women like Barbara who are going to make www.faboverfifty.com community well, you know, Fabulous!

Dear Demi,

My friends at work told me about the photo Ashton posted of you on that Twitter thing today. I rushed home to see it. You know, it’s the one where you’re bending over in your itsy bitsy white bikini.  Oh my goodness, I tingled all over when I saw Ashton’s caption: “Watching my wife steam my suit while wearing a bikini. I love God!”  You are so lucky to have someone who loves you so much and loves God too.

Behind every great woman

Your answer was so precious, I just have to repeat it. “He is such a sneak and while I was steaming his suit too!”

I couldn’t wait to read your latest interview in that shiny fashion magazine. It said you think Twitter is “serious stuff.” I just knew you thought that because you’re on it all the time. The article said you have more than 2,ooo,ooo  fans and that Ashton has twice as many. Hopefully you’ll catch up to him soon.  I also think it’s really cool that you want to create a “dialogue” with your fans. I’m so happy that you feel that way about me. I’m not sure what “dialogue” means, but it must be good if you say it.

Demi, I’m a bit older than you and I haven’t done nearly as much with my life as you have with yours. But I’m not jealous that you’re blessed with so much wisdom and you have such a good body too. I’m just glad you love to share it all with us.

In the meantime, I’m going to register for a new website called faboverfifty.com. I heard it’s a place where women like me can share all our favorite books, restaurants, passions and inspirations and we can talk about everything we’ve done with ourselves. I don’t think it’s going to be as fascinating as having a “dialogue” with you, but I’m going to give it a try anyway.

Give my love to Ashton.  He’s sooooo cute.  So is your tush.

Love,

Geri Brin

The quotes that come out of the mouths of FOF women are worthy of Barlett’s: Witty, wise, wacky, and all wonderful. Actually, we’re going to start our own Book of FOF quotes right here, right now. So here we go (note: I am not listing anyone’s age. Suffice it to say, everyone is FOF.)

Rise and shine

“As long as I get up in the morning, I’m happy.” –Ann, Washington, D.C.

“I think I’m fab for keeping up with our internet/computer crazed era. I refuse to be left behind!”   –Deborah, Houston

“I try not to be around things that feel toxic, like bad coffee and annoying people.”–Linda, Detroit

“I don’t have any secrets.  I share with everyone.” –Jayne, Dallas

“I love to share my knowledge with other women so they too can be fab over fifty.” — Melanie, Baltimore

“We’ve been breaking all the rules and reinventing ‘woman’ as we go.  We are truly fabulous!”–Mara, New York

“Most women of our age have been tested and survived and know the treasure of time.” — Teri, Sierra Madre, CA.

“When we were little our princesses came from books. Our heroes went to the forests to study primates. We never lost our names. We had babies while we worked. We made sure our children expressed themselves. And we make sure our grandchildren hear all these stories.”                                                                                                                                                        –Carol, Oakland CA.

“It finally is all about me!” — Linda, Hudson, MA

I just returned from visiting my 83-year-old aunt in the hospital, where I met one of the most arrogant doctors I’ve ever met in my life. That’s pretty arrogant.

My aunt has Stage IV colorectal cancer.  To make matters worse (as if they could be), she fractured her hip last week as a result of severe osteoporosis. As her closest living relative, I am her “patient advocate.” From the day she was diagnosed with cancer almost two years ago, my aunt could count on me to stay on top of her doctors and treatment, help her maneuver and understand complicated medical processes and make certain the quality of her life was the best it could be. Up until the fracture, it’s been pretty good.

After striding into my aunt’s room today, the orthopedic surgeon immediately told us he normally doesn’t work on bone fractures but he was reviewing her case “as a favor” to her oncologist.  “All I do now is elective hip and knee replacements. Five hundred a year,” he proudly announced.

Then he called me to task for ignoring his instructions to bring my aunt to the hospital sooner.  ”Now the hip is broken and a rod needs to be inserted.”

After firming establishing there were no such instructions and reading aloud emails that I exchanged with my aunt’s oncologist (I felt like a defense attorney), DR. “I DON’T DO BONE FRACTURES” contritely explained the options. I asked him lots of questions too, as I’ve been doing for two years with all kinds of doctors. His speciality is bones.  My specialty is my aunt.

Two decades ago, when my 68-year-old dad was dying, doctors and patients acted like Gods and their worshippers.  The medical profession was sacrosanct.  Our attitude towards medicine has changed—even if many doctors still think of themselves as holy.

We, the over 50 million FOF women who had blind faith in our doctors 20 years ago, now realize it’s not just okay—it’s wise—to question their authority. We’re becoming patient advocates for our elderly relatives who take sick.  We’re becoming advocates for ourselves when we become the patients.  We know docs make mistakes–just like we do.

Don’t mess with a FOF woman.

Fab Over Fifty women escape stifling situations, shun mediocrity and resist the status quo.  We’re not too keen about negativity either. We do what it takes to move up and on. We are adventurers, conquerors, change agents.

We are constantly growing and changing Photo: Garance Dore

Many of us married far too young, divorced after years and now live with “significant others.” Jeanne from Carmel, CA, even married and divorced the same man twice (in her early and late twenties.)

We started in one career, stayed in it for decades, then decided we had enough and switched gears. Bridget from New York was a successful TV executive who realized she was “burned out” in her fifties. She didn’t stick it out. She went back to school and earned the college diploma she always wanted. Now she’s working towards her Master’s Degree and teaching at Columbia University.

We didn’t exercise much in our twenties or thirties. When we learned exercise was good, we turned ourselves into aerobic, weight-lifting enthusiasts.

We smoked like there was no tomorrow.   When we learned it was bad, we gave it up.

We got degrees in history and became banking executives, morphed from wives and mothers into saavy saleswomen, and turned passions for cooking, baking and crafts into big businesses.

We’re went from nurturing mothers to caregiving daughters.

“Our only security is our ability to change.”  ~John Lilly

"the feeling's oh so strong."

Judy B. was my best friend when I was about 7 to 15. She lived down the block and we played Monopoly all the time. Each of us was desperate to win. We wound up fighting a lot. I think she once scratched my face and I pulled her hair.

Ellen P. was my best friend when I was 16 to 20. We loved each other, but she got upset when I met Douglas. Our friendship fizzled.

L. was one of my best friends when I was in my twenties and into my thirties. She kept me around because I helped her with her writing assignments for work. I kept her around because she was pretty and connected with “in” people. Our friendship had  as much depth as a kid’s wading pool. It still drowned.

Other friends came and went over the years. T, who pretended she liked me because I gave her a job, but really hated that I was her boss. Barbara,  who let me talk incessantly about my miserable relationship with Edgar. K, who I befriended solely for the purpose of getting info about Edgar. (She was his executive assistant.) S, whose insecurity and passive aggressiveness was an unfortunate combination.

At last, I know the kind of friends I want around me and I want to be around. Secure, smart, challenging friends like Lina, who appreciate my energy, talent and generosity, but call me out when I get over zealous and demanding.

Honest, real, compassionate, friends like Lois, who has unequivocally accepted me back into her life, let us pick up where we left off many years ago and demands as much from me as she demands of herself . Friends like Colby and Simone, who happen to be my children but who think I can be pretty cool and smart and who teach me something new and cool every time I’m with them. Friends like Douglas, my first husband, and David, my current husband, who actually like each other and complement me in vastly different ways. Friends like my sisters who will never ever  desert me and who make me happy, even when they’re poking fun at me.

Friends like all the FOF women I’ve met this year who are excited as I am to share their wisdom, style, and everything else that makes them the most fabulous women on the planet. I love every single one of them.

Debbie shows Camille a beach for the first time

When Debbie’s great niece Camille came to live with her 15 months ago, the little girl was “a mess,” recalls 56-year-old Debbie.  “She arrived with just the clothes on her back, dirty and abandoned.” Abused since she was a baby, Camille had never used utensils. She had problems with anger management, felt very insecure and was two years behind in school.

Until she became guardian to the troubled child, Debbie lived only with Rick, her “significant other,” for 25 years. “I didn’t have children and I never had to take care of anyone but myself,” she says, “so I guess I was pretty narcissistic and selfish.”  Owner of a successful court reporting business, Debbie took Camille in because none of the little girl’s other relatives wanted her. “Rick and I didn’t think it was an option to have her go to a foster home,” she explains.

left to right, Camille, Debbie, Rick and Makayla (Camille's half sister)

Giving her “heart and soul” to Camille was “the easy part,” Debbie says. “Fitting Camille into our routines and making room for her in our lives was pretty difficult.”

Happily, Debbie, Rick and Camille have become a family. “She’s getting A’s in behavior in school and is more outgoing. “She’s been fine once we got her calmed down and provided her with a home,” Debbie reports.  “Rick has been a fantastic role model for her.”

Debbie and Rick also travel 100 miles round trip many weekends so Camille can “bond” with her half sister and brother, 7 and 2, who live with their father. “We have made great strides,” Debbie says, “but it’s been the hardest 15 months I’ve ever spent, a life-changing event. If ever I questioned why I was put on earth, I now know why.”

Friends often tell Debbie there’s a special place for her in heaven. “Will it be in an adult’s only section?” she jokes.

Debbie is one of many Fab Over Fifty women you’ll meet when we launch www.faboverfifty.com early in 2010. If you think she’s fabulous now, wait till you learn what else she does.

If I could bottle and sell every single thing that makes stunning, 78-year-old Babbie Lovett one spectacular woman, I’d become a zillionaire.

Babbie with Rob Joyner, fashion coordinator of James Davis in Memphis

read more…

Liz modeling a chapeaux in the flea market

I sometimes fantasize (actually, more than sometimes) about living in Paris. I feel like I’m in a trance when I’m there. Every place I turn, I see something that captivates me. The corner angle of a 16th century  building, a woman buying a baguette at the local boulangerie, a fashion shop window display (oh, those Paris fashion shops!). I love listening to the language, watching French lovers in the Metro, seeing a shopkeeper proudly scrubbing the street in front of his business. I even feel a little giddy the moment I spot the Eiffel Tower.

Dinner from the market at Bon Marche

My fantasy life in Paris includes living in a flat in St-Germain-des-Pres, with a balcony, of course, overlooking the famous rooftops; a stroll through a different neighborhood every day, with no special place I need to go; shopping for my dinner at the glorious market in Bon Marche, and snooping through Les Puces de Saint-Ouen (that’s the flea market) on a late fall Sunday afternoon, just as dusk is settling over the city.

The last time I saw Paris was a few months ago. I hadn’t been there for seven years because I always had too many obligations at home. I never stopped longing to go.  Since that last short—but enchanting—trip, I’ve promised myself I will return at least once a year, as I used to do.

A number of FOF women I’ve interviewed love Paris as much as I do. I suspect it’s one of those places that helped make us fab.

I love to shop. I also enjoy doing nobler things like working hard, supporting the Make- A-Wish Foundation, and recycling the newspapers and plastic bottles. But when it comes to buying a necklace, a new pair of shoes or just about any piece of clothing, I make no apologies.

I adore the whole shopping process: Scouting out the jewelry displays in the shops up and down Madison Avenue, trying on a pair of insanely expensive flats in the sprawling Bergdorf Goodman shoe department, handing over my credit card to purchase a luscious, four-ply cashmere turtleneck in deep purple. My enthusiasm for shopping doesn’t stop with me.  I adore shopping with and for my daughter, my aunt, my sisters, and my friends. I even love buying ties for my husband and rain gear for Rigby, our wacky but lovable Norfolk terrier.

Love at first sight

When I asked FOF Lucy Lee of Memphis about her greatest indulgence, she said: “I knew you were going to ask me that, so I asked my husband if I could say contemporary art? He quipped, ‘only if you lie.’”

Lucy admitted clothes are her biggest indulgence. “When I was a little girl, my mother used to take me into Memphis to shop at a store called Helen of Memphis. We would go back home and I’d try on all my new clothes for my father. It was the most fun thing in the world. I’d have a mini fashion show for him.  I’ve loved clothes my whole life.” Lucy’s favorite Memphis shop today is Joseph, one of the premiere stores you’ll get to know when we launch FOF.

I know at least one woman on Wall Street, a gallery owner, lawyer, fund raiser, doctor, author, restaurateur and landscape artist who would count fashion as their biggest indulgence.  They all look like a million.

Remember, no apologies needed.

My mother, May, and I didn’t always see eye to eye and we had our fair share of contentiousness.

I married an “artist” type who I often supported, wanted my own career, waited till I was in my thirties to have children, divorced, and “took up” with a man from Mississippi who was 14 years older.  These events weren’t in the script she had written for me. I also didn’t make it easy for her to be my mother.

But by the time she died at 87 at the beginning of 2009, we understood each other better than ever. She even told me she loved me on more than one occasion during the last few years. It felt good every time she said it.

Now my 28-year-old daughter, Simone, doesn’t always make it easy for me to be her mother (and vice versa, I might add). But I consistently want her to know how much I support and love her despite some of our differences. Who cares that she’s not the type to want a traditional wedding, or any wedding, for that matter. (I kind of think all the hoopla and expense that goes into planning a wedding is overkill anyway).

Who cares that she has a couple of not-insignificant tattoos. (I just wonder how she’ll feel about them when she’s fifty.) And who cares that she sometimes gets petulant, impatient and frustrated with me. (I would too.)

What I really care about is that she’s a wonderful young woman who is working hard to make something of her life, has good friends who adore her, a thoughtful man who loves her, and has a common sense second to none.

Artist: Simone (my daughter) Brin

I love Simone’s artistic talent, her funkiness, her style and that she “gets” and loves her brother and her father.  She’s also done a spectacular job to overcome some pretty big obstacles in her young life. I was one of them earlier on.

I’m a lucky FOF mother—and I really was a lucky daughter.

He wears his wrinkles well

I started a converation with two young students while we waited to get our cupcakes from the new bakery. “How old do you think we look?” the girls asked, giggling in unison. They were delighted when I told them I thought they were a couple of years older than they actually were.

Forty years from now, they probably won’t be delighted with the same answer.

Why do we want to look older when we’re young and younger as we age? Why aren’t we content to look great for our age rather than younger than the calendar says?

What does fifty look like anyway? Or seventy? If you’re lucky enough to get to be ninety, do you want to look eighty? Can’t wrinkles be as beautiful as etchings or considered signs of character?

If wisdom comes with age, do we need to look like time stood still? Wouldn’t we rather feel comfortable in our own skin, as countless FOF women tell me they do, than get mad at it for telling on us?

I’ve never had to rely on a man for money. It’s not that I would have minded, but it just didn’t work out that way.  My former husband was a struggling writer and artist. At last, at 62, he’s getting some much-deserved recognition. After my husband and I separated, my rich boyfriend wasn’t telling me to quit my job so he could take care of me. And my husband isn’t telling me either.

Surrounded by Mad Men

I sometimes looked enviously at women whose husbands or boyfriends supported them, but no more.  I am thrilled I became financially independent, as many FOF women did, even if the process was sometimes scary.  I’ll never forget the afternoon in 1981 that I was “laid off” as a feature writer for the Daily News. I was eight months pregnant with my second child and supporting my husband and 2 ½-year-old son. I was too panicked to panic, so I composed a list of all my connections, and then began a phone and letter-writing campaign (remember letters?)  My former employer hired me back within a month.

When I ran into Melanie, a college friend, a few years ago, she sadly told me her husband had died and they had lost most everything when his business went south. “I’m so jealous that you have a career,” she said.  Ironic, I thought, since Mel was one of these women I used to look at with a tad of envy.  I adored her, but whenever I’d see her, I secretly wished I had a husband who could buy me a country house and apartment on Park Avenue, like she did, and I didn’t have to worry about my next deadline or pleasing a Napoleonic boss. Melanie didn’t have to work. I did.

I’m not sure how my life would have turned out if I hadn’t had to work, but that hardly matters at this point. Even if given the choice four decades ago, I’m convinced I would have taken the same path. I love where my career has taken me and that now I can use all the skills I learned in publishing, marketing and selling to create www.faboverfifty.com for all of us.

Mr friend Terry and her granddaughter Edie Rose

Women born in the mid to late forties were expected to get married, have children and take care of their husbands, homes and families.  Many of us did just that, successfully and happily. My friend Terry stayed home to raise two wonderful daughters and today she takes care of Edie, her gorgeous new granddaughter, a few days a week.

We should never look back at the road not taken, but at the road we’ve yet to travel.

Is it better to a.) Marry someone who is definitely not the love of your life or b.) Have a great love, but never marry him?

FOF Elaina Spilove would answer b. “I feel fortunate to have had a couple of great loves in my life. The fact that they didn’t culminate in marriage doesn’t make me sad,” says the beautiful, successful—and single—59-year-old financial consultant. “Like everybody else, I always thought that I was going to get married and have a family,” Elaina says, but she chose not to focus on it.  “I figured it would happen or it wouldn’t.  I came close three times. Once the wedding was five days away. It was a big wedding too.” Elaina called it off.

Elaina’s life is rich and full, from her career to her passion for her niece, not to mention dancing The Argentine Tango and Brazilian Samba…in competitions, no less.

FOF Elaina Spilove doing the samba

“It wasn’t in my destiny to marry,” she says.

It doesn’t matter at the end of the day whether we left a great love, or he left us.  It can be a painful experience. The pain usually goes away. But what about  women who never found great loves and married men who weren’t quite like they dreamed?

Do they stop dreaming or do their dreams just take different forms?

Happy Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving Eve is one of my favorite days of the year. Everyone seems to be bustling around New York City a little happier and more chill than yesterday. It makes me smile thinking about my funsy–if slightly frenetic–family all together tomorrow. It’s wonderful that my sister invites my former husband to join us. This way, our two children don’t need to stress about dividing their attention. I wish the air was going to be a little nippier, but you can’t have everything.

This will be the first Thanksgiving without our mother May. That’s sad. But maybe she’s making my father their first turkey dinner together in 21 years. That would be nice.

I am thankful for all the new Fab Over Fifty women I’ve met this year as I’ve embarked on creating www.faboverfifty.com, a life-changing project. Let’s see, there’s always-moving, oh-so-smart and beautiful Mica Mosbacher, an angel;  Gerri Shute, oozing with warmth, sparkle, grace, energy and humor ; no-nonsense, passionate, ultra-creative Joan Shepp; one-of-a-kind Meryl Metz: lovely and talented Paulette Martsolf, whose spirit never sags, and Leslee Shupe Korff, who immediately saw the great things she and FOF could do together. (I’ve provided links to the fab shops that four of these FOF women either own or manage).

You’ll meet all of them and a world of other FOF women when we launch this incredible site in a couple of months.

My wishes for a bountiful, bright and and blessed Thanksgiving to every FOF woman, her friends and family across the country.

A family of garment workers in the early 1900s

Any FOF woman even remotely interested in fashion should make it a point to watch the HBO documentary Schmatta: Rags to Riches to Rags about New York’s Garment Center and the demise of the American fashion industry. (95 percent of the apparel sold in the United States today is made outside the US, versus 15 percent in 1985.)

As a former editor and publisher at Fairchild Publications (WWD), I watched first-hand as designers became stars, department stores lost their business to discounters and American manufacturers and retailers started traveling abroad to source garments. Schmatta tells the story dramatically and intimately through fascinating footage and dozens of interviews with members of the industry at every level, fabric cutters to fashion icons.

Well-done coverage of chilling events like the 1911 Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire—where almost 150 immigrant workers (mostly young women) lost their lives—juxtaposed with commentary from an ultra tanned Ralph Lauren  (“Designers do fashion. I do lives”) make Schmatta as thought provoking as it is revealing.

Ralph's "family"

Consider this: Ralph Lauren, a son of Jewish immigrants, has amassed a fortune worth over $2 billion by manufacturing a lifestyle of perfect people who sail, ride horses and walk hand in hand on the beach with their perfect  children. So why are many of his clothes manufactured off America’s shores?

One of the most heartbreaking, life-altering experiences for a woman is the chronic illness, disability or loss of a child.

Who can forget Shirley MacLaine in the 1988 movie Terms of Endearment as she struggles to deal with her daughter’s life-threatening disease.  Or Mary Tyler Moore in the extraordinary 1980 movie Ordinary People, who can’t come to grips with the death of her son.

Heart-wrenching terms of endearment

My FOF friend, Carol, faces her son’s exteme handicap with grace and strength every single day.  A lawyer, devoted mother to two other children and wonderful wife, she has an indomitable spirit and is as beautiful outside as she is in.

I have never seen Carol down. She never complains. And she always greets me with a warm smile, enthusiasm and kind words . I imagine she aches when she looks at her son, but all I see and hear is her love, affection and encouraging words.

Carol and her son constantly remind me of the power of the human spirit, especially a mother’s.

I was chatting with another Gerri (double r), my FOF friend from Chicago, about why women never stop making friends, while men are content simply to keep the friends they have.

Notice how women bond...

“We relax when we like someone and we start to share,” Gerri surmises.  “Men don’t chat on the spot with other men about a barber they discovered or a about a new suit they just bought.”  Gerri and I also think FOF women don’t feel as competitive with other women as we did when we were young. It pleases us to learn about new things and discuss new ideas with new people, Gerri believes.

And the way men do it

Men bond over sports and drinks. Women bond over each other.

I met Gerri over the phone about five months ago when I interviewed her for www.faboverfifty.com. We instantly clicked, and she invited me out to dinner with her close friends when they came into New York for the US Open on Labor Day weekend. The evening was stimulating, full of warmth, laughs, and great conversation. I met another FOF women that night, Katie, and we became fast friends as well.

Gerri came into the city again this weekend to “OD on the theatre” and we met for coffee this morning, happily chatting for three hours about our husbands, boyfriends, aunts, sisters, careers, children and stepchildren.

I can’t wait until all the FOF women from across the country soon come together for the launch of www.faboverfifty.com.  I have no doubt many new friendships will be born that evening and will grow and grow.

It’s one of the great things that make FOF women utterly fab.

Today he'd be a blogger

When my young colleagues, Lina and Joanna, started talking about blogging four years ago, I listened with one ear.  I grew up in a world where people wrote newspaper columns and letters to the editor when they had something to say publicly. Or they became Andy Rooney.  The rest of us either agreed or disagreed with their opinions, ideas and observations.

These things called blogs will never succeed, I brilliantly surmised.  Today, Joanna’s blog, A Cup of Jo, is one of the most popular in the world (seriously, in the world) and Lina works with me on the creation of www.faboverfifty.com and critiques my blog. I’ve also learned to enjoy and appreciate blogs (although it is entirely possible to spend too much time reading them.)

While not all blogs are created equal, overall they encourage creativity, dialogue, sharing, venting, learning, laughing and even crying. I try to read at least one new blog every day. When Maureen commented on one of my blog posts, I noticed the words islandroar in her return email so I started to investigate.

Turns out, Maureen is an RN (not practicing at the moment) who does “an assortment of odd jobs to support my writing habit until the time I achieve my inevitable fame and fortune.”  Her blog www.islandroar.com is a joy to read.  Maureen writes with charm and warmth and you feel as if you’re in the room with her when you’re reading.  Although she still has a few years till she’s Fab Over Fifty, she’s pretty fab nonetheless.

He must have read his owner's blog

You’ve got to read the latest blog on her dog.

Another blog you should take a look at is Fabulous Over Forty, created by Kari Solyntjes to offer women “fabulous insights into maintaining their beauty without feeling like surgery or injections are the only options.” Although Kari is the full-time business manager for Gunkelman Flesher, a classy interior design firm in New York and Minneapolis, she has been “obsessed” with beauty products since she was a little girl and experimented with everything on her grandmother’s vanity.

Kari covers the latest beauty, hair care and skincare tips, products and issues with humor and honesty. Her views and suggestions are based on research and interviews with experts. She told me the section on skin is the most popular because we really do want to know how to treat it properly as we age.

We’re glad Kari’s bosses let her feed her obsession.

My mother was only 66 when my dad died. She never left his side the last six months of his life. He had been in the final stages of melanoma, with a colostomy, which added another layer of difficulty to her role.

My mother only wanted to be a nurse once

After she lost the man she had been with for over four decades, my mother started a new life. She moved from a modest home in the suburbs to an even more modest apartment in Manhattan. She had to learn how to budget, something she’d never done. She even began dating.

Mom met Morris at the 60 Plus program at the Y. She seemed to enjoy his company. They went to restaurants and movies and to Shakespeare classes. But whenever I asked her how she felt about Morris, mom would brush my query off with, “He’s just a friend.”

Finally, the facts emerged. Morris wasn’t entirely healthy and my mother had no intention of ever again playing nursemaid to another man. “Your father was enough,” I remember her saying on more than one occasion.

I was 41 and didn’t quite understand mom’s attitude, but I certainly get it now. She didn’t want to pick up where she left off, especially with a man she only knew for a few months. She’d rather live alone than resume her health care duties, she explained. She had a nice time with Morris, but that’s where it stopped.

A FOF friend who cared for her ill husband for a couple of years before he died, sounds today exactly like my mom sounded 21 years ago. “At one time I only dated older men. But now most of them are gone.”

Sad. And true.

As I write this I’m in a taxi heading for Union Station in Washington, DC to catch the train back to New York. I’ve spent the day with a group of FOF women who not only have rubbed shoulders with presidents, senators, cabinet members, ambassadors and Supreme Court justices; they’ve witnessed history first hand and have been privy to the inner sanctum of political power, on both sides of the aisle.

Ann Hand, left, and Ann Jordan....Photo by Vince Ricardel

Ann Hand was a young married woman in November 1963 when her husband, Lloyd, got a call summoning him to The White House in the wake of the Kennedy assassination. The new president, Lyndon Baines Johnson, wanted Lloyd–a trusted Johnson aide– to be Chief of Protocol. A talented singer, Ann gave up a career to  be by her husband’s side and raise their family.

Ann now owns a well-known jewelry and accessories shop in Washington and designs pins and other pieces that have been worn by the likes of Hillary Clinton and Laura Bush. One of the most genteel, gracious women I’ve ever met, Ann doesn’t have an ounce of pretention, despite her connections to US and world leaders during the last four and a half decades. “I’ve been blessed to sit next to people at dinner who were responsible for enacting laws that affected all our lives,” she said modestly.

“Every time I fly back into Washington and look down as we land, I think how lucky I am to be part of the nation’s capital,”she says.  Ann personally welcomes every single customer into her store and loves to sit and chat in an area she’s set up like a living room.

One of Ann’s closest pals is another Ann–Ann Jordan–who recently went back to work with Sandy Beschloss, (former Treasurer of The World Bank and wife of presidential historial Michael Beschloss) in her investment business. Ann’s brilliant career includes her role as director of social services of the University of Chicago Medical Center and chairman of The National Symphony. She also happens to be married to Vernon Jordan, former head of the National Urban League and one of President Clinton’s most trusted advisors.

Ann’s intelligence and success are only matched by her charm and her wit. “I made a deal with God recently that I’d never buy another piece of clothing. I’m 72 and don’t need another thing.” She’s kept her part of the deal for a couple of weeks now. She didn’t include jewelry in the arrangement.

You’ll meet both of these distinguished and wonderful women when we launch www.faboverfifty.com in a couple of months.  We can’t wait to welcome you to the community.

“I am looking for a lot of men who have an infinite capacity to not know what can’t be done.” –Henry Ford

Negative people used to drive me crazy.  They’re  the ones who are always complaining about something, who poke holes at ideas without offering their own ideas, and who say it can’t be done.

I’m not sure people like this have any self awareness but I don’t care. They usually get in the way of forward momentum.

I once believed that I could turn negatives into positives by barreling ahead and showing the naysayers that IT CAN BE DONE. My FOF friend, Catherine del Spina, used to act the same way: “I would think, get out of my way or I’ll kill you,” she says (tongue-in-cheek) of the nothing-can-stop-me-attitude that helped make her successful.  I’d also debate and argue incessantly with negative people. Unfortunately, that only made me crazier since they never paid attention anyway or just became more combative.

I’ve learned to walk away from these people, or at least to keep my distance. It’s so much more rewarding and fun to hang around positive people. They’re stimulating, not enervating; they open their minds, eyes and ears to new ideas, and they love to share their brain power so the whole is greater than the sum of its parts.

FOF women are the most positive people on the face of the earth. They didn’t get to be fabulous by accident.

…so it’s time to sum up how she feels about this stage in her life. “I’m very fucking grateful to be alive,” she says fervently. “I have so many friends who are sick or gone, and I’m here.  Are you kidding! No complaints!” – Vanity Fair, January 2010

I glanced up as I checked out at the supermarket and saw an interesting juxtaposition of magazine covers: Meryl Streep on Vanity Fair with the quote: “I’m 60 and I’m playing the romantic lead! Bette Davis is rolling over in her grave!” Sarah Jessica Parker is on Glamour, with the fascinating invitation to find out about her favorite jeans. Meryl looks like a million.

One of Meryl Streep's fave photos, taken by Brigitte Lacomb, reports Vanity Fair

I am thrilled that women like Helen Mirren, Meryl Streep and Cloris Leachman represent my generation of women in the entertainment business. Sarah Jessica and Jennifer Aniston are products of our pop culture. One is perpetually Carrie Bradshaw and the other Rachel whatever, on and off the screen. Meryl Streep oozed class, sparklng talent, self assurance, humility and mystery  when she was in her thirties and we always knew that she’d only get classier with each passing year.

“…Streep brings to dramatic point something that has been nosing its way to the forefront of consciousness for some time: the whole issue of a woman’s lovability…No one has more steadfastly refused to look like a dish or ask for audience identification than Meryl Streep,” says the Vanity Fair article.

We’ve loved her anyway. She got us at hello, and now she personifies FOF in every way imaginable and we don’t intend to ever let go.

Dear Elin,

When the world started fawning and fussing over your husband over a decade ago, I didn’t like his arrogant attitude. I was impressed that he graduated from Stanford University (my daughter went there, too). He was a nice-looking and talented young man, for sure. But did he need to be so cocky?

And then they grow up

I liked him a bit better over the years, even though I had no interest in his game. I’d look for signs of his arrogance, but he seemed to hold it in check. Then he married you and together you had two beautiful children. I thought you were lucky to be with a man who seemed to love you so much and earned so much money. Maybe he’s matured, I surmised.

When I read about his affairs this week, my heart obviously went out to you, especially because I’ve been through the same situation.  It’s not fun when the world is privy to your husband’s infidelities.

I’m writing to you as an FOF woman and to offer you some advice. Only you know if your husband really is a decent man. Only you and he know if you truly love one another. The media doesn’t know. He must certainly have a sex problem (um, addiction), so I’d suggest dealing with that, but sex and love are not synonymous.

I was distraught when my husband cheated and lied to me but I decided to stay with him for my own personal reasons. I know lots of people are telling you to “throw the bum out and take his money.”  If only it was that easy.

Good luck whatever you decide.  You’re a young woman with a world of opportunities ahead of you. Perhaps you’ll never tame your tiger entirely, but maybe you can keep him from prowling through the jungle quite so much.

Sincerely,

Hillary R. Clinton

Secretary of State

Sydney's self-portrait

This is Sydney Townsend from LA.  She’s 21 and currently lives in London, where she’s studying for an MA is Art Business at Sotheby’s Institute of Art. When I noticed that www.faboverfifty.com had been featured in a blog called Blank Canvas, I checked out the author and found Sydney’s impressive resume. Her photography has been recognized internationally, she’s won numerous awards, volunteered for homeless shelters, run in marathons and even is a certified bartender.

I immediately sent Sydney an email:

Hi Sydney,

I am so impressed that you are only 21 and have done so much with your life.  By the time you are fifty you will be running the world. I found you because you put something about my website on your blog. What made you do that?  Send me a photo of yourself and I will write about you in my blog.

I love your photos and will add your blog to the list of blogs I love.

Best,

Geri Brin, NYC

Sydney responded right away:

Hi Geri,

Thank you so much!! What a lovely email to receive; made my day!

I came across your website via Joanna Goddard’s Cup of Jo blog,* and being a girl who went to an all-girls school from 7th-12th grade I love all things that point out how awesome women are – of any age. A great idea!

I shared your email with my dad, who I cc’d on this email, and he said that if you are interested, to see if you would like to come by for drinks tonight in NYC.  He and a bunch of his friends/colleagues/etc are having a 50th bday– about 50 of them turning or turned 50. Something along those lines…so, you are more than welcome. 7pm Locanda Verde

Anyway, thanks again for the compliments and have a safe, fun, and healthy holiday season!

Kind Regards,

Sydney

Hysterical, I thought.

I did go to the restaurant to meet Sydney’s dad, Michael, who was in New York for a real estate conference and for a surprise fiftieth for his friend Beth.

I stayed for five minutes, but made sure to give Michael a pack of Fab Over Fifty cards to hand out to his Fab Over Fifty friends.

WELCOME TO FOF, BETH.  MICHAEL PROMISED HE’D INTRODUCE US.

* Joanna is a friend and former employee, which makes the world seem even smaller.

Momentarily overwhelmed

“I am feeling overwhelmed,” my 56-year-old friend W. told me last night. An attorney who normally has a demanding workload, W also is dealing with the recent death of her mom and weeks of radiation treatments for breast cancer.

While others might let all this really overwhelm them, W simply says the words and moves on.

FOF women can take on more responsibility and confront more problems and challenges than seems humanly possible. We have stamina, common sense, a ridiculous ability to multi task and would rather stay cool and calm than be crochety and crabby.

I, too, was feeling overwhelmed before I spoke to W. But the moment my pal uttered those four little words, I realized “this too shall pass.”

When I was miserable, I used to turn to anyone who’d listen to my tales of woe.

Every time my boyfriend Edgar was making me hysterical—which was pretty much on a day-to-day basis—I’d frantically call my sister, my aunt, my mom, or one of my friends until I found someone home.  I’d cry, dissect every one of Edgar’s words and actions, and  beg for non-stop sympathy. When an account canceled an ad program in the magazine I ran, I’d reach out for comfort from someone, anyone.  If I thought my world was falling apart, I needed to talk on and on to feel better.

That was two decades ago.  Now that I’m Fab Over Fifty, I’ve learned that the only person who can make me feel better is me.  Of course, it’s nice to have a shoulder to lean on, and someone I can hug, but I can’t expect anyone else to hold me up when I’m distressed. After I discovered a lump in my groin last year, I didn’t call a single person except the doctors I needed to see. I didn’t even ask anyone to accompany me to surgery.  If it had turned out to be serious, I was going to do what was necessary.  Hysteria isn’t necessary.

It puts a burden on others when you try to unburden yourself on them.  Everyone has his or her own problems.  It’s okay to baby yourself a bit and ask someone who loves you to baby you a little, too, especially when you’re upset and afraid. Then it’s time to stop the “poor me” routine.

“Some people need a little speech slap,” believes my FOF friend Sherry DeRosa. “You’ve got to tell them, ‘Okay, snap out of it.’”

I work hard and I spend hard

I’ve been working like a mad woman for over four decades and I’m the first to admit that I sometimes spend like a madwoman, too.

I once bought a pair of $900 antique throw pillows when I was decorating a new apartment. I fell in love with an orange handbag for $2,000 and immediately handed over my charge card. I used to fork over $500 every six weeks to have my hair dyed. I don’t only spend on myself. I enjoy buying luxurious gifts for people I love, especially for my son, daughter and husband. I’ve even bought Rigby (our Norfolk terrier) a quilted, ultra suede coat for a small fortune.

I figure it this way: I work hard, so it’s okay to spend hard, just as long as I die before my money runs out.

I’ve saved money (for that proverbial rainy day), although far less than I would have if I was more financially  judicious. I hope I can continue to work and spoil myself, but I’d give up my luxuries in a microsecond if I needed the money to help someone in need.

My FOF friend is in just such a situation. She’s been spending freely for years, but now she’s cutting back expenses in lots of places to help her son and daughter-in-law pay monumental medical bills to cover treatment for their twin boys.

“Nothing else matters,” she told me.  I’m with my pal. Nothing else matters at all.

Dear FOF Friends,

Jayne Conroy, one of the stars of the video. Photo by Vincent Ricardel.

I invite you to watch a short and lively video introducing you to www.faboverfifty.com. It was produced and directed by David Berman, a talented young man who is the head of Striker Films. I think David has perfectly and succinctly captured the essence of FOF.

I also want to thank all the FOF women who helped give the video so much pizazz. They are Catherine del Spina, Jayne Conroy, Nina McLemore, Cathy Paul, Susan Grant, Lois Whitman, Alison Spear and Terry Gibralter. And, of course, my associate Lina Perl. Thanks as well to my friend and wonderful photographer, Vince Ricardel,and to FOF Sharon Hoffman, who generously offered use of her NYC apartments as sets. You’ll get to know all of the FOF women better–as well as scores of others– when we launch FOF in a couple of months.

Creating FOF is truly the most exciting project of my career because it combines everything I love to do: Meeting fabulous women, networking, conceiving and selling a concept, working with a passionate, smart, creative team, and, finally, watching it all come together.

We look forward to welcoming you to www.faboverfifty.com soon. We know you’ll be as excited as we are about the possibilities.

Geri Brin

Rita Hayworth

I don’t exactly resemble Rita Hayworth, even on one of her off days, but I have red hair, at least as of yesterday. I’ve wanted to be a redhead for years, but my former colorist claimed my hair wouldn’t take red. I always thought that odd.

“You’d look good in red hair,” said Kattia, the owner of the salon where I now have my hair styled. (I didn’t even prompt her). So I jumped at the chance. I’ve always thought that even if I hate a hair cut or a new color, it’s only hair. It’s not the end of the world. Hair grows back.

Geri Brin

FOF women are pretty adventurous and like change. Change keeps on us our toes. I ad0re my new color, called spicy red. Kattia thinks it suits my personality, which occasionally can be pretty spicy. My husband says he likes my new look, but when I had lunch with my former husband and daughter today, they weren’t falling all over themselves with compliments.

When you’re FOF, you don’t worry much about making everyone happy all the time.

I am heading to Grand Central Station to get a train to Purdy’s, NY, for Jerry Shereshewsky’s birthday dinner. He’s the CEO of grandparents.com. His FOF wife, Catherine, gives him a special party every year.

Painting by Edward Hopper

It’s a cold and rainy Sunday but I’m looking for forward to spending the evening with the interesting and fun people Catherine has invited. She’s also an exceptional hostess and cook and her home is warm and welcoming.

I’m going solo because my husband preferred to stay home. He’s not a social butterfly even when he knows everyone at an event (and tonight he wouldn’t know anyone.) He also works exceedingly hard six days a week, so Sunday is a rest day.

Sure, I’d love to be with a man who loves to do everything I love to do, or at least knows how to fake it. But I’d rather go alone, anywhere, than spend the whole time knowing my escort would rather be somewhere else.

Wow, have I changed. In the past I’d have been mad (or distressed, upset and insecure) if my husband/boyfriend didn’t want to go with me. Now I don’t need an escort. Besides, it’s such a waste of time and energy being mad.

I use my energy for all the things I love to do. Isn’t that why it’s great being FOF?

P.S. As I expected, the evening was delightful. Great company, scrumptious food (roast pork stuffed with apples and prunes, red cabbage and whipped potatoes), and lively conversation. I was the only single woman with four couples. It was just fine.

I had a complete hysterectomy at 44 to remove a fibroid tumor in my uterus.  The doctor was pretty sure it was benign, but it was pressing on my bladder, so he recommended taking it out, along with everything else.  Back in the day, my doctor’s word was gospel.

The tumor was benign. But my libido took a dip pretty soon after, which I told Dr. P when I went for a follow up visit six weeks later.

I popped that pill for 15 years

“That’s no problem. I can give you hormone replacement pills,” he answered, without a pause.

“Will I gain wait?” (I was obsessed with staying thin then since I had lost 50 pounds a few years before. I was some genius!!!!)

“Only if you take progesterone. You won’t gain weight if you take estrogen alone.” He prescribed a brand name drug called Premarin.

Even after learning that “hormone replacement therapy” might cause breast cancer, Dr. P said I needn’t worry.  I was taking a low dose and the benefits (bone health, not to mention hot flashes) outweighed the risks, he said. I worried nevertheless, but when I cut out the estrogen a few years ago, the hot flashes came fast and furiously.  I grabbed the bottle of pills. I finally stopped taking the drug about 18 months ago and I haven’t had a single hot flash.

“More than 13,000 people have sued Wyeth over the last seven years, claiming in courts across the country that its menopause drugs caused breast cancer and other problems,” I read in a recent article in The New York Times.

Although what’s done is done, I still occasionally worry that I’ll get breast cancer or lung cancer (I stopped smoking 25 years ago, but smoked for two decades before that.)

Many FOF women have daughters, daughters-in-law, friends, nieces and cousins who could some day face similar situations. Let’s all make sure we help them get the best advice possible so the future FOF generation of women has a few less worries on their minds.

I was never a burn-your-bra feminist type or a Betty Friedan fan, although I did date one of her good friends for about 15 minutes.

Imagine whose head she would have turned in a Miraculous Push-Up Bra

But, the Victoria’s Secret obsession with turning women into “bombshells” is a turn-off.  Did you know that its Miraculous Push-Up bra lifts your bosom so it’s practically in your mouth? Put it on and “get ready to turns heads and get used to attention,” a VS video brags. Never mind the 22 pounds of foam* and feeling as if you’re going to topple over in a strong wind. That’s not important, just as long as you’re turning heads before you drop to the ground.

And have you heard about Nars Orgasm line that “melts into your skin to bring out the best in you?”

I know these companies want to press a “hot button”  (excuse the pun) with millions of young women. I’m glad I’m FOF and don’t have to worry about turning heads with my cleavage. I never had much cleavage, but somehow I managed to do pretty well in the turning-heads department.

Personally, I’ve always thought women with small boobs who don’t wear bras are the sexiest. As for orgasms, makeup never helped.

* Geri Brin hyperbole

FOF wisdom will go down in history.  The things we do, the statements we make, the way we feel.

“When I was 15, I was lucky enough to be chosen to represent American Youth for UNICEF and I met Eleanor Roosevelt. I remember thinking, oh my goodness, she’s beautiful. She had a lovely smile. She was so smart. She asked great questions.  I heard her speak.” Georgia Witkin, PhD, author, therapist, TV personality, NYC

“I lead a 1,400 employee organization. I am the oldest person at work, and I can keep up with them! I also think my memory, “chic-ness” and experience are varied and fun enough to continue to lead and teach. I am 68 years old and proud of it.” Dr. Vivian Baker, Superintendent of Schools, ISD, Belton, TX

“At 50 I survived Ovarian Cancer; at 52, I became a registered yoga teacher and opened my own studio; at 54 I married my college sweetheart; at 57, I produced a DVD “Gentle Yoga for Cancer Patients” with Wake Forest University Baptist Medical Center.

Lynn in full pigeon pose

I’m a ballroom dance champion and a journalist. By the grace of God, I’m pretty Fab.” Lynn Felder, Winston-Salem, NC

“My mother. Carolyn, has been Fab Over Fifty for years (she will be 81 on December 15!  She led us by example (me and my four sisters) to live an ageless life.  We celebrate the accomplishments of one another and nurture and praise every child in our families.” Debbie Cannon

Every day, I am more and more thrilled to be giving voice to the greatest women in the world. www.faboverfifty.com will be for each and every one of us. I can’t wait until we get started.

Yours truly, Geri Brin

A brilliant, young man named Aaron Gibralter, the son of my FOF friend, Terry, knows that no single person can answer the age old question: “What makes us tick?”

Calling on his infinite wisdom, Aaron created Urtak, a collaborative, internet-based survey for finding out what unites and what separates members of a community. Urtak (which means sample in Icelandic) invites us all to pool our knowledge and insight to learn about our common interests as well as our differences.

What do members of a community care and think about?

An Urtak can be created by anyone, for any community at all. Everyone in the community can contribute questions and answers so that more information can be gathered. More information equals more understanding.  Big companies usually conduct traditional opinion surveys. They know little about a community and structure questions based on the results they want.

When Aaron explained Urtak, I wanted to try it with FOF women. First, he asked me to compose 15 questions based on subjects that would interest members of the community.  The questions must elicit one of three responses–yes, no or don’t care—to make the process as simple as possible, Aaron said. This also allows the results of every question to be compared.

Once you answer a question, a little pie chart immediately pops up to show how your answer compares with opinions from the rest of the community.

Aaron installed Urtak on my blog. Here are some results:

Q: Have you been married more than 30 years to the same person?

Not like the majority of FOF women when it comes to marriage

FOF Community: 36% Yes, 64% No, 100% Care

Q: Do you choose where your money is invested? FOF Community: 72% Yes, 28% No, 98% Care

Q: Do you trust your friend’s suggestions? FOF Community: 86% Yes, 14% No, 90% Care

Q: Do you color your hair? FOF Community: 80% Yes, 20% No, 98% Care

Q: Do you have sex more than once a week? FOF Community: 39% Yes, 61% No, 98% Care

Click the words “Fab Poll” at the top right of the blog to see the other questions and to learn what other FOF women think. Be sure to tell us your answers so your opinions can be counted.

And please ask your own question…or three.

I just had a glorious walk with Rigby, our Norfolk terrier.  It’s one of those fabulously perfect December evenings in Manhattan. Crisp, clear and cold.  The parade of Park Avenue Christmas trees is twinkling with white lights. Parents and their kids are rushing to escape the chill and get into their cozy apartments. Couples, young and old, are excited to be together. 

Rigby and I "living in the moment"

I had a big smile on my face the whole time. If ever I was “living in the moment,” it was during tonight’s walk. I wasn’t     thinking about all the work I have to do, about my sick aunt, or about where I’m going tomorrow. I was thinking about enjoying the walk  itself, watching the activity swirling around me, just feeling good about life and the world, warts and all.

My FOF friends often mention how they enjoy “living in the moment” more than ever. Sherry from Eau Claire, WI, who battled breast cancer last year, says, “I used the experience of cancer to transform my life. I have walked away from people and relationships that are toxic and do not cherish my being. I want to live more fully.  Life has always been finite, but now I know it is really only today. I strived to be a mother, to have a career, to get to the age I am now.  What did I think, Nirvana was coming?”

“Don’t forget the past, but recognize when you need to let go and move on, live in the moment, live life with passion, integrity and joy, sometimes harder said than done,” says Diane from Carmel, CA., who just celebrated a big birthday.  “Seek the pure potentiality that life has and embrace it. As you live longer, this becomes paramount.”

Everything can change in an instant. FOF women aren’t sitting around fussing over what happened yesterday or what could happen tomorrow.  We relish the moment, just like I did with Rigby during our walk and just as I’m doing as I write this.

I wonder if Norfolk terriers live in the moment.

P.S. My husband said Rigby “takes a good picture.”

FOF and crossing the finish line

Maybe if I was forced to run for my life, I’d be able to work up enough steam to save myself.  Otherwise, I can probably run three, maybe four blocks, before collapsing.

My son, Colby, finished in the top half of a 15K (9.3 miles) race today. Needless to say, his stamina and showing impressed me. I was even more impressed by an FOF woman who finished before Colby. I snapped her picture while I was waiting at the finish line. Sunglasses perched atop her head and wearing only a thin white jacket in 27-degree weather, she looked pretty nifty.

When Colby sent me the race stats, I checked how many FOF women finished: 52 from 50-54; 34 from 55-59; 20 from 60-64; 7 from 65-69; 1 from 70-74; 0 from 75-79 and 1 from 80-84.

I offer my congratulations to every one of the 115 FOF women finishers, and, of course, to Colby.  I wish I had stayed around to see the gal who is in her eighties.

I was too darn cold.

One of the sad things about life is losing touch with people we love. We move away from one another. We take different paths that keep us apart. Life just gets in the way. Period.

FOF women love to reconnect with people who were important to us. When we do, we have the uncanny ability to pick up where we left off. We still think of them as good friends, even though we lost contact years ago.

The FOF woman in the photo is Deni, one of my oldest friends.  She was 21 and I was 25 when we met as reporters at Fairchild Publications in New York over 35 years ago. We remained friends when she moved back to California to take over her dad’s publishing company.

Deni and I met over 35 years ago

We were friends when my children were born, when both our dads died way too young, and through numerous other life-altering experiences.  When her breathtaking house burned to the ground (weeks after it was renovated) in one of those horrendous California fires, I cried with her.

Except for a brief reunion about five years ago, Deni and I lost touch, that is, until yesterday.  There in my email was a new registration for www.faboverfifty.com. It was from Deni and the message read: “GERI.” I couldn’t wait to talk to her.

We just got off the phone. Deni and her husband, Tim, now live in McCall, ID, with four dogs, horses and lots of land.

Deni's wonderful husband, Tim, and their horse, Tank, at their ranch in Idaho

“We had to get out of LA.  It was making us crazy,” she told me. My friend is as disarming, quick, generous and beautiful as I thought she was the day we met many moons ago.

Deni told me she’s reunited with her best friends from first grade and from college. The Internet has made “me remember the favorite people in my life.

“I was laying in bed the other night and thought of you,” Deni said. “When I Goggled you and saw you were doing something called Fab Over Fifty, I said to myself, ‘I knew someone would be smart enough to do this.’”

I’m no genius, but I sensed Fab Over Fifty would bring together the great women of my generation.  Little did I know it would bring my great friend back into my life.

I’m a lucky woman. Love you Deni.

I grew up expecting to some day become a wife and a mother. I became both, but something else also defined my life, my career. Although I never would have dreamt I’d be a successful career woman, I could never dream of myself without my work at this point in my life.

Women hard at work

I was married for many years to an artist. Though immensely talented, he would have been a starving artist, and I the wife of one, if I hadn’t worked. So I worked, and worked, and worked. I worked as a reporter, an editor and a publisher, as a public relations director for a company that manufactured men’s electric shavers and as a newspaper writer for a New York City tabloid. A few of my bosses were super smart and taught me a ton. Others weren’t so smart. I became a boss myself, sometimes a good one, other times, not so good. I had great times and tortured times. I made wonderful friends as well as a few enemies along the way.

I met Hilary Clinton, Madeleine Albright, Donald Trump and Martha Stewart, who reduced one of my employees to tears. I was friends with the men who invented Cuisinarts and Calphalon cookware, interviewed Julia Child and was invited to a July 4 bash at the home of Craig Claiborne, the influential New York Times restaurant critic in the seventies.

Eventually, I started my own business, where I created a magazine for plus-size women, a summit for high-level businesswomen and one that brought together women in government, science, academics, the arts and business. I published two kid’s books and wrote a fashion book. I had more than my share of horrendous, talent-depraved clients and, thankfully, terrific clients. I’ve earned good money some years; others, practically nothing.

I am grateful for every moment and for traveling a path that led me to the place I am now. I have no doubt that every single job, boss, client, success and failure bought me here. I’ve learned what I do well and what I shouldn’t be doing. I’ve learned to search out the people who stimulate me and to avoid those who are poisonous. I now understand when to push extra hard and when to lie in the weeds, and that worrying accomplishes absolutely nothing.

A friend recently told me: “You reinvent yourself all the time.”  I guess I do.  Now I’m involved with the most gratifying project of my life, the creation of www.faboverfifty.com.  I’m not doing it to satisfy a boss and get a pat on the back. It’s not designed to get me ahead in my career or win me an award.  It’s to give the women of my generation the recognition they deserve for being great daughters, mothers, wives, friends, leaders, students, sisters, inventors and a whole lot more.

When Paris was going to pot

I tried marijuana at a couple of New Year’s Eve parties in the early seventies and became absolutely giddy.  I remember laughing at everything.  About a decade later, I was offered a “joint” before lunching with a friend who owned an ad agency. (In those years, marijuana and ad agencies were synonymous. It was cool to get “high.”)

The” joint” hit me like a ton of bricks. I felt like I was hovering in the air and watching myself below.  I would utter a sentence, and by the time I was finished with it, I’d forget what I said. I became frantic and told my friend I had to get home. That blend was obviously more potent than the one I had years before. I couldn’t stand the feeling of being out of control.  Being in control was my modus operandi. When LSD was the talk of the town in the sixties, the thought of experimenting scared the bejeezus out of me.

The “pot” experiences, as well as one attempted fling with cocaine when I was around 31 (it had no affect, whatsoever), constitute the extent of my drug use. Unless you include the Percocet I took after major surgery.

I know I have an addictive personality (I did, at one stage, enjoy more cigarettes, martinis and wine than the law should have allowed), but drugs have never held a great deal of appeal for me. Unfortunately, the increasing accessibility of prescription painkillers, not to mention cocaine and pot, is providing a great escape for many young people today.

I recently witnessed one young woman almost lose her life to drugs. At the urging and intervention of her FOF mother, she entered rehab and is well on her way to resuming a productive–and hopefully, happy–life. It’s not always easy getting to be an FOF woman.

When I think of all the times I let someone infuriate me, it makes me furious.  Why did I give anyone the power to upset me so much?

At least she has good teeth

Getting mad is such a colossal waste of time. It saps our energy and our focus. Anger is enervating.  It actually makes us angrier. We want to get back and lash out because we think someone has wronged us, lied to us, been unappreciative or ungrateful, selfish or downright mean. We may seek retribution in one form or another.

Sure, counting to 10 helps dissipate anger, but it’s not the best way to make it go away permanently. The best solution is not to get angry in the first place. I’ve learned this bit of wisdom from my youngest sister, who maintains her utmost cool through all kinds of situations and with all kinds of people, no matter how much they might irritate, upset or concern her.

It may seem impossible at times to stay calm and cool, but once you see the affect it has (on yourself and on others), you’ll find it easier to do over and over again.

My Christmas, post Chanukah and New Year’s gift to all of my FOF friends is a smattering of my sister’s teachings about anger management. By, the way, she is one of the most FOF women on the face of the planet.  Here goes…

1.     When someone curtly dismisses your sales overtures: Calmly tell them how sorry you are that you disturbed them and that you hope you can talk to them about so-and-so soon since you think they would benefit from what you have to say.

2.    When someone tries to take advantage of your generosity or good nature, impinge on your private time or ask for something they have no right to ask:  Say “NO.”  Dispense with the discussions and debates.  Just say “NO.”

3.    When someone doesn’t do it the way you want, expect or deserve: Repeat your expectations calmly and forcefully without raising your voice.

4.    When someone violently disagrees with you or vice versa: Quietly state your position and move on.

5.    When someone is getting madder and madder: Stop and say to yourself, “She’s probably getting worked up because she has a problem.”  Try to put yourself in someone else’s shoes, instead of working yourself into a fevered pitch.

Don’t look back at anger.  Just don’t get angry.

Whether tomorrow is just another day off, or one of the most significant days of the year, I wish all my FOF friends…

Card by Simone (www.simonebrin.com)

An old man behind us in the movie ticket line today seemed a bit tipsy, but then I realized his poor vision made him disoriented. So I gently took his arm and guided him around the ropes.  He seemed grateful.

The theatre was packed with families and friends celebrating the holiday together.  Young couples with kids waiting for Avatar, FOF women on line for It’s Complicated, groups of twenty somethings heading to Sherlock Holmes. I imagined them all sitting down to Christmas dinners after their movies.

It saddens me to think of the man on line, all alone. I wonder where he went later in the day. Part of being FOF is seeing those around me in new ways. I’m not even sure I would have spotted the man earlier in my life. We’re so wrapped up in ourselves when we’re young.

We are blessed when we can share our lives with others.  We are blessed to be able to offer our help, even when it’s just to guide a man on a movie line. I wish I had helped him find a seat in the movie.

We don’t want or need credit for anything we do.  That’s the biggest gift of all.

It’s exciting to open my email and see a.) Women from around the world are signing up as members of www.faboverfifty.com. b.) FOF women have worlds in common, no matter where in the world they live or how they live.

“I raised my family as a single mother and had a successful career where I traveled the globe.  I am recently semi-retired and am enjoying the fruits of my labor by being close to home and rediscovering ME.  I love to share my knowledge with other women so they too can be fab over fifty.” –Melanie from Baltimore.

“All we women are fab over fifty, with our experience, wisdom, boldness, beauty inside and out, our achievements, you name it. Some may think we are invisible, but we certainly are not! WE STAND OUT!”  –Anna from Espoo, Finland

Anna from Finland relaxing in the sun in India

“Been places, met people, planted trees, wrote articles and two books, had a son, kept same husband for more than 30 years, ups and downs in passion but love still young, told jokes, laughed a lot, enjoyed life, been fat, now thin, always healthy, had the usual scare… great doctor, caught in time… wear a pink ribbon life after 50 great almost everything to be tried again.” — Vicky form Buenos Aires

“We are intelligent, attractive and fun and we love to enjoy life. We are (finally!) confident with who we are and happy to share our experiences and knowledge with other women. Here’s to us!”–Talmadge from Toluca Lake, CA

I can’t wait for Melanie, Anna, Vicky and Talmadge, as well as all the other FOF women around the world, to be part of www.faboverfifty.com. We’re hard at work to make sure it’s every bit as fabulous as they are.

I’m not a big Steve Martin fan, but I even liked him in the new movie It’s Complicated. It’s a marvelous story that could be subtitled Fab Over Fifty. Meryl Streep plays Jane, a smart, accomplished, funny and passionate mother, friend, entrepreneur and divorcee. She hasn’t had sex in so long, one of her best friends threatens: “Your vagina is going to close up.”

Meryl Streep (Jane) and Steve Martin (Adam) in It's Complicated

Jane is pieces of all of us. She’s happy, but sometimes melancholy; comfortable in her own skin, but sometimes wishing she didn’t have quite so much on her  eyelids; perfectly content living alone, but sometimes lonely. All may not be perfect in Jane’s world, but she never stops trying. She lives mainly in the moment, until she’s momentarily set off course by Jake, her ex, played brilliantly by Alec Baldwin.

Steve Martin, who plays Adam, an architect redesigning Jane’s home, utters the best line in the movie when he tells her: “Your age is one of the things I like about you.”

Yea for Adam for understanding just what FOF means. It is all complicated, but we’ve managed to figure it all out nonetheless.

“I had a debate with my colleague, Lina, a few weeks back when I blogged that Ivana Trump was not Fab Over Fifty. Lina thought I was gratuitously negative. When the news came in yesterday that Ivana was thrown off a plane after reportedly flying into a rage and screaming foul-mouthed at a group of kids, I thought maybe I had won the debate (that’s my “baby self” gloating!)

"Leave me alone, I'm in a foul mood."

Seriously, I’ve sometimes been peeved, too, when little kids are disrupting my plane ride. Why can’t their parents control them better? I ask myself, but A.) I know better than to curse out loud on a plane, or anywhere in public B.) I’ve learned how to control my emotions a little better than that. C.) I’m fully aware the disruption won’t/can’t go on forever. What would Ivana have done if they were her kids?

Unhappiness can manifest itself in all sorts of ways, anger to depression, behaving crazily to illegally. When many women are in intensely painful labor, for example, they start cursing at their husbands and doctors, not to mention at their unborn children. As someone who has been through God-awful labor, I excuse every one of these women (I actually didn’t curse, but ordered my husband to throw me out the window).

I’m only a backseat psychologist, but I have had enough experiences in my FOF life to believe that Ivana Trump is one unhappy woman. FOF women know that money, influence,  jewels, furs, facelifts, four husbands and multiple homes aren’t the stuff of joy and contentment. Why doesn’t Ivana know that and why doesn’t she seek help so she can, at last, be fabulous too?

Or at least charter a private plane when she’s in a bad mood.

P.S. I think the real reason I’ve blogged about Ivana is because I’m endlessly fascinated by celebrity arrogance.

Like many FOF women, I grew up in business learning to cultivate and value relationships. I talked on the phone–actually talked–to clients and potential clients. I traveled to meet them face to face and to learn about them and their companies.  We enjoyed dinners together, and even a few martinis. We found things to enjoy about each other.  That went hand in hand with a successful business relationship. It was fun.

These are a lot healthier for us

Now I have a relationship with a rectangular black object. I can’t leave a room without it. It lays next to me on the night table as I sleep. It’s the first thing I grab when I wake. I would be lost without it. Lonely and disconnected. If it isn’t talking to me, I want to know what’s wrong. If it talks to me too much, I wish it would stop. It has the power to make me happy. Also, very, very sad.

I can’t bear to show its photo because that’s giving it even more power than it deserves.

It doesn’t drink martinis and I know nothing about its family. I tell you, it’s no substitute for the way relationships used to be.  But I’ve learned to move on because that’s what FOF women do.

I wish I spent more time reading books. I’m excited whenever I’m engrossed in a book and can’t wait to share it with a friend. I also feel like I’m a richer person when I read, especially when I’m learning something.

Sarah’s Key, by Tatiana De Rosnay, recently had a profound impact on me. The story begins as the French police are brutally arresting Jewish families in Paris in 1942, known as the Vel’ d’Hiv roundup. Sarah, a 10-year old girl, quickly instructs her little brother to hide in a secret cupboard in their home. She takes the key to the hiding place and promises she’ll be back in a few hours.

Brilliantly capturing the intensity of Sarah’s fear and pain as she desperately plots her return to free her brother, the chilling tale is interwoven with that of Julia Jarmond, an American journalist who is investigating the roundup in 2002. Julia stumbles onto a trail of family secrets linking her to Sarah, and to questions about her own future.

Years ago, I formed a book group with close friends. We’d meet in my apartment after work (we’d try to come together once a month) and everyone would bring food and wine. It was glorious.

The group lasted about four years. Besides being together with women I adored, it gave me the impetus to read all the time.

When www.faboverfifty.com launches in February, we will initiate a national online dialog about a new book each month. FOF women LOVE to read but we want to do more than share each other’s  recommendations. It will be stimulating to talk about our recommendations on line. One lucky FOF member and a group of her friends also will get the chance to enjoy an intimate evening with the author of the monthly selection.

We’ll announce our first book selection on February 18th, when we launch www.faboverfifty.com. We want  our site to truly become a cohesive community of like-minded FOF women. Knowing FOF women as I do, I have little doubt we’ll all make that a reality.

Infomercials fascinate me. I’ve bought some wonderful products I’ve seen demonstrated on TV in the middle of the night. I discovered Bare Essentials mineral makeup long before it hit the stores. And an infomercial introduced me to my beloved stepladder.

Personally, I like Diane's neckline slimmer

This morning I saw an infomercial for a product I won’t be purchasing now, or ever. It’s called the Neckline Slimmer, a device placed under the chin to exercise and tighten neck and chin muscles and reportedly “take years off your appearance.”

The woman using the contraption seems to be about 35, but the infomercial showed before and after photos of FOF women.

QUESTION #1: Why would a 35-year-old woman be interested in taking years off her appearance?

QUESTION #2: Why didn’t the producers of the infomercial find a real live FOF woman, too, instead of just using a woman whose neck muscles are already firm and tight?

QUESTION #3: Assuming this device is even modestly effective with a FOF woman, how many hours, days, months or years would it take my 62-year-old neck to look like the woman’s neck in the infomercial?

I think the Neckline Slimmer folks might consider deleting the FOF women before and after photos. We have better things to do with our time.

Now please excuse me, I’ve got to grab my stepladder and change a burned out bulb in the ceiling fixture.

The book division of Harper’s Bazaar has published a silly and poorly conceived “fashion” book called “Fabulous at Every Age.”

A hodgepodge of photos is stuffed into confused layouts and accompanied by rehashed and half-baked tips (e.g. make sure your shoes look good with your pants). The “tip” never discusses what style shoes and pants work together. Chapters on belts, jewelry, pants, jackets, skirts, shoes and bags are divided into age groups—20s through 70s—which advise women what is appropriate and hip for their age.

Choose a metallic clutch in your 30s but a wear black satin clutch in your 60s; stiletto heels with open toes are perfect in your 30s, but switch to ballet flats in your 50s; well-worn, rolled up jeans are cool in your 30s, but classic gray trousers are for 70-year-olds. You get the picture. And did you know that the 20s is the time to experiment and wear leggings?

Harper's Bizarre does not advise FOF women to dress like this

Hmmm. I’d better throw out my worn jeans, metallic clutch, leggings and big rings (those are for women in their 40s, the book says). I must also stop experimenting.

Given the mentality of the editors, far more pages are devoted to 20, 30 and 40-year-old women than to FOF women. FOF women get one-half page and the photos are the size of postage stamps in the chapter on pants. Furthermore, haven’t we seen enough of Demi Moore, Sharon Stone, Nicole Kidman, Gwyneth Paltrow and Sarah Jessica Parker in every gossip and fashion magazine during the last decade? Who cares what they’re wearing? Besides, most of them have more money than talent—or style.

When I was an editor on W in 1981, fashion magazines were cool and entertaining, filled with great advice and trends. Now they’re tired. And tired fashion magazines that publish books like this are grasping at straws to keep their brands fresh and relevant.

Why do the editors of these magazines bother to pay lip service to women over fifty? And don’t they know that young women have created a marvelous network of fashion blogs that just might put tired magazines permanently to sleep.

We can’t wait for you to see www.faboverfifty.com. Even 30-year-olds have told us FOF women are inspirations to them. I guess the magazine editors haven’t yet heard the news.

Starting today, FOF women declare a ban on any company that uses the following words or phrases in its advertising or anywhere else.

Elder Plan:  I saw a TV commercial for a medical insurance plan with this name. Churches have elders. Not now, nor ever, will we think of ourselves as elders. Even if we live to be 100.

Seniors: This term is great for 4th year students in high school and college and when used in conjunction with words including vice president, fellow, and thesis.

Retirement: Even if we stop working, we’ll never be retired, or retiring.

Retirement Community: Am I allowed to do any work, like rake leaves, if I live here?

This is Iris Apfel. She is 88 and is one of the most influential designers in the world. She is not senior, elder or retired. She is FOF

Sun City Communities: How depressing does that sound?

AARP: It may want to be a powerful advocate of boomers, and it may be trying to change its image, but its name and logo are stuck in the Dark, Dark Ages.

Independent Living Facility: The word prison sounds more upbeat.

Mature Adults: Mature thinking, potatoes and peaches are fine. I’d rather be called immature.

Nursing Home: Ye gads. I hated this description 25 years ago. Someone has
to be clever enough to come up with something better.

When words, names and labels have unpleasant, negative,  off-putting or incorrect associations, they should be changed.

FOF women (and many men, too!) are different than any generation before us. We simply will not allow ourselves to be defined by terms other than what we are: Fabulous, passionate, smart, creative, accomplished, stylish, sharing, vibrant and driven.

We’re not dead after fifty. And anyone who thinks differently is just a dummy.

* Lyrics from Show Me--My Fair Lady.

Do you see what I see?

Curiosity may have killed the cat, but it’s what makes FOF women so alive.  I don’t mean prying or nosiness (i.e. asking your friend how much money she’s saved or how much money her daughter-in-law earns). I mean our never-ending quest to discover new places, meet new people, and learn as much as we can about all kinds of subjects.

Some people tell me I ask too many questions, but I agree with Einstein, who said, “The important thing is not to stop questioning… Never lose a holy curiosity.”

My friends and I can talk about life, death, the pursuit of happiness and the latest episode of Mad Men practically without taking a breath. We debate, question, and lecture to each other. Our conversations always lead us to new ideas and take us to new places. If we weren’t curious, how could we ever recognize the exciting possibilities in front of us?

Maybe I’m never bored because I’m curious and incessantly attracted to something new. I was curious about wrestling (yes, wresting) when I met my husband, who loves it. I am curious about jazz because it’s my nephew’s passion. And I became curious about what it feels like to stand on my head when I started practicing yoga.

I’ve been curious about every one of the FOF women I’ve interviewed (almost 90) for www.faboverfifty.com during the last nine months. About their careers, their inimitable style, their favorite books, restaurants, wine, passions and more.

I am grateful to my curiosity for helping me to dream up www.faboverfifty.com. And I am grateful to the collective curiosity of all my current and future FOF friends, who will undoubtedly want to share what they love and learn with each other.

Every time I read a message from another FOF woman registering for www.faboverfifty.com, I want to call her.  Each statement is filled with the passion, honesty, spirit and wisdom that define my generation.  I can’t wait until we celebrate each other’s smarts, style and success—not to mention our fab faves—on the site.  It’s going to be great fun.

Leigh, my new FOF friend

Tonight, I couldn’t resist, so I called Leigh Chandler from Las Vegas after reading her message. “Bravo! Or should I saw Brava?” she wrote.  “I’ll be 53 soon and I think I’m pretty fabu! I am a self-taught businesswoman, textile designer, mother, wife and sometime blogger who loves life. …one of my main contributions has been to mentor and help other business women just getting started….thanks for what you are doing!”

Leigh owns Papillon Linens, a luxurious collection of bedding and specialty home accessories.  I think one of the great joys in life is crawling onto crisp, cool, ultra soft sheets at night, so Leigh and I share a passion.  Her humor also captivated me. When I complimented the photo she sent (I asked for one), Leigh said she wasn’t sure she liked it because she’s “wearing makeup.”  Her 21-year-old daughter bought it as a gift because Leigh never wore any. “I’m glued to the computer 15 hours a day and didn’t think I needed makeup.”  She promised her daughter she’d have a picture taken when she was dolled up.

Although she hasn’t worn any makeup since the photo was taken on New Year’s Eve, Leigh really liked the LashBlast mascara from Cover Girl (“the best lengthener I ever wore and it doesn’t clump or smudge.  It comes off in flakes.”)

Leigh's husband Max. Yes, he's real.

Leigh’s husband liked the new look and the photo, she told me.  Max, 47, currently restores vintage razors. Check out his website, www.vintagestraightrazors.com, for the men in your life. And check out Max.  A former international fashion model, he’s really easy on my FOF eyes. Lee says he’s a wonderful man, smart, and speaks six languages.

“I love sharing ideas and promoting other women,” Leigh said. Will she share Max, I wonder.

JUST KIDDING LEIGH.  I am so glad we met.

My husband has told me he’s leaving me if I ever have a facelift. “I believe that aging is a natural state of affairs and we should let it be,” he said. I know David is exaggerating a bit (he wouldn’t actually leave me), but he sure wouldn’t be happy if I had cosmetic surgery.

I’m not considering a facelift any time soon, but I’ve had injections to minimize my wrinkles and folds and have been moderately pleased with the results.  Although they didn’t make me look like I did when I was twenty, or even fifty one, it was worth a try.

Personal feelings aside, I finally understand why over 100,000 women do get facelifts every year.

Let me share my brilliant insight.

Miss Leo might have posed for Norman Rockwell

When I was in third grade, I thought my teacher, Miss Leo, was an old lady.  She had graying hair in tight curls, wore frameless Ben Franklin glasses, orthopedic shoes, mid-calf length skirts and blouses with high necks. Miss Leo was about 50, but in 1954, that wasn’t FAB. It was old.

Fifty is not old anymore.  Nor is sixty, seventy or eighty, as far as I’m concerned.  FOF women don’t feel old and we don’t think old. We have as much (sometimes even more) energy than people half our age. Our bodies look pretty darn good.  Even if we have a few more pounds around the middle than we’d like, we don’t obsess about it (at least not all the time.)  We are constantly probing and learning.  We love working.  Miss Leo would never understand how we dress.

“I’m 63 and the hippest person I know,” said Barbara from Redding, CA.

“A teen recently said I’m the ‘coolest old person’ he knows—a high form of flattery!” said Nancy from Elizaville, NY.

Now, here’s my revelation: If we don’t feel old or think old, many of us would just as soon not look old, either.  I agree with the adage “You’re only as old as you feel,” but it’s not entirely possible to look as young as we feel.

We take vitamins and exercise for our body and go to lectures and read books for our mind. If a FOF woman wants to get a facelift for some excess skin or deep wrinkles, I say: “Go for it.”

Just don’t ask my husband for permission.

FOF women love their homes (in my case, an apartment).  We can spend hours choosing fabrics and furniture, paint colors, even a backsplash for the kitchen sink. Wandering around ABC Home in Manhattan is one of my favorite pastimes. Its prices are outrageous, but the cavernous store is jam packed with exquisite furnishings that make my mouth water, from lush towels the color of just-picked apricots to delicate, translucent porcelain bowls and antique armoires befitting a country cottage.

Our homes are extensions of our personalities.  They are our secret hideaways. When we’re exhausted at the end of a day, we can’t wait to see them for comfort. When we’re exhilarated, we party in them.

We love showing them off and become tour directors in our own living rooms.

No surprise, then, to learn about the world of women who are writing marvelous blogs that make Architectural Digest boring. “We’ve become our own curators,” said Leigh Chandler, who has introduced me to a fascinating group of blogging friends. I am having as much fun wandering around their sites as I do at ABC Home.

Take a peak:

Humor with incredible style

Is there anything French that isn’t beautiful?

French with a Southern accent

And a fellow Francophile

My introduction to Belgian Beauty

As delightful as the movie

Home and more

I have always prided myself on my promptness, my follow up and my sense of responsibility. I showed up for appointments when I said I would. I returned phone calls. I finished every bit of homework from first grade until my last college class. I met writing deadlines at work.

Time to slow down

Not now. I can’t keep up with the demands on my time. A single e-mail leads to 12 more, one assignment spurns three, a mistake on a credit card bill takes two hours to clear up and, heaven forbid, a slowdown on my Internet service causes havoc.

I’m answering e-mails when I’m supposed to be at the dentist, blogging when I’m supposed to be meeting my husband for dinner, and working in the middle of the night when I’m supposed to be sleeping.  I’m so busy I forget to look at my to-do list, which just gets longer and longer anyway.

My friend asks me to send her a e-mail with information she needs and I ask her to send me an e-mail to remind me.  Then I forget to look at the e-mail.

“Too many things have our attention and we can’t give anything the attention it deserves. Most of all, we can’t give ourselves the attention we deserve,” said Hane, my wise colleague.

I used to have energy to burn.  Now, my energy is being pushed to its limits. I’m glad I’m FOF so I can sit back, take a deep breath and remember: “There will be another day.”

If you’ll excuse me, I am going to take Rigby for a walk and try to relax.

Do we always know what vibes we’re transmitting?  Are you any of these people?

As the World Turns: Enough about you, let’s talk about me. The world revolves me, and don’t you forget it.

The Winter of Our Discontent: Everything is horrid.

The Three Faces of Eve: I’m darling on the outside and vicious on the inside.

Dumb and Dumber: Everyone else is dumb, incompetent or selfish.

Bringing Up Baby: I want it now, and that’s all there is to it. I’m not going to stop whining until I get my way.

Mission Impossible: I can always find a good reason why it can’t be done.

Mission Control: I’d better take charge of everything or it will never get done.

She Done Me Wrong: Why is this happening to ME?

To Have And Have Not: I deserve to have as much as THEY do.

I’ve been guilty of  most of the above at one time or another, but I could never call myself FOF if any of these traits defined me.  I work hard every day to make certain none of them do.

While I was enjoying a back massage at my neighborhood nail shop, I heard the following conversation between two FOF women.

FOF Woman A: “I love your blouse. I had one just like it that I threw out when I was going through my closet last year. It was in perfect conditon, clean and folded, and I loved it. I don’t know why I got rid of it.”

FOF Woman B: “This is from Ann Taylor. I’ve had it for years.”

Jenny Sanford did not throw out her paisley blouse. She probably likes it better than estranged husband Mark

Woman A: “I’m still trying to replace the one I threw out. I’ve been looking for ten years. It was a beautiful paisley like yours. I’ll never throw out anything again.”

Woman B: “But we’ve got to make room in our closets.”

Woman A: “I’ll never do that again.”

I have discarded enough clothes over the years to fill a chain of stores. I am a shopper, often compulsive, so I periodically go through my closet to discard or donate things I don’t wear, have never worn and will never wear. You’d think I was a juror deciding someone’s fate as I make my decisions about what stays and what goes.

I wish I was more like my former mother-in-law, who meticulously chose every item she purchased and wore it for years. She didn’t have an overwhelming wardrobe but she  always looked elegant.

And think of the hours she saved never having to clean out her closet…or fret over a blouse she rejected a decade ago.

I call David “my husband.” He’s not. I think the word boyfriend is a silly word for a FOF woman to use to define her relationship with a 65-year-old man. I’m not nuts about the nouns partner, man friend or companion, either.  So husband it is.

David and I are not really married

I wanted to marry David at one point in our relationship, which is over seven years old. I even angled for an engagement ring since I didn’t get one when I became engaged in 1968 when I was 21.  David bought me a beautiful diamond, but I didn’t call him my fiancé. That sounded dumb to me, too.

David hasn’t asked me to marry him, but I don’t care now.  We’re not going to name each other beneficiaries in our wills (my children and his children are our beneficiaries.) We’re not having children (ha.) So what’s the point of getting married?  I guess you could say it would show commitment, but I think we’re pretty committed as it is. We live together and we have Rigby, our Norfolk terrier.  I guess we could have joint custody if we broke up, but that would make Rigby sad.  I already made my children sad many years ago when their father and I split up, so I don’t want to do the same thing to Rigby.

David and I annoy each other at times, but we get over it fairly quickly. Sometimes it irritates me that he isn’t as social as I am, or as curious, and he doesn’t like Paris. But I get over all that, too. I go out without him when I want to go somewhere he doesn’t. I went to Paris with my former husband, for instance. I also have enough curious friends and relatives to keep me on my toes.

We’re alike in many important ways. We both thrive on work, we love our children (including Rigby and Remy, our cat), and we enjoy being in one another’s company, even when we’re at the supermarket or watching Curb Your Enthusiasm and Antiques Road Show. We don’t compete with each other. We don’t play (mind games) and we’re steadfast in our loyalty.

David and I “get” each other. That’s a lot to get.

If you didn’t catch the PBS series called “This Emotional Life,” drop everything you’re doing this instant and either watch the trio of two-hour episodes on line or buy the DVD.  It’s TV at its finest.

The first part of the series, called “Family, Friends and Lovers,” focuses on the significance of social connections.  You’ll see real stories about real people, which explains why Brad and Angelina aren’t the stars. I was especially taken with the honesty of a FOF woman talking about her long-time relationship with her husband and with parents struggling with a young boy they adopted from a Russian orphanage.

I jotted down a few insights that touched my soul, so I could share them with my FOF friends.

Larry tells us his parents didn't smother him with kisses in This Emotional Life. Surprise! Surprise!

Conflict: Don’t run away, suppress or smooth over a conflict. In certain circumstances, conflict can be a good thing. You can’t get to know another person without it. It helps you understand how another person functions in the world, where she’s coming from and her motivations. It is in the conflict that we capture different perspectives. Make conflict constructive.

Who Is Right and Who Is Wrong: There is no absolute truth. Your feeling is the truth to you. Recognize when another person’s needs conflict with your own. He sees the world in black and white and you see it in gray. If you’re myopically focused on trying to change your partner, it’s not productive.

Giving and Receiving: Sometimes it’s better to listen and be the receiver. You learn a lot more. Find a way of communicating that someone can hear.

Making Connections: We have big brains to allow us to cooperate with large numbers of unrelated people, but all of us have a hard time relating to the social world at times.

People Who Need People: The need for companionship is as important to survival as food and water. Without friendships, people suffer in ways we can’t understand.

I value my relationships more than anything in the world. I am a lucky FOF woman.

“After the story broke, things went from bad to worse.  John and Elizabeth were fighting all the time, sometimes all night long. On more than one occasion, she announced to the staff that she could no longer speak in public on her husband’s behalf or stay in the same hotel with him. Once, in the middle of the night, she woke up a trip director and commanded, ‘Get me out of here! I’m not campaigning for this asshole another day!’”

“At the terminal, the couple fought in the passenger waiting area.  They fought outside in the parking lot.  Elizabeth was sobbing, out of control, incoherent.  As their aides tried to avert their eyes, she tore off her blouse, exposing herself.  ‘Look at me!’ she wailed at John and then staggered, nearly falling to the ground.”   Saint Elizabeth and the Ego Monster, New York, January 18, 2010, adapted from Game Change: Obama and the Clintons, McCain and Palin, and the Race of a Lifetime, by John Heilemann and Mark Halperin, 2010.

Elizabeth Edwards has not led a charmed life.  Her son was killed in a car crash. She has cancer. Her husband’s ego exploded out of control, he had an affair and fathered a child with his mistress.

If the account in the book Game Change is accurate, Elizabeth Edwards is deeply angry (“Why the fuck do you think I’d want to sit outside a Wal-Mart and hand out leaflets?”), abusive (“She called her spouse a ‘hick’ in front of other people and derided his parents as rednecks”) and delusional.

I feel bad for Elizabeth’s circumstances, and I can even forgive some of her anger, but she’s not FOF until she calms down and throws the bum out.

A couple of years ago, I had to deal with a young man in his twenties who was a horrible writer. H-O-R-R-I-B-L-E. He worked for one of my big clients and his incompetency was hindering my ability to do a good job for HIS company.

I love to write.

Writing well is an important component of my business, so I couldn’t tolerate working with someone whose writing made me shudder. (He thought he was a good writer, which made matters worse.)

I tried to explain to the young man how to improve his writing.  He wasn’t interested. What’s more, he complained to his boss about me,  the same person who hired my company.  The boss told me that  I needed to accept the limitations of people like this if I wanted to keep the account.

Money from a client means less to me than enjoying my work and doing it well, for myself and my clients.  I had to make a decision.

I have spent four decades cultivating my writing skills. I cannot abide shoddy work, even if my clients can. If this young man didn’t want to learn anything, I didn’t want anything more to do with him. My client and I parted ways. Frankly, it was a relief not to deal with them anymore.

The customer IS NOT always right. I knew that even before I became FOF. Now I have the security and confidence to walk away without aggravating myself and becoming all huffy.

When Linda McCoy, from Cincinnati, commented on one of my blog posts that she had left a long- term career to become a “bohemian artist,” her name seemed familiar. I asked about her painting, one email led to another, and I found out that Linda and I did indeed meet a few years ago when she worked for Charming Shoppes and I was publishing a fashion magazine for the plus-size fashion chain.

Charming Shoppes to charming art

Linda had enough of the corporate world and started “painting my life away,” she said, concentrating on 6-by-6 inch oils.  “I don’t have a degree in fine arts, but I’ve studied with many contemporary artists around the country, grabbing time whenever I could to take a workshop with them.”

Linda’s work is charming. I was captivated by her painting, Flowers in Roseville Pottery, especially because I own a Roseville antique pitcher that resembles the vase in Linda’s painting.

Flowers in Roseville Pottery

Tulip Reflections

Roni Sumer’s painting, Tulip Reflections, is another beauty. “My sister sent me tulips for the grand opening of my gallery. While I was arranging them in a vase, I set this tulip on the counter,” said the FOF San Diego artist. “The sun was streaming into the gallery and I noticed how the color reflected into its shadow. The only thing I like painting better than flowers is shadows so I was elated to paint both.”

Roni Sumer

FOF women make the world more beautiful every single day.

I’ve never been a big fan of committees. I can’t think of one I’ve sat on during my 62 years that actually accomplished anything. A group of people gathered around a table, yammering at each other, typically wastes time. Everyone is trying to make or prove a point and no one is actually leading or taking charge.

Committees give me the creeps

I think committees are supposed to recommend plans of action, but the biggest recommendation they usually make is when to have the next committee meaning. Maybe committees don’t work because too few people want to take responsibility. It’s a pass the buck kind of mentality. Just look at all the committees in the House of Representatives and the Senate. By the time they’ve finished discussing bills, they’re so diluted, they’re meaningless.

I do believe all committees in the future might benefit if they were comprised only of FOF women. We like to get down to business, state our opinions and accomplish something. We don’t need to prove anything to anyone and we don’t spend our time worrying about making everyone happy or love us.

We’d raise our voices when necessary, be willing to share our experiences and work hard to effect change. None of us would need to take all the credit either.

We could surely change the world.

Knowing little about the French writer, Colette, I Googled her after seeing Cheri, a compelling movie adapted from one of her many books. Colette was definitely FOF, but the first F stood more for Flamboyant or Fantastic. Born in 1873, she had three marriages, her first to a bisexual 15 years her senior, and an affair with her stepson (Cheri, starring Michelle Pfeiffer. is about a six-year affair between an aging courtesan and her friend’s young and pampered son).

Michelle Pfeiffer, 50, and Rupert Friend, 27

Colette also flaunted her lesbian relationships, including one with the renowned actress, Josephine Baker. She performed in the music halls of Paris in her thirties, wrote poetry and painted. Her most famous novel, Gigi, was made into a movie musical with Leslie Caron and Maurice Chevalier in 1958. I adored that movie.  I wanted to be Gigi. I was eleven.

During the German occupation of France in World War II, Collette aided her Jewish friends, and hid her husband in the attic all through the war. She also was president of the Academie Goncourt, the French literary society, and the first woman to be admitted, in 1945.

Irving Penn's portrait of Colette

Colette’s full name was Sidonie-Gabrielle Colette, but the single name Colette seems completely suitable. She was quite a woman. Her third husband published a book about his wife, Close to Colette: An Intimate Portrait of a Woman of Genius. It was translated into English in 1957.  I’m going to look for it.

Cigarette holders really made it chic

I started smoking when I was 17 and a freshman in college.  I smoked more and more every year. By the time I was 37, I was religiously making my way through two and a half packs a day. My clothes smelled of smoke, my fingertips were tinged with yellow and my teeth were none too white. Goodness knows about my breath.

When I was an airplane passenger, I’d sit with my unlit cigarette positioned in my right hand, waiting anxiously for the no smoking sign to stop glowing. I smoked up a storm in the finest restaurants, before, during and after the meal.  I’m not sure I tasted anything but the smoke during all that time.  I smoked when I was pregnant. I swore I couldn’t write a word unless I had a cigarette in my mouth or near it.

If I ran out of cigarettes in the evening and the stores were all closed, I’d rummage through the pail for salvageable butts. My former husband, who didn’t smoke, kept secret stashes of cartons when I reached a state of desperation.

One of my oldest FOF friends developed cancer of the larynx when she was in her thirties.  It was a result of excessive smoking and drinking. This was the same friend who introduced me to martinis.  I drank plenty of those, too.  Fortunately, my pal caught the cancer in time and she’s still with us.

When I think back, the only cigarettes I truly enjoyed were the ones after each meal and with the first drink. It didn’t much matter.  I was an addict.

I stopped smoking 25 years ago.  I vaguely remember my little son telling me to, but I’m not sure if that was the impetus. I went to one hypnosis session and haven’t touched a cigarette ever since.  It was one of the greatest accomplishments of my life. If you’ve ever smoked as much as I did, then stopped, you’d probably agree.

Although my chest x-rays look good every year, I still worry that I’ll develop lung cancer as a result of my nasty habit. I also wish my daughter would stop smoking but I know she’ll have to decide that herself. There are some pretty gruesome anti-smoking campaigns on TV now. I’m not so sure they would have influenced me.

Which leads me to this thought:  If I were First Lady, I’d create a national initiative to prevent young people from ever smoking in the first place. It wouldn’t do to make cigarettes illegal, but if I gathered the right FOF women who feel as I do, I’m pretty sure we’d come up with a really smart plan.

The compassionate J. Lo

It was nauseating to see Larry King and Jennifer Lopez last night, patting each other on the back during their Haiti fund-raising efforts. Not the world’s greatest actress in the first place, J. Lo sounded like she was reading a script when she told Larry about her profound sadness.

Why didn’t she announce that she was personally donating $1,000,000 to the relief efforts? Angelina and Brad did. Oh, I guess J. Lo feels her time is worth that much, so she’s covered.

We don’t need celebrities telling us how to donate money.  We need them to donate their own money, part of the money they earn because we pay through the nose to watch them entertain.

FOF women are not disingenuous. Politics aside, I think Hillary Clinton cares about the Haitian people. I also think Princess Diana would have cared.

I’m not sure why someone like Jennifer Lopez bothers me so much. Is it because I’ve heard she’s a diva, in more ways than one? The juxtaposition of homeless, injured children and Jennifer Lopez is just a bit more than I can quietly absorb.

I always thought people would do unto me as I did unto them. If I was a generous friend, my friends would be generous back. If I was a hardworking boss, my employees would work hard, too. If I was an honest vendor, my clients would be honest.

I became horribly upset, even angry, when someone disappointed me, which invariably was the case. If an employee didn’t live up to my standards, my patience ran out. I fired far too many people back in the day. If I thought a friend was acting selfishly, I defriended her. If a client lied to me, I was beside myself.

Now that I’m FOF, I know relationships aren’t always balanced. My expectations were completely unrealistic. Sometimes you give more than you get, or the other way around. If you know the people in your life are good, loving and honest,  you don’t keep a scorecard on their every move.

Hear! Hear! Jodie Foster

My former mother-in-law, Gerry, was pretty FOF, but she refused to admit she was losing her hearing. There was no earthly way she was going to wear a hearing aid.  That was definitely not fab, she thought. So she pretended she heard everything.  Sometimes, that was pretty amusing, like the time the waiter asked what she wanted to drink, and she answered: “I’ll have the salmon.”

My sisters and I emphatically told our mom that she should wear a small medical alert device around her neck in case she fell and needed to call for help.  She stubbornly refused, and when she did fall, she laid on the floor with a broken hip an entire night before we discovered what had happened.

If I found out I was losing my hearing, I’d run to the nearest hearing aid specialist and I’d wear medical alert devices on my wrists, ankles and neck if I knew they could save my life.

Goodness knows why the generation of women before us thought it was embarrassing to wear a hearing aid or admit their bones were weak and they might get hurt.

I like hearing and if I need to shove something in or around my ear to be able to listen to my daughter’s voice or the sound of music, I’m all for it. I’ll think of it as another accessory.

I remember when I was afraid to…

Wear anything but a black dress to a black tie event

Try a raw oyster

Get on the dance floor

Use a fax machine

Deposit money in an ATM

Compose an article on a computer

Utter a single word in French

Leave the bastard I was dating

Say no to a friend

Admit I was miserable

Speak up to a bully

I’m afraid to think where I’d be if I had stayed afraid.

“Fear will keep us from our future,” said Karen Schultz, who speaks from experience. Although she’s been a leading woman in finance (she’s vice president and director of the Raymond James Network For Women Advisors), Karen always preferred dating blue collar types,” she told me.

“I was more comfortable with them because that’s how I grew up.” Following her divorce, Karen took her friends’ advice and tried dating “a suit.”

Guess what she did last weekend? She married one.

I’m thrilled for Karen and I’m delighted that her wonderful network of women advisors is partnering with faboverfifty.com to give all FOF women the confidence to successfully manage their own finances.

Money. Investing. Risk.  They’re not as scary as we think.

As a journalist and editor, I’ve been invited to oodles of fund-raising events, awards dinners, and various industry galas during the last forty years. I’ve even produced more than my share of  gatherings. At last, I’ve determined that I prefer intimate affairs. Intimate as in no more than 20 people.

Doesn't this look like fun?

Smushed into a room with hundreds of people doesn’t thrill me anymore. I’m not sure it ever thrilled me much, but when you’re 30, you think you’re the only one in the room anyway.

I’m always amused when I’m in the middle of a conversation with someone and she’s sneaking glances over my shoulder to see if a more interesting guest has arrived. I was once at a cocktail party where I watched Hillary Clinton working the room with her eyes. I guess that’s what politicians have to do.

The big black tie events amuse me most. We all fuss over what we’ll wear, but everyone looks the same. Who can tell one black dress from another in the first place?

Sitting down to dinner with 500 people is another hysterical scenerio. The tables have 2.3 inches of space between them, 10 people at a table are trying to show intense interest in each other and the dreadful food is complemented by usually dreadful presentations and boring speeches.I try my darndest to make at least one contact during the evening so it isn’t a total waste of time.

Frankly, I’d rather be home, all comfy and cozy in my flannel PJS, playing a mean game of Scrabble. FOF women party in their own special ways.

My former husband was one of the first househusbands in the United States.  Douglas quit his job in 1981, when our son was two, because A.) We discovered that the nanny left Colby lying in the crib all day B.) My husband preferred to stay home with Colby than to work at a job he disliked C.) I made more money anyway.

Douglas was quite a novelty around the neighborhood, especially with the moms in the playground. Many of them became his good friends.  Parents Magazine even asked him to write a diary of his experiences.  I was thrilled was the arrangement. It was a relief to know that our son was in good hands. And I could stop stressing about needing to leave work to be home by 6.

My goodness, things have changed. Consider these statements from an article in today’s SundayStyles section of the New York Times:

Wives are now the primary breadwinners in 22 percent of couples, up from 7 percent in 1970.

..as men take on more housework and women earn more outside the home, divorce rates in the United States have fallen. In states where fewer wives have paid jobs, divorce rates tend to be higher.

Women who no longer need to marry up educationally or economically are more likely to pick men who support a more egalitarian relationship.

FOF women sure did set the stage for our daughters. And I’m proud of it.

Jane doesn't think we exercise enough. Hmm...

I just heard that 72-year-old Jane Fonda is coming out with a new exercise DVD in 2011 aimed at FOF women who have stopped working out or have never exercised. Jane reportedly thinks we’ve been left out and she wants to inspire us to get in shape.

I’m wondering where Jane has been the last few years. How is it that she doesn’t know that the FOF generation is exercising all the time? Every single FOF woman we interviewed told us she loves to exercise: Yoga, pilates, swimming, walking, dancing, skiing, biking, aerobics, and more.

Jane’s last video was in 1995.  She credits genes for 30 per cent of her good looks, good sex to another 30 per cent, and sports and a healthy lifestyle to another 30 percent. “I have to thank my plastic surgeon for the remaining 10 percent,” she was reported as saying. “I’m happier, the sex is better and I understand life better. I don’t want to be young again.”

I’ve always admired Jane Fonda, even when she was an overly vocal anti-Vietnam activist. I still admire her and think she’s a hot-looking woman. I do hope she and her DVD producer logon to faboverfifty.com when we launch in a few weeks so they can learn just who FOF women really are.

They might even want to use FOF women to film her DVD.

Edgar's secret girlfriend had a red dryer

I’ll never forget the evening I opened the vanity drawer in my boyfriend’s house and saw another woman’s little red hair dryer, a cosmetics case and a tube of face cream. I grabbed the dryer, ran down the stairs and held it close up to Edgar’s face. “WHOSE IS THIS?” I demanded.

“Ah don’t know.  Ah never saw them,” said Edgar, in his best Mississippi drawl.

Turns out, Edgar was a big-time liar and cheater. Surprise! Surprise!  He lied and cheated so often, I think he actually believed himself. Pathological, some might say.

I am a master sleuth (thanks to my experience as a reporter) and I eventually discovered who owned the red hair dryer. I even hatched an intricate plan so one of my friends could meet the other woman. Edgar knew I knew about her. It made him wild.  But he never admitted, not for one second, the he was a liar or a cheater.

Kudos to Elin Woods for sending a text to Tiger’s purported mistress on his phone, while he slept. Perhaps she did a good thing for her husband. She certainly did a good thing for herself.

We have to travel many roads to become FOF, so when we get there, we’ll know how—and with whom—we want to spend our lives.

When a long overdue and fairly large payment I was expecting from an account still hadn’t arrived late last week, I called its customer service center, which is not in the United States. Following is my conversation with a representative in accounts payable.

How I felt

Service Center : “What ‘s your purchase order number?”

Geri: “5268542B”

SC: “The invoice number?”

Geri: “100909″

SC: “Is your company name ISSE?”

Geri: “No, it’s Brinsights.”

SC: “You gave me the wrong purchase order number.”

Geri: “I gave you the correct purchase order number. That was the exact number I got from my account.”

SC: “I have a different company name for that purchase order. Your invoice has been rejected.”

Geri: Huh? What are you talking about? Why was my invoice rejected? How do you know my invoice was rejected when you don’t even know my company name?”

SC: “The purchase order number you gave me is for ISSE.”

Geri: “You already told me that. Please help me understand what’s going on?”

SC: “The purchase order is wrong.”

Geri: “You’ve said that three times already. I need help.”

SC: “Stop gellin at me.” (I don’t mean to be disrespectful of people whose first language isn’t English.  I disrespected this young man for his complete incompetency.)

Geri: I had enough.  I hung up.I was borderline hysterical. Not only was the person on the other end unfamiliar with the English language, he had absolutely no interest in helping me. I wouldn’t call this a “customer service center.”  I’d call it a travesty.

Customer service in the new millennium

This scenario is being played out over and over in every area of our lives. Customer service is dead. 

My parents taught me the importance of taking responsibility for everything I do. Solving problems falls under this umbrella, I’d say.  Solving problems we ourselves create and helping others solve problems.

Turns out, someone at the “customer service center” provided the wrong vendor number for my company in the first place, so my invoice was booted out of the system. Hopefully, someone will wake up and also boot out the rep I had on the line.  We’ve got to make room for people who care.

FOF women grew up caring, and we don’t intend to stop, even if everyone else does.

Women have a screwy relationship with money

We FOF women can really screw ourselves up when it comes to our money and our relationships. I heard the story today of a FOF physician who earned lots more than her husband. She didn’t want him to feel less worthy, so she put property in his name and shared bank accounts, among other generous gestures.

After all, he was her husband, the father of their two sons, and “the man of the house.”

The doc and her husband divorced four years ago and she had to pay him over $1 million, not to mention alimony.  She’s just beginning to build up her nest egg again. Like millions of FOF women, she let her money get all tangled up with her emotions and she couldn’t figure out a way to separate the two.

Moral of the story:  Your money doesn’t make a man worthy.  Leave that up to him.

FOF plans to invite us all to talk about money in a new and exciting way, so we can get real smart real quickly about a subject we often fail. We’re excited that The Network for Women Advisors at Raymond James is going to help.

Stay tuned.  February 18^th, the launch date for www.faboverfifty.com, is just around the corner.

I adored learning Spanish in tenth grade from Miss Pardal. I also loved to write.  So I concocted an idea to publish a newspaper in Spanish for my high school.  The head of the Spanish department gave Miss Pardal approval for the project (she was having an affair with him, I believe), and I went on my merry little way.

Cantinflas, outside the car and inside my makeshift Spanish newspaper

About the only thing I specifically remember about the project was writing an article on Cantinflas, a Mexican comedian and stage actor who was the star of the movie, Around The World In 80 Days. God only knows why I remember that one little fact after all these years.  Oh, I also remember mimeographing the newspaper. (If you don’t know what a mimeograph machine is, you’re definitely not FOF.)

My passion is dreaming up ideas and putting together the pieces to make them come to life. Sometimes, the ideas were modest, like a beatnik themed party for my thirteenth birthday. Others were more complicated, like producing a summit for honchos in the fashion and beauty businesses, or publishing a kids’ book and convincing F.A.O. Schwarz to sell it 10 minutes before the start of the Christmas season.

I’ve learned something valuable from each experience, although a few of the lessons were mighty painful (e.g. good ideas often threaten insecure, unhappy, untalented people.)

When I dreamed up FOF last March, I never imagined how many pieces I’d have to pull together to make it come to life. I am thankful for my forty years of experience. Thankful to the boss who taught me how to think strategically and connect point A with Point B, thankful to the editor who taught me how to communicate concisely, thankful even to a negative co-worker, who inadvertently taught me how to think positively.

Of course, I could never do this by myself. I am grateful to everyone who embraced this idea from the start, from store owners like Joan Shepp in Philadelphia to FOF women like Mica Mosbacher in Houston. And to a team of passionate colleagues, led by Lina, who is far from OF, but fab nonetheless.

FOF women know how to make things happen. We’ve been in training from the day we were born.

When Karly’s three children were all under five, she decided to give up her successful career in the financial world to stay home with them. “Everyone was raising my kids but me,” says Karly, now FOF. Once she turned into a full-time mom, she and her husband had less to say to each other when he came home from work. “He didn’t want to hear all the details about my day with the kids,” she remembers. “I was out of business suits and the business world. I was no longer interesting to him.” He had an affair with another parent from their kids’ school and asked for a divorce.

Mad men and unhappy women

Karly had been away from an office for nine years, and although she was financially secure, she wanted to return to work. Her prospects in the financial industry were slim because so much had happened while she was gone. So Karly reinvented herself and went on to become a successful real estate broker. She’s had a happy 17-year relationship. Her three adult children are close to her and doing well. She’s a grandmother, too.

“Going back to work was the best therapy in the world and I have recommended it to many women who have gone through life-changing events. Engaging in work breathes new life in you and one moves forward and doesn’t dwell on the past,” Karly says.

I forgot to add one fact: Karly also battled an advanced melanoma and has an 8 by 4 inch scar across her stomach to remind her daily how precious life is. Happy tears come to her beautiful eyes when she tells the story. “I guess my divorce and even the melanoma were life-changing experiences but I refused to let either of those events dictate my life.  I wanted to take control of my own life and not let the past cripple or destabilize me,”  she explains.

FOF women have a remarkable ability to reinvent themselves to meet new challenges. No one does it better.

Happy birthday to Shelley, my FOF middle sister, who turned the big six-o yesterday. Like all FOF women, Shell is her own woman.

She’s been  ecstatically married to brother in-law Russ for almost 40 years, had a decades-long career as a dietician in the New York City school system, and has two loving sons, Brian, 35, and Adam, 32. Brian is married to Julianne.

Left to right: Heidi, birthday girl Shelley, and moi

Heidi, my youngest sister, and I took Shelley out to a celebration dinner with our husbands last night. Except for holidays, Heidi, Shelley and I are not often all together. We didn’t invite any of our children last night, because Russ thought it would be more special if the three sisters could focus on each other.

He was right. We had a memorable evening. Lots of laughs, lively conversation and love.

Shelley called this morning to tell me what a wonderful time she had and how much she loves the two Judith Ripka bracelets we gave her.

No question about it. I am a lucky woman to have two sisters. Two FOF sisters, no less.

I hope our parents, May and Sam, came to the party, too.

P.S.  I’d love to run a photo of you and your sisters on the blog.  Email one a caption to geri@faboverfifty.com

When I was in my thirties, a “headhunter” called me to ask whether I knew anyone for the editor’s job at Better Homes & Gardens. “What about me?” I chirped up, knowing full well that they were using the question as a ploy to discover if I was interested.  That’s the way it worked back in the day, when jobs were actually available.

At the time, I was an editor at an important trade newspaper in the home furnishings industry, so I would have made a perfect editor for a consumer magazine. It was a plus that I knew all the major manufacturers and retailers in the industry, from Carl Sondheimer, who brought the Cuisinart food processor to the US from France, to Marvin Traub, who was chairman of Bloomingdale’s.

When the headhunter heard that I might be interested, he said the job had a six- figure salary, which was phenomenal. He set up an interview for me.

I could have lived in a house like this in Des Moines

The magazine, by the way, was located in Des Moines, Iowa. When I discussed it with my husband that evening, he joked, “With that salary, you could be mayor of the city. And we could live in a big house” (we lived in a modest one-bedroom apartment in New York City with a one-year-old). Douglas was ready to pack up and move.

Not so quick, Doug.  I didn’t think I could go from being a city girl to a country girl. I didn’t want to own a house.  Besides, I thrived at Fairchild Publications, where I worked, because it encouraged individualism.

The more I thought about it, the more I knew I wanted to stay just where I was. I cancelled the interview. I’m thrilled I did. I continued to grow and learn and to be presented with new opportunities.

Today, I was chatting with my colleagues about “lost opportunities” and I thought there really is no such thing.  Only optimists think they lost a chance to do something.

FOF women always find opportunities. We never lose them.  We never look back.

It’s no fun getting an email like this from a FOF friend:

“Thrown a curve. Yesterday in ER and ICU with life long (to this point) amazingly healthy & lean 28-year old son diagnosed with Type I diabetes. Near coma. Thought he had the flu. My husband commented how calm I was (not really), but you do what you have to do.”

Worrying. It's just a mother thing. "Mother and Child" by Enoch Wood Perry

My thoughts and prayers are with my friend. When my children tell me they’re under the weather, they’re constantly on my mind and I don’t feel right until they’re better. And they’re adults! It’s just a mother thing.

My friend must have been beside herself until her son was diagnosed. But she’s a FOF woman, so this is the e-mail she sent after I told her I was thinking of her:

“Thanks so much Geri. Relieved that no tumor on pancreas, etc. that may have caused onset. This is doable. Have young friends with much worse health issues to deal with and less optimistic outcomes. New things to learn.”

You’ve got to love this woman.

FOF women do not sit around  pitying themselves or their loved ones when something goes awry. They spring into action and figure out a way to fix it.  We know we can’t fix everything, but we don’t stop trying.

This morning on the third hour of The Today Show, Kathy Lee Gifford held up a photo showing her and co-host, Hoda Kotb, hugging Beyonce. Pointing to the photo, Kathy Lee quipped: “This is why women over fifty should retire.“

Kathy may think she was making a cute, self-effacing comment, but I think it was dumb. Kathy, why did you limit your remark to FOF women? Maybe every woman who doesn’t look like Beyonce should retire. Overweight women, women who have blemishes on their faces, women with thin hair, women who can’t sing. Get the point?

“Perhaps Kathy wishes she looked like Beyonce. But when you insult yourself like she did, you’re actually insulting everyone in your age group,” said my sister, Shelley, who was offended by her remark.

I like watching Kathy Lee. I don’t like what she said.

They think she belongs in a rocking chair "at her age."

Coincidentally, a FOF friend emailed me yesterday about a similar situation on another show, where they held up a photo of Lauren Hutton, who is in a wheelchair after she ripped her ACL surfing. “It’s too bad that she injured her ACL, BUT to have done it while surfing at 66. At her age she’s still surfing.  Isn’t that wonderful everybody!” said the host of the show.

Imagine, my FOF friends. “AT HER AGE!”  I don’t know many 20-year-olds who could get up on a surfboard, no less surf. Perhaps they think Lauren should put on a shawl, move from a wheelchair to a chair that rocks and get ready to die.

I am cringing.

P.S. I heard through the grapevine that my nephew, Adam, reads my blog, but I haven’t had it confirmed.  That pleases me, even if he’s not FOF.

“My mom mentioned how happy she is that my sister and I ‘need her again,’ said my 30-year-old colleague, Lina. “She was thrilled when we graduated college and found jobs. But our independence was bittersweet because we didn’t ask for her help anymore. She thought her time as a mom was over,” Lina explained.

Edie Rose. Did you ever see a face like this?

Now Lina has a new baby and Jo is starting a new business, baking and selling the best rugelach you’ve ever tasted.  FOF mom, Terry, is helping them both.  She watches her adorable eight-month old granddaughter, Edie, three days a week, while Lina is working on FOF.  And she’s a great support to 27-year-old Jo as she launches her own company.

“She’s so glad we’re at this new age and okay with needing her,” Lina said. “It’s her time again as a mom.”

I know that Terry was the best mom ever. Now she earn my vote as the best FOF mom.

Darla, a former colleague, excitedly called me when she heard about faboverfifty. We had much in common when we worked together, including children the same ages, similar backgrounds, passion and talent for selling. I left the company 12 years ago to start my own business.  I had been there 23 years and it had changed dramatically. Besides, I couldn’t stomach the president and chairman (one was subsequently fired and the other demoted, I’m delighted to report). I couldn’t have left at a better time, as it turns out. The company changed even more in the last decade. It got even worse.

A packing box was waiting for Darla when she returned from vacation

Darla was recently fired after a 17-year tenure. She was one of its top producers, no less. “I wasn’t fired because of performance, they explained to me when I returned from vacation. I was fired because of my attitude,” she said (not to mention her high compensation). Her assistant was fired while Darla was away.  Worse yet, the first thing Darla saw when she got to her desk was a packing box.

Let me explain Darla’s “attitude.” She speaks her mind. When she disagrees, she isn’t afraid to let someone know, including her boss.  When she needs something to help her do her job better, she asks for it.  She doesn’t suffer fools gladly.  She questions. She challenges.

The company isn’t doing well. It’s doing horribly. Maybe it should reassess its attitude. There’s not a thing wrong with Darla.  She was fab at 30, fab at 40, and she’s especially FOF. Companies like this can ill afford to lose talented people at times like these.

I love orange because it's happy, but it wasn't making me happy today

I was strolling alone on Madison Avenue today, feeling a bit tired and melancholy. I also was thinking about the orange shearling coat I was wearing. “Why was she thinking of the coat she was wearing?” you’re probably asking yourself. Answer: I was feeling like an orange blob.

At precisely the same moment, I hear a women’s voice on my left: “Great orange coat,” she says, striding ahead of me. “Thank you, thank you,” I answer, a smile spreading across my face.

She was FOF all the way, elegant looking all in black.

FOF women are the best. I just love them. Thank you again, my friend.  Your three little words couldn’t have come at a better time.

Jackie’s older daughter called to tell her about a man she wanted her to meet. A FOF widow, Jackie was skeptical because the man was her age. “Forget it,” she told her daughter, “he wants a 35-year-old. They all do.”

“No, he’s a quality guy,” said her daughter, who was working as an intern for The American Cancer Society, where she had met the potential suitor for her mom. He was another volunteer. Her dad and the man’s wife had both died of cancer.

Jackie and Hal are "outrageously happy"

“Jackie met Hal and the chemistry was immediate. They stayed out until 5:30  a.m on their first date. “I could tell right away that he was kind and good, with a soft heart,” she said.

They have been together every day since that first date three years ago. “Although we have different ideas about politics, religion and pets, we are so easy together and have never argued. We don’t try to change the other,” Jackie added.

The families of their deceased spouses celebrated with the lovebirds when they married two years ago. “In a weird way it was so much better than being divorced because no one was mad,” Jackie said.

Three months after the wedding, they moved from Iowa to Kentucky when Hal got a great job offer. They live with Jackie’s younger daughter, who Hal is going to adopt, and they love being Mr. and Mrs. in a new city. (Hal has two grown sons and Jackie’s matchmaker daughter is graduating from Harvard in a few months.)

“Life just gets better and better when you’re FOF! Why, of why, couldn’t we be this smart and comfortable with ourselves when were young? I would have tried to change Hal and argue with him until he saw everything my way,” Jackie said.

“I am wild about my husband and savoring every precious moment we are lucky enough to have together. Life turns on a dime, and we only have right now.”

3 p.m. today

My cell phone rings.  It’s Lois, the head of the agency that’s handling public relations for FOF.

Lois:  “CBS News just called.  They want to feature you and a few other FOF women on tonight’s 11 p.m. news. Call this woman quickly [and she rattled off the name and cell phone of the CBS reporter.] I don’t care if you have to turn yourself into a pretzel. Do it.”

left to right: Cathy, me, Joni and Susan with Mary, the reporter from CBS News (photo by David Segal)

When Lois recommends that I do something, I jump.  I trust and respect her opinion on mostly everything. FOF is launching in 10 days and Lois is up 24/7 doing her PR magic.

3:10 p.m.

I call the CBS reporter who gives me the details.  She’d like four women (including me) to be at Times Square at 6 p.m. to tape a segment.  I have precious little time to find three FOF friends who can drop what they’re doing to meet me.

I call Susan, Cathy, Jayne, Joni, Linda, Barbara, Terry and Catherine.  Susan is the only FOF woman I reach right away. “Sure, I’ll meet you,” she says.

3:15-4:15

Calls, e-mails and voice mails are darting back and forth between me and the seven other women.  By 4:15, I also have commitments from Cathy and Joni. The remaining five have all checked in and want to do it, too, but they either have previous engagements or are out of town.  Barbara even tries to change her other dates, but can’t.

FOF women don’t hem and haw, fiddle and fuss. They’re there for a friend. Bless their hearts.

I love you all.

PS click here to watch the CBS segment

“I want you to make one promise to me,” said Brian, my business partner, who also happens to be my brother-in-law. “What’s that?” I asked tentatively.

“When we have thousands and thousands of FOF women coming to the website, you won’t try to become personal friends with every single one.”

Here’s the thing: I love women: Women who have great marriages, careers, style, brains, perseverance, passion, humor, generosity, clarity, perspective, warmth and love. In other words, I love FOF women.

So every time I get a message from a woman who has signed up to be a member of faboverfifty.com, I want to meet her. The messages are extraordinary. They’re real, honest, inspiring, and funny.

Mary Alice, Colleen and Kathy (left to right) at their Girls' Weekend in the Hamptons on Long Island

“I’m 53 and glad to hear that someone has finally recognized that we’re not dead yet – and far from it! Bravo!”     Mary Alice, Lindenhurst, NY

“ Two years to the day after I turned fifty, my youngest daughter was in a catastrophic car accident, which left her a paraplegic. I had been let go from my job as a pharmaceutical rep.  Being a single mom with this happening in my life was really tough. But I am a FOF woman with three amazing daughters. We have always been close and this incident really solidified our bond.

Charlene, right, and her family at daughter Cori's graduation

“It has now been almost two years since the accident. I have embarked on a new career, studied and got all of my insurance licenses. I persevered. I have been the strength behind my girls. We have a passion for life. One day they, too, will be faboverfifty,  for we truly know what it means to be strong and bond.” –Charlene, Connecticut

How can I not try to be friends with women like these?

Some may think New York FOF women are a little more hard-nosed and competitive than FOFs throughout the land, but we’re really softies at heart.

Even the New York chairs took a rest (photo by Lina Perl)

When it snows hard like it did today, we don’t rush out to brave the storm, anxious to get to work.  We love staying in our homes—and, in my case, in my flannel PJs. It’s thrilling that we don’t have to rush around, like we always do.  And we certainly don’t miss cramming ourselves into subway cars with 10,000 other people.

The streets are empty. The mood is peaceful. The snow is calming. Those adjectives hardly ever describe New York, especially Manhattan, where I live.

I thank New York for making me the FOF woman I am today, which includes the pain-in-the-neck and frenetic parts of my personality.

I thank the snow for giving me—and New York—a little breather for one day.

If you’re in the vicinity of Memphis, TN, head to Joseph and find Shirley Wexner, who owns and oversees the magnificent store. Shirley is one of the quickest, sharpest, coolest, most charming FOF women I’ve met as we’ve been building the site. You’ll meet her on February 18th, our official launch date.

I was thrilled when Shirley agreed to be part of FOF, along with her shop. And when I interviewed her, I understood why Joseph has such an outstanding reputation. Shirley is quick, sharp, cool, charming, and tres chic.

Shirley also is giving. Look what she created and installed in the window of Joseph: A gigantic poster promoting FOF.  She’s with Lucy Lee (center) and Babbie Lovett (right), two friends, valued customers and ultra FOF women.  You’ll also meet them on the site.

I didn’t ask Shirley to do this.  She came up with the idea and ran with it. When FOF women like Shirley Wexner are on your side, you can’t lose.

Just when you think you’ve seen and heard everything, something else astounding happens.

She said she was my "angel"

Here’s the story.  Someone offered to do something really nice for me; let’s say she was paying for a trip I wanted to take but couldn’t afford. I didn’t ask her to pay. She volunteered and told me she was “my angel.”

I thanked her 400 times and started moving ahead with my plans. She made a one-third deposit on the trip.

One week before I was scheduled to take my trip, she called to tell me why she could no longer pay for the whole trip and told me I needed to find someone who could pay the rest.

Her reason what flat-out lame.  It was also concocted from whole cloth. I either had to cancel the trip or find someone else who could help me.  I decided to call her and tell her I’d pay half of the difference (which I couldn’t afford) if she’d pay the rest.

I am waiting for an answer.

The above  is a true story.  I really wasn’t taking a trip, but I was planning something else. I used the trip as an example to protect the guilty.

This is not behavior befitting anyone, no less a FOF woman. My “angel” should be ashamed of herself. With angels like this, who needs enemies?

When his mother asked him to admit his greatest fear, forty-year-old British fashion designer, Alexander McQueen, said “dying before you.”

An odd and unnatural reaction for a grown man to worry more about his mother’s feelings than about himself.

Joyce McQueen died almost two weeks ago. Her talented and devoted son hanged himself the other day. He took to his bed after his mom died and stayed there. Apparenty, he was as distraught at losing her as he knew she’d be losing him.

It’s not supposed to work that way. Mothers are supposed to worry about their chidren.

As the FOF mother of a 30-year-old son, I couldn’t live with myself if I knew my death would affect him so profoundly.  Sure, we’d want our children to miss us, at least for a brief time. Then we’d want them to remember us lovingly and to go on happily with their lives.

My dad died when I was 41 and it made me sad. I still think about him often. I am sorry for McQueen that he couldn’t have had similar feelings when his mom died. It is a great loss when one so young and so talented leaves us.

P.S. On another note, a mother in Georgia is mourning the death of her 21-year-old son, who had a fatal luge accident at the Olympic Games in Vancouver, Canada. My heart breaks for her–and for her son.

I wanted to share two messages I received today, the first from Paula, who signed up for FOF, and the second from my dear friend, Denise.

“I am the first of my close girlfriends to turn fifty.  I’ve found that with women, it is so much easier to love each other unconditionally at this age.  After all life throws us with families, husbands, boyfriends, and kids, girlfriends are there for support and sheer childlike FUN.  I never laugh harder than when I’m with them.  Early in our friendships, I had just finished reading The Divine Secrets of the Ya-ya Sisterhood. Because of the parallels, we started calling ourselves the Yayas and it stuck. Being over fifty is the best time of life!  We are rejoicing in this time together. We checked our baggage at age forty and threw away the claim check. Why are we fabulous? Because we laugh and cry together, we love each other, we are THE YAYAS! “– Paula from Monterey, CA

The Real Yayas (left to right) Angie, Kim D., Kim L., FOF Paula, Kim R., Terri, Eryn, Lisa

This is the email from Denise. It’s long, but it’s worth reading:

A young wife sat on a sofa on a hot humid day, 
drinking iced tea and visiting with her mother. As 

they talked about life, about marriage, about the 
responsibilities of life and the obligations of 

adulthood, the mother clinked the ice cubes in her 
glass thoughtfully and turned a clear, sober glance 
upon her daughter.

”Don’t forget your sisters,” she advised, swirling

the tea leaves to the bottom of her glass. “They’ll

be more important as you get older. No matter how

much you love your husband, no matter how much you 

love the children you may have, you are still going

to need sisters. Remember to go places with them now 
and then. Do things with them. 
Remember that all women are your sisters: Your girlfriends, your daughters and your other 
women relatives, too. You’ll need other women. Women 
always do.”

What a funny piece of advice, the young woman thought. Haven’t I just gotten married? 

Haven’t I just joined the couple-world? I’m now a 

married woman, for goodness sake! A grownup! Surely 
my husband and the family we may start will be all I 
need to make my life worthwhile! 
But she listened to her mother. She kept contact 

with her sisters and made more women friends each 
year. As the years tumbled by, one after another, 

she gradually came to understand that her mom really 
knew what she was talking about. As time and nature 

work their changes and their mysteries upon a woman, 
sisters are the mainstays of her life.

The movie Ya-Yas

After more than fifty years of living in this world, 
here is what I’ve learned: 

THIS SAYS IT ALL: 



Time passes. 

Life happens. 
Distance separates. 
Children grow up. 

Jobs come and go. 

Love waxes and wanes. 

Men don’t do what they’re supposed to do. 

Hearts break. 
Parents die. 

Colleagues forget favors. 
Careers end. 
But sisters are there, no matter how much time and how 

many miles are 

between you. A girlfriend is never farther away 
than needing her can reach.

When you have to walk that lonesome valley and you 
have to walk it by yourself, the women in your life 

will be on the valley’s rim, cheering you on, 
praying for you, pulling for you, intervening on 

your behalf, and waiting with open arms at the 
valley’s end. 
Sometimes, they will even break the rules and walk 

beside you. Or come in and carry you out. 
Girlfriends, daughters, granddaughters, 

daughters-in-law, sisters, sisters-in-law, mothers, grandmothers, aunties, nieces, cousins, and extended 

family, all bless our life! 


The world wouldn’t be the same without women, and
neither would I.

When we began this adventure called 
womanhood, we had no idea of the incredible joys or 

sorrows that lay ahead. Nor did we know how much we 

would need each other. 
Every day, we need each other still. Pass this on 

to all the women who help make your life meaningful. 
I just did. Short and very sweet: 
There are more than twenty angels in this world. 

Ten are peacefully sleeping on clouds. Nine are 
playing. And one is reading her email at this 

moment. Send this message to ten of your friends including 

me. If you get five replies, someone you love will surprise you. Happy days! 

Don’t break this. It’s working.

Denise and Paula represents the 51 million FOF women across the country.  We can’t wait till we’re all together on www.faboverfifty.com. We launch on Thursday night.

–adjective

pleasantly kind, benevolent, and courteous

characterized by good taste, comfort, ease, or luxury

merciful or compassionate

What has happened…to graciousness?

sending thank you notes…

…and writing them in long hand, as in pen

RSVPing

Holding elegant dinner parties at home

Asking how someone is doing and actually waiting for the answer

Saying thank you

Saying please

Offering to help someone, even if there’s nothing in it for you

Going out of your way to help someone

Saying something nice to someone

Sharing something nice with someone

Giving someone a “tip” that could help them be more successful

Inviting someone to be your guest at a festivity who might not otherwise be included

Wishing someone success

FOF women grew up in the fifties. That wasn’t an especially gracious decade, but somehow we learned about graciousness anyway.

Unfortunately, it’s not part of today’s core curriculum.

Alone time isn't always great

Laura, an extremely attractive FOF woman, was the only unattached guest at a lovely dinner party I attended last night.

While we dined on poached salmon, yummy brussel sprouts and gorgeous grilled vegetables, Laura told me her husband died of cancer eight years ago. She’s had one long-term relationship since then, which ended recently.

An independent woman (Laura is involved with her husband’s real estate business), she has a grown son and daughter. She’d like to meet a new man, but isn’t interested in web matchmaking.

I offered that she should register with a dating service that pairs successful men and women. She seemed to like the idea. “I’ll get  you the name of a reputable ‘matchmaker,’ from a friend,” I said.

Laura and I walked together a few blocks after the dinner and continued our conversation about men. “I have engagements  practically every night because I don’t like to be alone,” she told me. “It would be nice to have companionship.”

“Yeah, even when David and I don’t say too much to each other and we’re both working in our own corners of the apartment, it’s nice to know he’s there,” I told her.

We approached my building and said goodnight.  When I got inside my apartment, there was David. He hadn’t come to the dinner.  But he was there waiting for me.

That’s what it’s all about.

What do you see?

Have you ever gotten so mad at someone that you said or wrote something really nasty to them?

I have.

Have you ever had someone get so mad at you that they’ve wrote or said something really nasty to you?

I have.

Have you ever acted compulsively?

I have.

Have you ever procrastinated?

I have.

Have you ever resented someone for being happier than you are?

I have.

Have you ever resented someone for being negative all the time?

I have.

Have you fallen in love with someone or something too quickly?

I have.

Have you fallen out of love with someone or something too quickly?

I have.

Have you ever been more generous than you wanted or needed to be?

I have.

Have you ever been less generous than you should have been?

I have.

Have you ever thought you were smarter/funnier/more attractive than everyone else in the room?

I have.

Have you ever thought you weren’t as smart/funny/attractive as anyone else in the room?

I have.

Have you ever reacted more sarcastically than you should have?

I have.

Have you ever wished you reacted more sarcastically than you did?

I have.

Have you ever deluded yourself?

I have.

Finally, have you ever faced yourself realistically.

My guess is YOU HAVE.

Isn’t that the beauty of being FOF?

“I think the difference is striking. Primarily around your mouth. Thank you SO MUCH for doing this.” –LPC

“You look absolutely wonderful! I agree with LPC; thanks for sharing with us! That’s such a FOF thing to do, no?”–Maureen

Yes, Maureen, yes!!!!!  I had such fun blogging about my “natural lift” experience during the last six days, I didn’t want it to end.

Sharing a story with Shirley Wexner (center), from Joseph in Memphis, and Babbie Lovett

Do you suppose we were all born with a sharing gene that emerged when we turned FOF? That’s why I love reading your and LPC’s blogs so much.  And maybe why so many of us created blogs in the first place. AND why we’re so entrepreneurial.

Our sharing genes seem to be running wild on faboverfifty.com right now.  Many thousands of women have visited in the last 30 hours.  What’s even better, lots of them are staying to register and to share at least one thing…their fave perfume, a book or a bit of wisdom.

We’re 51 million strong. Move over, facebook.  You’re  kid stuff.

I cringe when I think of all the hours I used to spend (desperately) waiting for the phone to ring, thinking….

Am I getting the job?

Is he asking me out again?

Was the medical test negative?

Did she get my message?

Are they coming to the party?

Did they like my presentation?

Why didn’t he call me yet?

No more. When I want to talk to someone who is important to me, get the answer to a critical question or pursue an essential goal, I make the call, write the e-mail or press for a meeting.

And I don’t give up easily. It’s usually a chore getting someone’s attention in this crazy world. You’re generally not a priority unless you make yourself a priority. If I have to send a dozen e-mails to connect, I send a dozen e-mails.

And I try to do unto others as I would like them to do unto me.  I believe in returning calls, answering e-mails and respecting that most of us have something we want to sell to someone else.

I’m FOF. I don’t get flustered, frustrated, angry or sad if someone tells me to bug off, says no or won’t respond. That is, after the dozen e-mails.

I just move on.

So sad

I am incredibly sad because a dear friend e-mailed me to say her darling husband has an aggressive cancer. He is in his fifties.

I am sad because young adults can’t find jobs. There’s even competition for unpaid internships.

I am sad because we don’t have enough time to get together with our families as often as we’d like…or should.

I am sad because we pay homage to a world of untalented, unappealing people whom we’ve annointed celebrities.

I am sad because we elect more and more greedy, big mouth, know-it-all people to represent us in our government.

I am sad because it’s getting harder and harder to take it easy.

I am sad because our medical system is falling apart before our very eyes.

Happy!

I am happy to be alive.

I am happy to have a loyal, caring family and friends.

I am happy to have the intelligence to handle difficult situations, the perserverance and energy to keep striving and the health to stay around another day.

And I am happy to have a family of new friends across the country with whom to share passions, wisdom and all the things we love.

TO ALL MY FOF FRIENDS.  YOU MAKE ME INCREDIBLY HAPPY.

Note: Sad Photo

How cool is this: A FOF woman going to a jazz club at 11 pm in New York City with her really cool about-to-be-20- year old nephew.

That’s me. I’ve been learning about jazz from Max, who plays the sax and guitar and occasionally comes into the city from his university to hear groups he loves. How lucky am I to have a nephew who A.) isn’t completely embarrassed to be with me and B.) Is so passionate about jazz, not to mention all-things Chinese, that it rubs off on me whenever I’m with him.

I wanted to take Esperanza home with me

We were at the famous Village Vanguard last night, where I learned what an aulochrome is, was captivated by sensational Esperanza Spaulding, and listened to the titillating sounds of Joe Lovano’s “Us 5.”

The set ended too quickly  but I look forward to buying Esperanza’s solo album. We didn’t hear her sing yesterday, but Max assures me I’ll love it as much as I loved listening to her on the bass.

Max rarely misses a beat when it comes to knowing what his FOF aunt will like.

Life can be so jazzy, when you least expect it.

Evelyn (right) with Rebecca (center) and another friend (not Lynn) in a photo taken when Evelyn was 86!

I met two FOF women this weekend whom I absolutely adored. Evelyn is 87, looks and thinks twenty years younger, and exudes charm. Twice widowed, she gave up her interior design career when her second husband tired of her business phone calls and incessant worrying about clients. He wanted to travel with her. She’s sorry she listened. She doesn’t have him, or a career.

She’s active in fundraising, travels with her best friend, Rebecca,to places like India–where she has sat atop an elephant–and often attends lectures, the theatre and ballet.

Lynn, a former advertising copywriter with some of the most glamorous agencies during the 60s and 70s, is no nonsense and direct, kind of like I am. “How are you going to make money with your website?” she questioned, after I told her about FOF.

When I asked if she was divorced or her husband had died, she responded in an instant, “No, but he should have.”

The spirit and individualism of FOF women are remarkable and never stop exciting me.

Isn’t it a shame there’s usually someone in the crowd who’s guilty of at least one of the following:

She’s never pleased, no matter how much you do for her or how hard you work to make her happy?

She demands your attention, even if you are obviously preoccupied with 200 other things?

She steers the conversation to herself every single time?

She pooh-poohs everyone else’s ideas, but never has any of her own?

She hasn’t learned how to say thank you?

She doesn’t laugh?

She doesn’t laugh at herself?

She lacks empathy?

She can’t give sympathy?

She thinks that her fave restaurants/books/clothes/beauty secrets/ perfumes/are better than anybody else’s?

Are you ever that someone? I know I’ve been.  But now that I’m FOF, I recognize when one of these traits rears its ugly head.  And I make every effort to stop, right then and there.

Chileans comforting one another

I was awoken at around 3 a.m. last Saturday by a call from my nephew, Adam. “There was an earthquake in Chile,” he said frantically. His parents (my sister and brother in law) were in Santiago for the start of a month-long cruise around South America. They had arrived in Chile that day.

“It’s all over the Internet. It was an 8.8,” Adam said, panic in his 32-year-old voice.

I ran to look at the itinerary Shelley and Rusty had studiously left with me to find their hotel name and number. I also started perusing all the stories I could find about the location of the quake in relation to Santiago. Details were sketchy and their were no TV reports. Not a single one.

After fumbling around to determine the city and country codes, I dialed the hotel. The phone range incessantly. Adam remained on the other end, mumbling about tsunamis.  I kept reassuring him that everything was going to be fine.

“The power is obviously down,” I told Adam, “but I’ll keep trying.”  I called and called. Finally, a man answered.

“Is everything OK?” I asked.

“We just got the power back on,” he said.

I gave him my sister’s name and asked if he could ring their room.  Just as he repeated their names, the phone went dead.

Adam and I sent texts to each other for the next two hours, while we both kept up with half-baked news reports. When I heard on Fox that a 60-year old woman was killed, I morbidly thought it was Shelley. We had just celebrated her birthday. Our FOF minds work in mysterious ways.

I must have called the hotel 80 more times and continually reassured Adam that his father would call as soon as he could.

Finally, the call came. Rusty told his son they were fine and everyone at the small hotel (30 rooms) had banded together. “There was no panic,” he reported. “A loud, thunderous sound woke me, and the bed began to shake,” Shelley e-mailed. “I woke Rusty and he thought it was a major thunderstorm. I said it must be an earthquake (doesn’t every FOF sister just know what an earthquake feels like?) The horrendous loud noises, dogs barking in the street, lamps crashing to the floors, the bed moving, and car sirens blasting, were followed by an eerie silence for about a minute. The earthquake lasted about 90 seconds.”

Shelley also said her bed “hasn’t moved like that for the past 30 years.” Isn’t it just like a FOF woman to pick herself up, dust herself off and find the humor, even when the earth is moving beneath her?

When I click through my emails and see random invitations from former colleagues to reconnect through Linked In and what seems like trillions of other social and business networking sites, I feel A.) Guity when I ignore them or B.) Ridiculous when I accept them and subsequently ignore the people who sent them.

He's quite the social butterfly

Somehow, I’ve managed to get through almost 63 years and network my own way–in person and on the phone. I think of networking as far more than clicking an accept button on a computer.

Sure, it’s nice to see a name from the past belonging to someone you really adored, like Mitch. We worked together as young reporters 30 years ago and we’d stay late most every night, critiquing each other’s copy.

Mitch and I lost touch (life has a way of getting in the way), but I’ve thought of him over the years and accepted his Linked In invitation right away. After a flurry of e-mails back and forth, I realized I don’t have time right now to fit Mitch back into my life, as much as that would probably be a wonderful experience.

What I had with Mitch will stay with me forever. Those late-night sessions had a far greater impact than any e-mail exchange could ever have.

Maybe Mitch and I will see one another some day, perhaps when i don’t have to spend time opening e-mail invitations.

I love you Mitch, but FOF women still prefer to network the old-fashioned way, face to face.

Let’s say your children had lots of money and you needed or wanted some of it for one of the following: 1.) To make ends meet 2.) To take an around- the- world cruise you’ve always dreamed of taking 3.) To help you put the down payment on a new car.

Would you ask them to help?

My answer: A resounding yes, in all three cases.

I would not be self-conscious if I needed to/wanted to ask for my children’s help (provided I wasn’t being foolish or unreasonable.) I am financially generous to my children and I would hope they’d be the same to me. Money is just money. If my kids had enough of it, and it wouldn’t cramp their lifestyles to give a little to me–no matter the reason–I’d ask.

What’s the worst thing that could happen?

They wouldn’t give it to me.

I offered to help out my dad many years ago when he was struggling.  I knew he was too proud to ask. It saddens me and my sisters that he died before we started making respectable livings. We’d be spoiling him rotten today.

FOF women don’t look at money the same way our folks did.

An exploding bomb killed 11-year-old Denise McNair on a Sunday morning in 1963, when she was 11.  The young girl was about to enter an assembly for the closing sermon at the Sixteenth Street (African-American) Baptist Church in Birmingham, AL, with a group of kids. Three other little girls lost their lives, too.

It was the civil-rights era and the Ku Klux Klan wasn’t interested in efforts to stop segregation. The church had been a rallying point for the civil-rights movement.

Denise would be 58 today, a handful of years younger than I. Instead, her life was sacrificed, opening the door for many FOF women of the future to do things that women before them could only imagine.

I wish you were one of us, Denise. I saw your wonderful mom and dad interviewed on a TV special last night about “boomers.” They miss you. Know you are in all our hearts and souls.

FOF women know that many of the men in our lives–our husbands, brothers, partners, male friends our age–just don’t get it when it comes to sharing passions and disappointments. You’ll hardly ever catch a man commiserating with a male friend about a bad haircut, exuberant about a new cologne or discussing the dynamics of their friendship.

But what about our sons? Are we having a greater psychological influence on them than our mothers had on our brothers?

Maybe not greater, but different.

Our sons are more accepting of their wives who want to work.

Our sons are less threatened by wives who earn more than they do.

Our sons have lots of female friends.

Our sons aren’t afraid people will “talk” if they go out with another man to a movie or dinner.

Our sons aren’t reticient to give us a hug or a kiss on the cheek.

Our sons actually think we’re fairly intelligent and they might even learn something from us.

Our sons treat their sisters as equals.

Our sons enjoy taking a vacation with us.

Our sons are pleased to call us  friends.

Our sons even know how a washing machine and stove work—and might give them a try once in a while.

We did a mighty fine job, my FOF friends. We sure did.

I hope our sons agree.

I had a beatnik-themed party when I for my 13th birthday, in 1960. I vaguely remembered playing spin-the-bottle. I had an intense crush on Neil Maltz, who was about 5 inches shorter and 20 pounds slighter than I. I don’t remember the outfit I concocted.

My sweet sixteen party was at a Manhattan restaurant called La Fonda Del Sol, in what was then the Time Life Building. I can still taste the rich, luscious Mexican chocolate candy cake. We gave maracas to all my girlfriends. I wore a pale aqua chiffon dress. It was a Sunday afternoon. My uncle took pictures, but it turned out his camera wasn’t working, so all we got was one fairly dark photo.

My best friend, Lois, threw me a surprise party for my thirtieth birthday. It wasn’t really a surprise, but I made believe it was. I remember throwing up in her bathroom for hours because I drank too much. I also remember my father being there. That’s about it.

I gave myself a party for my fiftieth and only invited fun people, whether I knew them a week or decades. Edgar, my boyfriend 14 years my senior, came up from Florida, where he was retired. I had been with him 9 years at that point, but he still felt threatened if I paid attention to anyone but him. He turned out to be a Class A Creep, but the party was great.

I turn 63 tomorrow.  Lois (the same Lois from 33 years ago) and her husband, Eliot, are taking David and me to dinner. Birthday parties don’t hold the same fascination to me.

David found the perfect card for me!

I don’t care much about presents either.

My children, sisters, nephews, David and Douglas, brothers-in-law, friends, health–and, of course, dog Rigby and cat Remy–are all the presents I need.

P.S. My friend Jane turns 63 tomorrow, too. Happy birthday Jane.

Anyone who follows this blog knows I had a little “work” done on my face less than two months ago. Although my looks aren’t dramatically different, I think I look fresher and somewhat younger.

I'm too old for Woody, no matter how old I look

I’ve noticed something slightly disturbing as a result: I’m getting more attention from men on the street. I don’t mean they’re falling all over themselves to get my phone number (oops, I mean e-mail). But they are smiling more, making small talk and glancing my way.

Why does this bother me? Because it confirms and emphasizes how superficial and ridiculous men can be.

I didn’t have the face work to attract men. I have a man. I wanted my outer coating to more closely mirror my inner core. I am not a shread bit different.

I  am sixty three today, gentlemen. Don’t let my face fool you for one minute.

Imagine a group of 15 and 16-year-old Haitian boys who lost both their parents and brothers or sisters in the devastating earthquake. They’re left to their own resources to find food and shelter. Organizations are trying to locate family members who may be living in the countryside, but many of the boys have no one. They’re also told they’re too old to be taken in by local orphanages.

They band together to protect one another. They’re excited about starting school again, so they can make something of themselves, one of them says.

I heard about these boys on National Public Radio this morning. It saddens me deeply to think about young men sleeping in makeshift tents and searching for food.  Could I invite one of them to live with me? He could finish high school and have the promise of a future.  He could teach me French, too.

When I bring the idea up with friends and family, they tell me to forget it. “It’s not possible.”  “You can’t do that,” they say.

“Send money,” one advised. “That will feed, clothe and shelter earthquake victims for a long time.”

No question about that. But all the money in the world can’t buy a mother’s love.

It is entirely possible to drive yourself crazy trying to determine which vitamins and supplements to take, what medical tests to have, and then to actually swallow the pills and plow through the tests.

We could spend days on end reading about the latest research and talking to doctors and nutritionists about it all.

Hundreds of websites advise, lecture and scare us, often filled with blatant contradictions, errors and stupidity. A great deal of the content on site after site appears to be rehashed, regurgitated and recast from other sites. Take it from me. I’ve been a journalist for over four decades. I may not be able to tell a real Kelly bag from a fake, but I know unoriginal content when I read it.

Knowledge may be power, but I feel absolutely powerless to make an informed decision as I make my way through so much unedited, unfiltered and unreliable information.

Do I take fish oil or chia seeds (any relation to Chia pets)? How much calcium? With iron or without it? Do I have a lung xray or a lung CT scan?

I am going to sound like an ad now, but FOF will never present anything but clear, original, concise and expert content on critical subjects such as our health.  We’re working closely with brilliant, dedicated docs from The Cleveland Clinic and elsewhere to give you information you can trust every single time.

Check out some of their advice now.

photo by Megan Norman

How beautiful is this young woman?  Her name is Elizabeth Dehn, aka Bets, and she writes a blog called beautybets.com.

I introduce Elizabeth to you because A.) Her blog is definitely worth visiting. “It’s written “for all of us who aren’t 22,” Elizabeth said, and B.) Her post today featured my five fab fave beauty products and moi! Take a look.

“I’m not over 50 but I really appreciate what you’re doing on your website,” Elizabeth told me. How I adore a thirtysomething who appreciates FOF women!  Thanks Elizabeth.

Speaking of appreciating, we are thrilled that new FOF members are signing up every day and posting their Fab Faves in categories from restaurants to secret places, books to moisturizers.

If you haven’t visited the site yet, please join in.  We can’t wait to welcome you.

“Money doesn’t change men, it merely unmasks them. If a man is naturally selfish or arrogant or greedy, the money brings that out, that’s all.”  –Henry Ford

New York City’s Mayor, Michael Bloomberg, is rich. Quite rich. Multi-billionaire rich. I don’t know him personally (although someone tried to fix me up with him years ago), but he exudes cockiness every time he’s on TV or in the press. He even succeeded in overturning a law preventing him from running for a third term. Then he spent like a madman on advertising to win the election. He didn’t win by much, but he won.

Michael Bloomberg acts like he’s smarter than everyone else.  In fact, he may be smarter than many of us, but he’d have more appeal if he exhibited some modesty. (I previously used the word diffident, but Duchesse told me I had the wrong word, so I changed it.)

Lots of money can have terrific power over us.

It can make us more popular. It doesn’t give us real friends.

It can buy us closets of clothes and drawers of jewelry.  It doesn’t give us style.

It can give us access to top doctors and talented lawyers.  It doesn’t give us health or ethics.

It can take us on exotic trips.  It doesn’t make us cultured.

It can do a world of nice things.  It doesn’t make us nice, and we know it doesn’t make us happy.

I know a FOF woman who is married to one of the richest men in the United States.  She doesn’t have a haughty bone in her body. She radiates style, charm and intelligence.  She’s had a tough life in many respects. All the money in the world couldn’t change that.

I admire her perspective.

Journalist Marilyn Berger and her husband, Don Hewitt, who created 60 minutes

Longtime TV and newspaper journalist, Marilyn Berger, recently lost her husband, Don Hewitt, (creator of 60 Minutes) and she became a first-time mother at FOF.

Traveling in Ethopia with the humanitarian doctor whose biography she was writing, Marilyn saw “a small and very beautiful, young boy with a seriously deformed back.” She arranged for the doc, Rick Hodes,  to examine the child. After the exam, he turned to Marilyn and said: “You just saved a life.” The boy had a life-threatening illness.

“Well, you know what that means?” Marilyn thought. “You save a life. You’re responsible for it.” Rick arranged for the boy to have a complicated surgery, and Marilyn suggested it be performed in NY so the child could learn some English while he recuperated.

“My husband was very ill when he met the boy, but together, we decided we could never let him go,” Marilyn recounted. “As a result, he is still with me, going to school in NY, and I hope to see him through college.

“This is not a sacrific on my part. He has brought enormous joy into my life. The only sacrifice for me is getting up in the morning to get him to school,” Marilyn joked.

What a lucky little guy. What a lucky Marilyn.

Note: Marilyn told her story when she accepted a Women of Distinction Award at a luncheon I attended for the New York Chapter of The Arthritis Foundation.

Marilyn’s book, This Is a Soul (Harper Collins), is coming out in mid April. It sounds like a must read.

Judith McGee is a lucky woman. Her husband, Chuck, “wakes up happy every single day,” she told me. “He deliberately greets the world like it’s the greatest day to get going one more time. Even when I’m not there, that morning call with him is uplifting. That affects how I cope with the world,” says Judith, a successful FOF financial advisor and all-around great woman in Portland, OR.

Smiling and happiness are contagious. Grouchiness, discontent, kvetching, sighing and complaining are irritating. Some people have scowls etched into their faces. I wonder if they looked sour when they were kids.

I know a man who never says “I feel great.” He’s always tired or draggy or focusing on a pain here, an ache there.

It might be a good idea for grouches and malcontents to stop and smell the roses.

They really do smell quite lovely.

A smattering of intriguing, irritating, entertaining or mystifying events, products, places and people.

I don't know about you, but I would look stunning in this

Elaborately produced fashion shows in New York, Paris and other fashion capitals where designers parade their new collections before store buyers and editors. We’ll never see 98 percent (I’m guessing) of the clothes in the stores and the 2 percent we do see can only be worn by .01 percent of “real” women (who are between 12 and 21 and weigh 99.6 pounds

Sally "I charge $700 for a haircut" Hershberger

A New York hair stylist who charges about $800 for a hair cut (do I have to tip her, too?)

Prescription medication for osteoporosis that costs $65 for a single pill, and that’s with insurance

I don't get it

The Luge and Curling

When she slimmed down, I wonder if her IQ went up

Incessant media coverage of people such as Jennifer Aniston, OctoMom and Jessica Simpson….plus about 275 other utterly un-fascinating people

I keep thinking her name is backwards

Miley Cyrus being named one of the 100 Most Influential People by a magazine that no longer has influence

Shoes with 6-inch heels

I hope Katie Holmes didn't buy these

Shoes with 6-inch heels that cost $1,100

Full-page ads in newspapers and magazines for products that non-magazine and newspaper readers are buying

The still-barren site where The World Trade Center once stood

Yum, a juicy tofu I can sink my teeth into

Tofu that’s supposed to taste like anything but tofu

Surgeons who insist a major operation will improve the quality of life of a 90-year-old patient

Parents who don’t talk to their children

Children who don’t talk to their parents

Brother, am I mad at you!

Brothers and sisters who don’t talk to each other

The mad proliferation of beauty lotions and creams

B.A., and we don't mean the college degree

Brilliant teachers and scientists who live in anonymity, while perverted politicians become famous

Good actors who star in dumb movies

People who can afford to, but choose not to, have health insurance.

FOF women have so many opinions, don’t we?

“One travels more usefully when alone, because he reflects more.”– Thomas Jefferson

When I used to travel around the country for my job, and I didn’t have a dinner engagement, I enjoyed eating out alone. I’d find a cool restaurant, take a book and away I’d go. If the place had a counter at the bar, I’d sit there to dine.

It’s not always comfortable doing things alone that people traditionally do in couples. The movies? Vacations? Museums? Do it a couple of times and your comfort level will rise, I swear.

Solo-ness has its plusses: You don’t have to talk, wait for anyone or agree on plans.

I’ve often thought of picking up and flying to Paris alone for a few days. One day I’d randomly walk wherever my legs took me, stopping here and there for delectable little snacks and window shopping to my heart’s content.  The second day I’d go to the train station, look up at the departure board and take a train to a town about two hours away. It wouldn’t have to be a well-known destination. It would be a mystery.The last day I’d hire an erudite guide to take me on a private tour of The Louvre.

Spending time with myself makes me think about things that might not otherwise occur to me and to spend some time focused solely on the world around me.

I couldn’t survive without all the wonderful people in my life, but life as a FOF woman can be wonderful when you take yourself to another place…literally and figuratively.

Rigby (our Norfolk terrier) and I were watching the cute little white mice that Petco sells as pets. Rigby would like to figure out a way to break through the glass to get to them.

I watch them running in circles on their itsy bitsy hamster wheels and I think how content they seem. When they’re not running around the wheels, they generally do a lot of hanging around and relaxing.

I’d have made a bad mouse. I don’t like feeling caged up or running around in circles. And I’m not a big fan of “milling around” (my son’s term). I learned in grade school that the shortest distance between two points is a straight line, so I always try to take a direct route when I want to accomplish something within a specific time frame.

I don’t give people the runaround and I don’t like dealing with people who give me the runaround. I’m not good at stalling, procrastinating or missing deadlines. I love to accomplish things, finish projects, and move on. (I do, however, like to take breaks, even when I’m in the accomplish mode.)

Should you now think I’m a pain in the neck, please note that I said I try to take a direct route when I want to accomplish something within a particular time, such as planning a surprise birthday party, selling a client, finding the right doctor to treat an illness or launching FOF.

On the other hand, I love taking the circuitous Pacific Coast Highway to get from LA to San Francisco, spending hours on end talking to close friends about every subject under the rainbow and roaming up and down Madison Avenue on a gorgeous Saturday.

I love to laugh, too.  I can be no-nonsense and nonsensical all in the same day, sometimes even in the same hour.  Isn’t it great being FOF?

Then: When I went to Syracuse University I became so homesick I could barely function.

I called my father collect from every pay phone I passed. I think his phone bills were $100 a month–in 1964. Dad typed out letter and letter—single-spaced on a manual typewriter—trying to make me feel better.

Now: Homesick freshmen can constantly feel connected to their friends and family.

Then: I insisted on sitting by the phone waiting for a call from a boy I liked instead of going out to a movie with friends.

Now: Lovesick young women can go out with their friends and hear from a guy at the same time.

Then: When I traveled out of town on business I’d have to pull off the road to check in with the office for my messages.

Now: Your office is wherever you are.

Then: When my teenage son still wasn’t home at 3 a.m. I became increasingly more worried as the minutes passed without a word from him.

Now: Mothers manage to track down their sons, even if their sons are trying to avoid them.

Then: When I answered the phone I took the chance of hearing from someone I wanted to avoid

Now: We can avoid whomever we want to avoid.

Then or now?

Now HERE was an expert

Everyone is an expert today.  Turn on MSNBC and some kid barely out of college is a guest expounding on politics or some other weighty subject.

Google any topic and find experts advising us all over the place on how to feed our bodies, grow our gardens, dress our kids, decorate our homes, take our vacations and vote for our Congressmen. We’ve got life coaches, small business coaches and executive coaches.

I’m wondering where all these experts around me came from and what makes them experts. Did they study long and hard with the masters in their fields? Did they have great experiences over decades? Are they self-taught?

We’re definitely inundated with know it alls. Back in the day, experts didn’t grow on trees. Let’s see, we had Walter Cronkite on international affairs, Grace Mirabella on fashion, Jack LaLanne on fitness, Mel Brooks on comedy and Julia Childs on cooking, for example. They were hardly the only experts in their fields, but they became our icons.

I don’t want to go back to the old way, but I know it’s impossible for so many of us to know quite so much.

Is nobody anybody? Or is everybody somebody?

I  have no memory what it’s like to take a real vacation. I’ve taken trips to lots of places–Paris, Rome, Venice, Amsterdam, Brussels, Istanbul, Tel Aviv, Rabat, Athens, Frankfort, LA, Seattle, Chicago, Pittsburgh, Turks & Caicos, and more–but vacations they were not. I took work with me wherever I went, called the office and clients, obsessed over sales quotas.

About five years ago, I paced the empty ballroom of a resort hotel as I sold my heart out to a potential client. My husband relaxed in the sun. I got the account, but was it worth it?

The work could have waited. My company would surely still be there when I returned. My employees would have been thrilled to have me out of their hair, and my husband would have been happier if I had chilled with him.

I am now determined to take a true vacation by the end of this year. Here’s how I picture it: I will go somewhere and leave my Blackberry in the room. (Maybe I’ll work my up up to actually leaving it at home). I won’t take a bit of work and I won’t call the office. I will, however, check my messages once a day and respond only to the important e-mails.

I will leave a message on my e-mail saying I’m away and to contact me if time is of the essence.

We’ll see if I can do it. When I’m determined, I usually make it work. I stopped smoking 25 years ago and, since then, haven’t had one puff . I stopped drinking two years ago and, in 24 months, haven’t had a single drop of wine or vodka.

But I’m not so sure about this next FOF challenge. They don’t call it Crackberry for nothing.

Roy

Awesome nephew Max and I went to the Blue Note Jazz Club and Restaurant again last night for the 85th birthday celebration of drummer Roy Haynes. We were squeezed between two couples…FOF women and their husbands. The couple on my left held hands and the couple on my right was celebrating their 40th wedding anniversary. They told us they lived in Cranford, New Jersey.

Although the anniversary couple looked like an unlikely pair–he was a big, burly guy who probably plays a mean hand of poker, and she appeared prim and proper–they obviously have something serious going on after four decades together. I admire relationship longevity. They didn’t say much to each other, but they probably didn’t need to. The fact that they came into town to celebrate on the eve of their anniversary was enough. Then again, he might be sitting in front of the TV today, watching March Madness, so he figured he’d better do something nice beforehand.

On another note (excuse the pun), here’s the thing about jazz that I love as a newcomer to the genre: band members have an electric synergy as they improvise. Orchestras are wonderful to hear in person; jazz bands are wonderful to hear and watch. Not only are they engrossed in their instruments and the sounds they’re creating; they’re engrossed in each other. It reminds me of sex when I was in my forties.

P.S. Jazz pianist Chick Corea, who has been playing with Roy Haynes since 1968, joined Roy’s birthday celebration last night. Max is a Chick fanatic. It’s easy to hear why.

Chick

One of my FOF friends was a saleswoman at Bergdorf Goodman. She was a great saleswoman. She was dismissed last year, along with many others, because Bergdorf’s sales were awful. I assume they’re still bad because the store is pretty empty whenever I stroll through.

Nevertheless, Bergdorf Goodman has never stopped buying full-page ads in The New York Times, the Sunday edition, no less. These ads cost beaucoup bucks, but have modest influence over customers since hardly anyone gets their news from newspapers anymore. So they’re surely not looking at the ads. And even if they’re looking, they’re not buying.

Bergdorf’s probably gets its vendors to pay for the ads anyway, since department stores notoriously love to spend their vendors’ money. Unfortunately, many of its suppliers aren’t doing too well, either; less well when they have to shell out for ads no one sees.

The store also produces a ridiculously expensive catalog that it mails a few times a year. Vendors pay to be in that, too. It’s pretty. It’s also a colossal waste of money and time.

Now you know why department store apparel is so expensive. It’s not necessarily because it’s well made.

It’s a sorry state of affairs all around. Wouldn’t it be cool if retail, fashion and newspaper executives all put their noggins together and figured out a really smart way to improve their businesses–and benefit their customers/readers at the same time?

I received an e-mail from my son, Colby, this morning that said: “When we used to argue about these two, did you ever think you’d see a pic like this?”  And here is the photo.

Open-arms policy

“Arguing” is a sugarcoated word for our interaction during the election.  I was a Hillary supporter; Colby was one of the legions of young adults who thought Obama was our nation’s savior.

I have no idea whether Hillary was distraught when she lost the nomination. But when I look at her face in this photo, I see a happy FOF woman congratulating her boss.  Her smile and her direct gaze at Obama seem to indicate pure joy at his health care victory. Her reaction is especially relevant because her own attempts at overhauling the system were mercilessly attacked 16 years ago.

Among the distinguishing characteristics of FOF women are our abilities to rise above adversity, to reinvent ourselves and to appreciate the success of others.

It doesn’t matter whether we’re on Hillary’s side politically, whether we think she should have divorced Bill, or whether we like her taste in fashion. What matters to me is that she is a FOF woman who does other women proud because of her accomplishments, her spirit and her passion.

I admire women who tirelessly devote themselves to important causes. I often wonder what connected them to the cause. Are they passionate about breast cancer because they’ve survived the disease or because it took the life of someone they love? Are they dedicated to the environment because they truly fear for the future of the planet?

I am not one of these women. I worry about global warming and breast cancer, but I am not an avid recycler or fundraiser for the Susan B. Komen Foundation.

I give of myself in other ways. I met a woman who had spent 16 years in prison and wanted to help her get assimilated back into society. I bought her clothes, made calls and wrote letters so she could move into a reasonably priced  apartment, and I mentored her about work.

My husband and I gave money to a young man in Turks & Caicos so he could buy a much-needed new van and continue being a taxi driver.

I’ve hired countless young people who needed to make money during the summer, even if they weren’t entirely qualified to do the jobs.

I’ve spent two years helping my aunt deal with advanced cancer.

I also donate to a variety of causes, but writing a check doesn’t take the same effort as giving in other ways.

But I guess it really doesn’t matter how we give, just as long as we give in the first place.

“I don’t know how I can do this for the rest of my life,” a twentysomething told me, talking about her pressure cooker job. She was bemoaning the fact that companies today have fewer employees, everyone does the work of two or sometimes three people, and it’s harder to rise to the top.

I told her I appreciate her dilemma. The job situation is harder in our current economy. When I was her age, it seemed like jobs grew on trees, especially if you were talented and had chutzpah.

But we were still stressed back in the day, even if jobs were plentiful.  The office politics, sleepless nights, 60-hour work weeks, employees (and bosses) who aggravated me, employees (and bosses) who I aggravated, endless hours at airports and on planes, incessant worrying about making quotas and how big our raises would be, not to mention whether we’d be promoted or dismissed.

Looking back, I don’t know how I got through it without a complete breakdown. But I wouldn’t have done it any differently.  Work has, and will remain, an integral part of my life, warts and all.

At FOF, though, I manage to work my way through the tough times a lot easier and relish the good ones a lot more.

She was born in China, grew up in San Francisco and is one of New York’s best-known anchorwomen. You will adore her, wherever you are.

She reveals how you can give your skin back the looks it richly deserves.

She’s got an eye on your money, so you’d better know just what’s on her mind.

She was one of Jackie O’s favorite dressers. She’s never lost an ounce of style in the last 45 years. Visit her fabulous shop.

She weaves gold into exquisite creations we want to own.

Why do I want to cruise on a floating pretend city?

If you haven’t heard about a new cruise ship called Oasis of the Seas, let me tell you a bit about it: it accommodates 6,296, has four pools, 21 restaurants, a spa where Botox injections are available and an atrium called Central Park with 12,000 trees and shrubs.

Frankly, I’d rather spend my vacation on the New York subway. At least I can get off.

Gigantic ships don’t excite me, nor do gigantic hotels, offices, cars, restaurants, stores, apartment buildings, food portions, menu selections, airplanes, parties, awards dinners, committees, and heels on shoes. I’m not even nuts about gigantic diamonds.

Why would anyone want to be on a ship with so many people that restaurant reservations are required? (I read that many of the restaurants are booked up before the ship even sails.) Or wear shoes with heels so high they wobble with every step?

I also don’t get the point of a gigantic house or apartment, unless a gigantic family is living there. I know people who only use their living room as a path to their dens. How many rooms can one or two people live in at once, anyway?

I like charming, intimate, accessible, comfortable and manageable.

Big is sometimes better, such as big hearts, ideas or goals. What I’m talking about is excess, which is, um…excessive.

Quinton Aaron and Sandra Bullock in "The Blind Side"

I have been thinking about gratitude ever since last night, when I saw “The Blind Side,” the movie about a wealthy woman who gives a poor young boy a new life and opportunity.

How would you feel if you received a handwritten letter from someone thanking you for the positive impact you had on his or her life?

I’d feel pretty darn good.

We all need to hear that we’re appreciated and to show others our gratitude. Unfortunately, we don’t hear it or give it enough in this insanely busy world.

Enter three “curly haired, cool chicks,”* as they call themselves, with a way to make it easier for us to give the gift of thanks. Their project is called The 180° Letters, a packet of six pieces of stationery, three envelopes, three questionnaires, three enclosure cards and three seals.

“This kit is for people who open up all the time, people who have a hard time saying what they feel and even the people who have never truly shown what is in their heart. It’s for all of us. Everyone wins!” proclaims the website, www.the180letters.com.

The questionnaire includes suggestions on how to organize your thoughts and write your letters.

The packet can be ordered for $11 on the website, with 10 percent of the profits going to foundations for children.

It would be a great way to teach children the importance of gratitude and to help send it around the world “three letters at a time.”

*they must wish to remain anonymous because they never reveal their names on their website.

“The more ways you define yourself, the better off you are,” I heard journalist and author, Malcolm Gladwell, say last night on a spectacular PBS show called Faces of America with Harvard scholar Henry Louis Gates, Jr.

If someone asked you to define yourself, what would you say?

Do you look at yourself first as a mother or as an artist, business woman or lawyer? Do you think of yourself most as a daughter and sister or as a wife and girlfriend? Or maybe you’d answer that you’re a traveler or an adventurer…a philanthropist or a mentor…a caregiver or a fundraiser?

Like rare diamonds, FOF women are multi-faced and shine from many directions. None of us could possibly explain our essence with one phrase. There’s no law that says we must.

Malcolm Gladwell would think we’re definitely well off. He’s right.

Anita was one of my best friends in junior high and high school. She was brilliant in math and a generous person. Unfortunately, she also had a terrible acne condition and was overweight.  I say unfortunately because the cool kids would make fun of her, which was crummy.  I don’t know if she ever knew.  I hope not.

Even nice kids can be mean occasionally. Maybe some teenagers are so insecure they have to poke fun at others to feel better about themselves.  I’m sure there are hundreds of books on the subject. The TV show Gossip Girl isn’t popular by accident.

A 15-year-old high school freshman in Massachusetts hung herself in January after repeated bullying by classmates. The prosecutor brought charges yesterday against nine teenagers, saying their taunting and physical threats were beyond the pale.

Where were the parents and the school administration?

Grownups can be bullies, too. Maybe a better word is abusive. Model Naomi Campbell flew into a rage when she couldn’t find a pair of jeans and tossed a cell phone at her maid.  Linda Stein, New York real estate honcho, bullied her assistant, who killed her.

Bosses can be bullies.  Friends can be bullies (Did you ever watch Housewives of New York?) Parents can be bullies. I’ve been bullied and I’m embarrassed to admit I’ve probably bullied a few people myself.

There’s never an excuse for conduct this unbecoming.

I miss my mother, May. She died 15 months ago, at almost 87. Funny thing is, we hadn’t had a warm, cuddly relationship for most of our lives. I was born nine months after my dad returned home from World War II. Mom hadn’t seen him for three years, so I don’t know why she was so anxious to bring another person into the picture, especially because she wasn’t especially motherly.

Mom was always proud of the fact that I was toilet trained at 10 months (I don’t think she’d have had it any other way. She didn’t have much tolerance for those who didn’t do things according to her expectations or rules.)

Mom once told me that if my father, my two sisters and I were all drowning, she’d save my dad first. I know she didn’t say it to upset me. It’s just the way she felt. Dad was her sun, moon, stars, heaven and earth.

A wonderful therapist helped me learn to accept mom, which was a great relief to me. As the years went on, I developed affection for her. Maybe even love.

Mom raised three wonderful daughters, so she obviously did something right. She had many friends and interests. She never complained, even when she had a stent put in her heart. She was over 80 at the time.

She didn’t expect me and my sisters to keep her entertained as she got older. She fell during the night in December 2008 and we found her the next morning on the floor near her bed, disoriented but with a blanket over her.

She had broken her hip and had surgery the next day. Two weeks later, she was dead.

Although I now know surgery was probably not the smartest choice for an 87-year-old, mom was mentally deteriorating and would never have been the same person, even without surgery.

That would not have sat well with her. With me, either. Besides, I know she was excited about being with dad again. She hadn’t seen him in over two decades. That was long enough.

When your three-month old baby is crying, you try to figure out why. Is she wet? Does she have an ear ache? Is she tired? Have a temperature? You try to make her as comfy as possible, and pray she’ll stop.

When your three-year-old  toddler is crying or seems sad, you ask her what’s wrong? She may or may not tell you. If she doesn’t seem sick, you ask a zillion questions and try to figure out what else could be wrong so you can make her feel better.

When your thirteen-year-old is sad or unhappy, it’s probably because she’s thirteen. You still try to talk to her and find out what’s wrong so you can try to “fix” it.

When your thirty-year-old daughter is unhappy, it may be because she had a bad day at work, a fight with her husband or is worried about her three-year-old.  Or the reason may be a lot more complicated. If you know she has deep-rooted problems, you want to help, just like you did when she was three months, three years or thirteen. You probably even know how to guide her.

But you probably can’t help like you used to because she won’t let you. She needs to figure it all out herself. It’s just the cycle of life.

Chances are, she’ll turn out to be FOF, just like you. Because of you, too.

Nick and Nora Charles didn't need any love potions

FOF friend Deborah told me about a husband and wife who have a sensual little nightly ritual. They take turns hiding a small Buddha-like statue in their bedroom. The purpose isn’t to make it hard to find, but to establish a symbolic connection between them. I love it.

When I heard the story, I started thinking about other ways to keep intimacy alive, even though we’re so busy with our lives:

1.   Kissing every night before bed, no matter how you feel.

2.   Calling unexpectedly to say, “I’m thinking of you and love you.”3.   Suggesting you drop everything to get away for two days.

4.   Inviting your partner to have sex, even if you’re a.)exhausted b.) have no desire c.) had sex a week ago.

5.   Telling each other what made you happy/sad during the day.

6.   Putting aside 15 minutes to spend together every (or most every)morning–over coffee, tea, yogurt–no matter how much you have on your schedule for the day ahead.

7.    Stopping to actually look into each other’s eyes at least once a day, even if for only a 5 seconds.

8.   Finding something funny to share every day. Laughing with someone you love is sexy.

9.    Wearing something a tad sexier than flannels PJs.

Any ideas?

* 1959 song, The Clovers

What is more amazing than greeting another day?

On this eve that signifies rebirth for many of my FOF friends, I wanted to tell you about two vows I’ve made during the last few years:

Vow #1

I’m not  waiting for a doc to tell me I’m dying to appreciate every breath I take.

Vow #2

If I do learn I’m dying, I have no intention of going through the process without grace, dignity and humor. I wouldn’t be happy, but I don’t think I’d accomplish much by feeling sorry for myself.

An elderly woman I know has been pitying herself ever since she was diagnosed with cancer over two years ago. She’s wasted a great deal of time dying–not living.

I also knew a 17-year-old girl who was diagnosed with cancer when she was 13. She spent the last four years of her life living–not dying.

Life is chock full of irony. Happy Easter.

It’s thrilling to watch teams win which everyone dismissed before the competition even began. That’s what happened yesterday when the Butler College basketball team beat Michigan State to became a finalist in the NCAA Championships (NCAA stands for National Collegiate Athletic Association for my FOF friends who don’t know. The ONLY reason I do is because my son is a sports enthusiast).

How cute is Brad Stevens, even when he's determined to win!!!

Butler is a small school (4,000 students) right outside of Indianapolis, Indiana, and its 33-year-old coach, Brad Stevens, is the youngest to lead a college team into the finals. The little-known school is now known and its victory will help its basketball recruiting efforts.

I am excited when underdogs win because it proves everyone can win.  Anyone who works hard and has talent deserves to win, or at least to have her day in the sun. Butler plays Duke in the finals on Monday.  Duke is the heavy favorite.

But why do we often wait for individuals and teams to win championships, awards and contests–or become rich and powerful– before we fall in love with them?

The greatest thing about the internet is its ability to give voice to talented people who aren’t competing for Academy Awards, Basketball Championships or even elections. At the end of the day, these are pretty arbitrary anyway.

But I imagine that without competition we’d probably be less competitive. And that wouldn’t be too good, either.

Which of the following doesn’t belong?

1.         Defense Attorney

2.         Defensive Guard

3.         Health Defense System

4.         Defense Department

5.         Defense Mechanism

6.         Defensive Driving

As far as I’m concerned, the correct answer is 5. While everything else protects us one way or another (against crazy drivers or a flu epidemic, for instance), the ways we protect ourselves when we’re anxious can hurt, more than help.

Anna Freud, Sigmund’s daughter, defined ten ways we become defensive, including rationalization (you’re anxious that you may loss your job so you rationalize that your boss doesn’t know what he’s doing), rejection (you tell your sister she’s wrong when she advises you to be less emotional), and reaction formulation (you act completely opposite from the way you feel e.g. you detest a new colleague and you act like you love him).

If we didn’t have defense mechanisms, we might go crazy, as in kill our new boss or be haunted by self-doubt. But we can’t let our defense mechanisms subconsciously take over and prevent us from dealing with a problem.  A woman I know refuses to understand that she’s overly critical of her daughters, and they are starting to avoid her.

I work hard to sense when my defense mechanisms are rising to the surface. I try to stop myself by saying: “I am overreacting and not being realistic. I will not die if I act calmly when someone questions something I’m doing. I don’t have to keep debating if my friend doesn’t see my point of view.

One of the beauties of being FOF is letting your defenses down.

*Song from “Annie Get Your Gun”

If I were filthy rich, I’d buy a new piece of jewelry every week. I love the stuff and don’t know many women who wouldn’t agree. It’s so much fun, no matter what it costs.

I wear the same four (or five) bracelets on my right wrist every day and get compliments on them all the time. I guess you’d call them my signature pieces.

I collected old charms over many years for a necklace I wore constantly. Eventually, I tired of it. Now I’m not loyal to any one necklace.

My inexpensive rings consistently get more praise than the costlier rings.

The Chanel necklace from the eighties and my "signature" bracelets

I don’t care about big diamonds, emeralds, sapphires or rubies. Really big diamonds look cheesy to me. I prefer funkier, less traditional looks.

Pins aren’t my style, although I keep thinking they will be someday. I look silly in most earrings but I keep buying them.

I don’t buy or wear jewelry to impress anyone, although I think my Hermes watch makes an impression, anyway.

Most every piece I own has a story behind it, from the ancient wax filled gold necklace from the Far East to the Chanel watch my aunt gave me when she got sick.

My daughter never cared about jewelry until a few years ago, when she appropriated the stacking rings I collected.

Three women have offered to buy my Chanel necklace from the eighties.

There’s jewelry for every one of our FOF personalities and styles.  That’s a lot of jewelry.

P.S. My latest acquisition is this 18k rose gold necklace with diamond eyed bat charm. It’s designed by  Jack Vartanian. My FOF friend, Cathy Paul, said it’s perfect for me because I’m batty. LOL.

I love laughing and I love people who laugh. I’m not partial to one style of humor. George Carlin made me laugh. So do Tracy Ullman, Mel Brooks, Steve Carell, Martin Short, Alec Baldwin and Charlie Sheen (although I’m guessing he’s not too funny in real life.) I think The Golden Girls is hysterical and so is Curb Your Enthusiasm.

Bill Cosby used to make me laugh. Now he takes himself entirely too seriously, which I find tedious, arrogant and uninteresting. Donald Trump also takes himself quite seriously, but I think he’s a clown. Dr. Phil, Martha Stewart, Tyra Banks, Jack Welch, Larry King and Brian Williams seem humorless.

They’re not comedians, and they don’t need to make me laugh,  but I can’t imagine any one of them yukking it up or making fun of themselves. I think they’re all a little bit too self involved.

Hopefully, they laugh on the way to the bank.

I couldn’t believe my eyes when I spotted the following heading in Zagat for a group of New York City retaurants:

Senior Appeal

Tim & Nina Zagat in an airline club. Does it have "Senior Appeal?"

What in God’s name are they talking about? Is the food pureed for people with loose dentures? Is the menu type in 30 point bold for people with fading eyesight? Do the  waiters use megaphones in case someone is hard of hearing? Are there cane holders at every table and parking spaces for wheelchairs.

I have never understood the appeal of Zagat. Its “reviews” are poorly written and just plain inaccurate. It was a brilliant concept. Now it needs to be permanently retired.

That will give the Zagats plenty of time to eat at those restaurants with “Senior Appeal.”

When I meet new people, I enjoy learning about them. I am a major league question asker, in part because I have been a journalist for four decades, and in part because I dislike small talk. Everyone has a story and usually likes to tell it.

It’s always stimulating to discuss and debate about politics, business and world events, but people’s personal stories have great dimension, texture and soul.  No matter how many of us there are in the world, we share more than meets the eye. Our differences also expand each of our horizons.

I can meet people anywhere, including at the supermarket. That’s where I met Katherine last week. She was in the checkout  line in front of us and joked about my Blackberry addiction after she heard my husband firmly ask me to put the darn thing away. Turns out Katherine is a substance abuse counselor, which was pretty funny in light of my Blackberry usage.

We spoke last night and I learned that Katherine is in a theatre group, has two grown sons and loves restaurants with atmosphere. We made a date to have brunch a week from Sunday.

I’m sure I’ll ask Katherine lots more questions.

#1 Hubby Nicky Hilton

You’ve got to hand it to the grand dame of film. Elizabeth Taylor, 78, is getting married for the ninth time to a man 30 years her junior. We could spend weeks speculating why she’s marrying again or why he is interested in a woman old enough to be his mom. But it matters not. They’re getting hitched.

I remember feeling bad for Elizabeth when her producer husband, Mike Todd, was killed in a plane crash in 1958 after only a year of marriage. I was 11 and I felt sad for her because she seemed like she was deeply in love. He was her third husband.

Maybe she’s been searching for another Mike her whole life. He was handsome, strong, smart and adored her, from all I’ve read. Actor Richard Burton (who she married twice) had many of the same traits, as Todd, but he was a volatile man. Her husband Larrry, who was a construction worker, was an odd partner, and singer Eddie Fisher was probably silly putty in her hands. Virginia senator, John Warner, seemed like a long-term mate but that ended after five years. Maybe he bored her.

#8 Hubby To Be Jason Winters

Elizabeth is still beautiful and carries herself regally, even in a wheelchair. I saw her on Broadway in a revival of Lillian Hellman’s “The Little Foxes” in 1968, the night I became engaged. I’ve since gotten divorced, but Liz is eight husbands ahead of me.

Deborah and John Kerr in "Tea & Sympathy"

Like every emotion we have, empathy is complicated. We all show and receive it differently.

When I’m feeling physically lousy, I don’t want or expect anyone to tell me how sorry she feels for me. I don’t complain either, maybe because my mom and dad weren’t especially empathetic souls. No one is really going to make me feel better, anyway, except maybe a doctor.

Besides, can anyone else really feel our pain, figuratively, if not literally? I think not, except in extremely profound relationships, such as moms and their kids. So what does it matter, no matter how sorry they say they feel?

I guess most of us like to have a sympathetic ear or a few words when we’re under the weather, but doesn’t a visit, a gesture or a bowl of chicken soup mean much more.

My friend D, who recently had a round of operations and chemotherapy for breast cancer, told me her sisters weren’t overflowing with empathy. They three have great relationships with each other, but D didn’t expect more, she told me. “One sister would say, ‘It’ll be okay soon,’ and the other was on her cell phone in my hospital,” D laughed.

Sometimes it’s hard to know what to say or how to act when someone has a serious illness or is terribly upset about something else. Do you act like everything is normal? Do you try to joke around? Do you try to be a psychologist? Do you just listen?

I used to make my friends and relatives crazy when I was upset about a boyfriend or a problem at work.  I’d go round and round till I talked myself out. That didn’t work so well. I’d feel better for two minutes and then I’d start the process again.

Even if I don’t expect much empathy from anyone, I try to show it as often as possible when someone else needs it. I know I don’t always do it exactly right, but the beauty of being FOF is knowing you have another chance.  

My dad’s patience quotient was abysmal. If he was explaining geometry to me, and I didn’t get it right away, he became frustrated.  If he started searching for something he misplaced and couldn’t find it within 10 seconds, he’d get frustrated. If he was ready to leave the house, and we were all fussing about, yep, he became frustrated. I think he was frustrated about far weightier issues than these, but nevertheless, this was his pattern.

Unfortunately, I inherited the lack-of-patience gene. I was always in a perpetual race with myself and frustrated by other’s tardiness, dawdling or slow comprehension. I arrived at appointments early, without fail, and became upset when others were late. I finished my assignments before their deadlines and would feel disappointed when my editors didn’t get back to me pronto. If I didn’t hear from a potential client when he said he’d call, I’d call him. When I explained an idea to an employee, I expected her to understand it right away. If a problem arose, I couldn’t wait to solve it. I usually didn’t sacrifice quality for speed, but I did drive myself—and others—to drink, or at least, to distraction.

I’ve worked hard to change. Although I still want to solve problems quickly and prefer people to call when they say they will, I understand that patience can indeed be a virtue. It’s also a necessity to becoming a happier FOF woman.

Sometimes I’m even late for appointments .

* Benjamin Franklin

I have UE when I see little beauty, Edie Rose, in a sweater I made

Someone used the term “unbridled enthusiasm” during an interview about children’s music on NPR this morning. The image came to mind of the expression on a toddler’s face when she’s splashing in the pool, licking an ice cream cone or playing with a puppy.  But once we leave the age of innocence, does unbridled enthusiasm leave with it?

I’d like to think not. While I may not jump up and down as I may have done when I was three, my joy is pretty unbridled whenever I’m about to land in Paris, close an account I really wanted, or when one of my children is ultra happy.  I guess I also could say I have unbridled enthusiasm when I read a marvelous book, hear an orchestra play Beethoven’s Ninth live and look at jewelry, even if I’m not buying.

My enthusiasm was definitely unbridled the moments my children were born, when I was accepted into the national honor society in high school and when I won hundreds of dollars at Belmont Raceway.  Turning a Barbra Streisand song up real loud when I was alone, and singing along, also prompted some UE, as did being in love for the first time.

I am looking forward to more moments of UE but I’m going to keep them secret for now since I don’t want to count my proverbial chickens before they’re hatched.

* song from 1949 musical South Pacific

Guess which of these nine FOF women:

Speaks Italian and French, loves spy novels and champagne

Works as an engineer and adores Godiva chocolate martinis

Lives in North Carolina and is a published poet

Wears Valentino, has been married for 42 years and used Olay as long

Is a best-selling author of eight novels and a big fan of Madonna

Supports animal rights and cares deeply about the environment

Gives the best hugs ever and buys Gwen Stefani’s Lamb Label

Wants to build a shelter for a family who lost everything in Chile

Has 10,000 Twitter followers, lives in Western Australia and trains psychologists

Click on the photos to find out who’s who.

And tell every FOF what you’re up to! New business? Passion project? Something you discovered?  FOF will help you spread the word.

If you’re already a FOF member, your profile is now live in our new community section! Look up your username and make sure it’s just the way you want it.

If you’re not a member yet,  hurry and join.

“If you want to kill any idea in the world, get a committee working on it.”--Charles F. Kettering, American engineer who invented the electric starter

I’ve never enjoyed serving on committees. Most committee members seem to have a penchant for non-stop jabbering without ever accomplishing anything momentous.

Committees love to plan what they plan to do. If someone is forceful enough to take control and come up with a plan, there’s a good chance at least two other committee members will pooh-pooh it. Either that, or everyone just lets the strong man (or woman) take over, so they don’t have to think or work too much.

Once committee members come to a consensus, good ideas have usually been hopelessly diluted.

Committees (small groups) can be formed to make recommendations to larger groups. The US Senate and House of Representatives are divided into committees.  We always hear about the Senate Finance Committee and House Committee on Foreign Affairs, but did you know there are Committees on Intelligence, Aging, and Standards of Official Conduct?  Watching a government committee on TV is a painful experience.  Not as painful as labor, but painful. I shudder to think that some of these senators and representatives are making recommendations that affect our lives.

If you’re FOF, you know what happened with the Committee to Re-Elect (Richard M. Nixon) President. It was called CREEP…for good reason.

FOF. It’s all about sharing what makes us so fab.

FOF women are entrepreneurs. We’re starting all kinds of  businesses in unprecedented numbers.

FOF women are communicators. We’re writing blogs and books filled with beauty, wisdom, humor, clever ideas, and warmth.

FOF women are mentors. We love to share our experiences with generations of women who followed us.

FOF women are givers. When we get behind a cause, we mean business.

Tell us what you’re doing so we can help promote it to everyone on the great new FOF community section.

If you’re already a member of FOF, make sure your profile is complete.

If you’re not yet registered, hurry on over to FOF.

And don’t forget to add your URL to your profile–whether it’s for your business, a blog or a charity you love.

FOF women. We make things happen every single day.

Sacrifice still exists everywhere, and everywhere the elect of each generation suffers for the salvation of the rest.
Henri Frederic Amiel

I started thinking about the meaning of sacrifice as I was watching the first episode of the HBO series, The Pacific, about World War II. I wish the brave young men who gave up their lives for the freedom of the United States could know what they did.

I think about all those who sacrifice their worldly comforts to help others in third world countries and right here at home, including the Doctors Without Borders, the Peace Corps volunteers, and the loyal men and women of Habitat for Humanity.

I think about uneducated mothers and fathers who work long and hard so their sons and daughters can go to college…

about sisters who take care of their brothers when their moms die “prematurely”…

about friends who give up their kidneys…

about Tom Jefferson and the other Fathers of our country, without whom there would be no country…

about daughters who give up their careers to help their ailing mothers.

I also think about those who only think of themselves. Where would they be without their fellow men and women who think otherwise?

Something happened in the middle of last night that confirmed two important facts: I really am addicted to my Blackberry & it pays to be FOF.

I awoke to pee. Although it was 3 a.m., I instinctively grabbed my BB and was so tired that it dropped right out of my hand and into the toilet bowl the moment I entered the bathroom. (A message from God, perhaps?) I fished out the darn thing, removed the battery and turned on my hair dryer to help dry it out. Battery back in, the red light blinked on to indicate life, but alas, it blinked off after less than a minute.

I finally went back to sleep, but not after testing the BB 22 times more. If it still wasn’t working after my yoga lesson in the morning, I’d go to AT&T to get a new one.

Work it didn’t.

“It’ll cost $439 for a new one,” the young man at ATT&T told me. I was expecting the steep price, but I wasn’t expecting him to tell me I wouldn’t be able to retrieve all my contact info. Over 400 numbers were stored in it and, to make matters worse, I hadn’t backed up most of them on my desktop.

Here’s where the FOF part comes in.  I didn’t get upset for a second. When something like this happened years ago, I was beside myself. Today, I calmly returned home and starting entering numbers and emails. I didn’t use at least half the numbers I had stored, anyway.

My FOF pal, Lois, told me it’s likely my BB will come back to life once it’s completely dry.  Oh well, at least I’ll have a reserve.

Is it ever too late to be romantic?

I stared longingly at the enormous poster of a romantic young couple in the window of Banana Republic. They are wrapped in each other’s arms, their eyes are locked together and nothing else in the world seems to matter. Of course, they’re thin and sexy.

I’ve never been with a romantic man. Flowers, surprise trips to Paris, romantic dinners, holding hands in the street and breakfast in bed have not been integral parts of any of my relationships.

When Douglas got down on bended knee and proposed to me, I guess you could consider that to be romantic. When Edgar told me he loved me for the first time and gave me three pieces of jewelry that was romantic, too. And David did buy me flowers a few weeks after we met. But these were only gestures, perhaps not meaningless, but not indications of things to come.

Maybe the reason I’ve never connected with a romantic man is because I wasn’t interested. I don’t want to waste my FOF time analyzing why.

Passing the poster, however, gave me pause.

I am having such fun browsing through FOF profiles in our new community section. We are fantastic women, with exciting (and sometimes, unusual) careers, passions and an appreciation of life.

Laurel lives in Windyville, MO, and notes on her profile that she’s an expert in “dream interpretation, visualization, universal law, and spiritual disciplines like concentration and meditation.”

I wanted to Google the town since it has such a cute name. Some people think it’s a ghost town, one website said. More curious than ever, I sent Laurel a message asking about Windyville. She responded:

“Windyville is in Missouri, not far from Springfield.  It is the home of the School of Metaphysics World Headquarters and the College of Metaphysics, an intentional community for people dedicated to living metaphysical/spiritual principles.  We have a course of study taught in 15 Midwest cities, online study for people around the world, and weekend retreats in Windyville.  Maybe you’d like to attend one!  The school has three websites: http://www.som.org, http://www.dreamschool.org, and http://www.peacedome.org.

I am fascinated by this stuff, especially metaphysics, which deals with the connection between the physical world and our minds, bodies and spirits. The goal of metaphysical study is to help us understand the mysteries of life and develop peace of mind.

“Spending some time each day in silence and contemplation is nourishing and regenerating,” Laurel says in her profile. It’s something to consider, especially if you live in New York.

Check out Laurel’s profile (type Laurel in the search bar) and make sure your profile is up to date, too!

I used to think that I’d spend my whole life living in New York, where I was born. Now I’m not so sure.

I’ve always loved New York’s stimulating environment. I thought it suited my “Type A” personality. Now I realize New York helped create my “Type A” behavior. I’m not so sure I want to stay that way.

I’ve always loved how accessible everything is in New York. Now I realize my life wouldn’t end if the drug store, supermarket and dry cleaner were one mile away, instead of one block away.

I’ve always loved living and working with people who come from different backgrounds, cultures and temperaments. Now I realize that no matter where I am, I will find people like this.

I’ve always loved New York because it was the capital of the media world and communications is my profession. Now the capital of the media world is in my computer, wherever that may be.

Frank Sinatra sang: “If you can make it here, you can make it anywhere.” That may be true, but at FOF, “making it” is no longer a goal. I’d rather have a life that lets me smell the flowers. New York isn’t known for flowers.

I love selling, “asking for the order,” as they say in the business. I don’t even mind when someone challenges or rejects my sales pitch. That gives me the opportunity to change his or her mind. I enjoy fielding objections.

I learned long ago that top salespeople understand what their clients need and explain how their products or services can help fill these needs. In other words, how can you help someone achieve his or her goals?

When I’m selling I ask lots of questions about people’s businesses, including their objectives and their challenges. It’s easier to sell something when people think you care about what they’re doing.

Wishy-washiness doesn’t make for great salesmanship. I avoid making statements like, “I hope you’ll consider this,” or “Let me know your thoughts.” Better to be definitive and confidently tell the person you’re trying to sell that you can help him.

We’re all selling something, almost all the time, including ourselves. Don’t we want others to “buy” us, as friends and lovers, employees and employers, doctors and lawyers, and on and on?

“Sell yourself” and tell everyone what you’re working on in FOF’s new community section. If you don’t believe in yourself and tell the world just how great you are, who else will do it for you?

I’ve made more than my fair share of careless mistakes and I haven’t been happy about any of them. Careless errors are especially irritating because they can be avoided.

We all have too much to do today, and too little time to do it. I’m convinced this is a big contributing factor to sloppiness, although there are a growing number of people who just don’t give a damn.

I’ve noticed that more and more people fail to double-check their work. They don’t pay attention to the details. Words and names are spelled incorrectly and phone numbers and e-mail address are inaccurate. We inadvertently forget to copy people we should copy on emails and click “reply all “ once too often.

Waiters hand us inaccurate checks, we receive unsigned checks in the mail and we fail to check out all the potential pitfalls of a situation.

We react too quickly, think too little, and lose our focus. We don’t read documents to the end and we write them too fast in the first place.

We all seem to be in a race, but I’m not sure what’s waiting at the finish line, except perhaps a messier, more muddled world.

Nowadays, someone somewhere is dreaming up some reason to give someone else an award. Every industry and profession on the face of the planet has awards, from Grammys for records to EFFIES for advertising, from Tonys for theatre to Pulitzers for publishing.

People get awards for growing 1,000-pound pumpkins, eating 50 hot dogs in five minutes and dancing for days on end. They’re presented with medals and money, pins and plaques, and all sorts of gifts, glass bowls to silver frames. Magazines are big on awards, from GQs Man of the Year to Glamour’s Women of the Year, from Playboy’s Playmate of the Year to Time’s Person of the Year.

Awards are presented at fundraising dinners, in sports arenas and concert halls…. from Broadway to Beverly Hills.  Winners are photographed, interviewed and applauded; flattered, toasted and lauded.  If only we could remember their names two days later.

Awards don’t always reflect brains, talent, generosity or niceness. They certainly don’t ensure success. But if anyone out there is thinking of giving me an award, I’ll be thrilled to death.

* Mary-Louis Parker

Joanna and baby, who is hiding at the moment

I went to Joanna’s baby shower today. She’s due at the beginning of June. Watching her open all the wonderful gifts, I thought back to the baby shower my colleagues gave me when I was pregnant with my son, Colby, now 31. I realized that no matter how much the world has changed in three decades, celebrating the imminent arrival of babies is done exactly the same way.

Sure, some of Joanna’s gifts were newfangled inventions for today’s new moms, including a fabric contraption with Velcro to swaddle the baby and a breastfeeding pillow to nestle him and free Joanna’s arms. But the onesies, the books (Green Eggs and Ham), the booties and the wooden pull toys are as pure and warm and charming as they were when Colby was a babe.

Joanna’s friends buzzed about the same things my friends and I buzzed about back in the day: how unreal it all seems, how soft the baby towels feel and how much her baby  will love the Itsy Bitsy Spider song (one of Joanna’s friends creatively stamped out the words on a poster-sized piece of paper and framed it.)

Today had even more meaning because Joanna and my son, Colby, are close friends. Someday their children will have babies and they’ll likely be as nostalgic as I am right now. FOF nostalgia, let’s call it.

Life’s continuum is comforting and awe inspiring in the same moment.

P.S. The photo comes from Joanna’s wildly popular blog, A Cup of Jo.

I am inexorably and inextricably drawn to things French. French shoes (Christian Louboutin), baby and kids clothes (Bonpoint) perfume (my new fave is Une Rose from Frederic Malle), food (warm croissants and runny Vacherin cheese), art (Dubuffet and Bonnard) and, of course, the language (any word).

French women wrap scarves around their necks with unparalled panache, bejewel themselves with singular style and even fling handbags over their shoulders with a hint of haute haughtiness.

France is romance…beauty…saucy…and, of courses, sauces.

Starting tomorrow, it’s French week at FOF. You can win five nights in a Paris flat, join a Bespoke shopping tour and learn about Eiffel’s Tower. Our fashion gurus also will let you in on their fave French pieces in our new FOF Style Blog.

See you in Paree.

My FOF friends have been checking into faboverfifty.com with their French Fab Faves since this is French week on the site. I wanted to share some of them with you.

“The Louis Vuitton flagship store on Champs-Elysees is magnificent.  Just walking through it is a destination experience.  While the store carries all the classic lines, you’ll also see designs here before they make it to the US.  And if you want to make a purchase, even though the Euro to Dollar exchange rate is pretty miserable, the price still represents a good savings over prices in the US.  Be sure to get the paperwork so you can file to get your VAT taxes returned at the airport!”–Maryjo

“Chez l’Ami Jean in Paris has delectable bistro food in the Basque style with great atmosphere and people watching. The rice pudding is a must.”–janetharrer

“I love the Petit Bateau cotton baby clothes in the French Mariner stripe style. The tees for adults are so soft and last forever.”–merritttinmartinez

Oscar perfume is just divine.”–Valorosa

Even though I’m complimenting myself in a way, I think FOF women are absolutely the greatest. I become excited every time I read something on the site about or by one of our members.  Many FOFs are authors, professional speakers, coaches and experts on everything from relationships and dating to financial management and fashion. Makes total sense to me because FOFs have a world of experience and communication skills.

FOF wants to help every single member to promote what they’re working on every chance we get. So, without further ado, let me introduce you to two members.

Dr. Judi Bloom

Dr. Judi Bloom, 59, from Santa Monica, is a psychologist with expertise in addiction, anxiety, depression, sexuality and parenting. She has a radio show on KLLY-FM (95.3) and is about to launch another. She also has a syndicated TV show in development and is writing a behind-the-scenes book about therapy. I will be on the lookout for her new show and book. Learn more about Judi on her profile and what her 22-son told her.(search for drjudi)

Atalet

Atalet, 52, is a doctor specializing in rehabilitation medicine who lives in Istanbul. Turkey (how much fun it is to meet an FOF from Turkey!) She loves to paint, embroider, knit, cook and garden. See her profile for the three phrases she is trying not to use.(search for atalet).

I wish all the FOF women in the United States (no, the world) could be together in the same room–mingling, sharing, laughing and networking. We’re so good at it all. Since we can’t be, the next best thing is coming together on FOF. It’s so wonderful to “meet” you all.

Seems like advice books for and by FOF women are de rigueur right now. They’re dealing with subjects as diverse as how to wash our hair and what to eat to coping with loss and choosing our clothes.

I want to tell you about a book called Steal This Style by FOF Sherrie Mathieson and urge you to buy it as soon as you can, no matter how cool you think you look.

Sherrie has costumed Academy Award-winning actors, rock stars and athletes, including Susan Sarandon, Billy Joel and Brooke Shields. She also does style consulting for private clients. The subtitle of her book is “Moms and daughters swap wardrobe secrets. Looks that make hip classic and classic cool.” Working with twenty sets of FOF moms and their daughters (in some cases grandmother and granddaughter, or mother and daughter in spirit), Sherrie remakes FOFs with fashion ideas from the younger generation.

The idea is genius and the execution genius to the nth power. Left-hand pages show FOFs in Never Cool outfits, while right-hand pages show FOFs and FUFs in similar looks, but wearing pieces that are appropriate for their shapes and ages.

I loved looking through the book and spotting my own faux pas, even though I don’t like to admit I have any. It is going to be a permanent part of my reference library.

Click here to buy it for yourself now.  Sherri will love you and you will love it.

When my gorgeous, outgoing, smart, no-nonsense FOF friend, W, found out her son’s girlfriend was pregnant, she wanted her to have an abortion. She thought her son and the girl, only 20, would ruin their lives if they had a child.

The young woman made an appointment for the procedure, but changed her mind at the last minute.  W realized that’s what a woman’s choice really meant. “It wasn’t what I wanted that mattered,” she told me.  Then W, a take-charge type, tried to convince the couple to give the baby up for adoption. She even called agencies to start the process.The girl refused.

“I cried for weeks, my son and I fought constantly and I again screamed to him. ‘This is the worst thing you could do to your life.’

“He screamed back, ‘What if it’s the best thing I did in my life?’ That stopped me cold and I had an epiphany, This isn’t about me. It’s about my son.”

W’s granddaughter is now 2 1/2 and the love of W’s life.”I’d rather play with her than go out. My son is a wonderful father and very happy. He takes care of his daughter during the day and goes to college at night.”

FOF women aren’t always right, but we’re smart enough to admit when we’re wrong.

When I was 24, my boss called me into a meeting,where his boss was the only one seated at the big conference table. They announced that they wanted to promote me to editor. I was dumbstruck. Although I was a responsible, hard worker, I never expected to get such a big job at that point.

Since then, my career path has been paved with pleasant surprises like this. I would define myself as driven, rather than ambitious. I never plotted and planned what my next job would be, but my hard work has generally paid off. I’ve been more like Melanie Griffith in “Working Girl” than Sigourney Weaver.

I’ve also encountered a fair share of bumps along the way. I suffered with an ambitious boss who was ultra political, and massively untalented; a client who was so threatened by new ideas, she stormed out of an important meeting when she decided I was trying to outshine her, then didn’t renew our contract; a colleague who was a pathological liar.

I haven’t always been a model boss, but I try my best.

If we are the sum of our experiences, I’m satisfied by what I add up to so far…and that it’s all led to the creation of FOF. I’m continually learning, from my twenty and thirty something friends and employees to every single FOF who participates on the site. I hope I can continue to be so blessed for years to come. It’s a joy to be surrounded by people like you.

A 28-year-old woman I know slept at her best friend’s apartment last night.  When I asked if her boyfriend minded her being away, she told me: “Why should he? He knows it’s just Dana and me.”

She explained that she likes to have a girls’ night once in a while, but the moment she wakes up the next morning, she wants to get back to her boyfriend, who lives with her. “He feels the same way. We genuinely miss each other, so that’s why it’s nice to be away occasionally.

“Noel is such a level-headed person, and I think I am, too,” she said. “We always want what’s  best for both of us and act accordingly. We don’t push each other’s buttons or boundaries.”

I wish I had been as sensible and secure when I was 28. But it’s wonderful to see a young woman today who is so together…

Especially if she’s your daughter. I love you, Mone.

Noel and Simone