The bracelet at the lower right is the one I lost

Edgar bought me a platinum and 18k gold bracelet when I was in my forties. He paid $11,000 for it. He had a lot of money and bought me nice presents. I lost the bracelet one winter day in New York. The catch never worked well, even after I had it repaired a number of times. My aunt and I spent hours looking for the darn thing, in Central Park (where we had walked), in the shops where we had browsed and back in my apartment. I was frantic. I got over it. It was only a bracelet.

When I was 23, I was standing with a group of journalists overlooking Lake Mead in Nevada. I was in Las Vegas for a meeting and had bought a new jacket to take with me. It was in a brown tweedy fabric with little specks of color. I set the jacket down on a concrete ledge, a wind came along, and off it floated, smack into the lake. I obsessed about the jacket for weeks. I had called the store where I purchased it, but it was out of stock. I got over it. It was only a jacket.

One of my accounts decided to terminate the services of my company a few years ago because we wouldn’t automatically follow an instruction we thought was inappropriate and dumb from a junior employee. I was livid because we did exemplary work. I got over it. It was only an account.

I was a feature writer in 1981 for the New York Daily News and it was my dream job. I was laid off after a year, along with hundreds of other employees, because the paper was in dire financial shape. I was hysterical. I was eight months pregnant with my second child and I was the only breadwinner since my husband stayed home with our two-year-old son.  I got over it. It was only a job.

My father died of melanoma when he was 69. We expected it, but it was a shock when it happened. That’s something you never really “get over,” even if you move on. He wasn’t only a dad. He was MY DAD.

I am a blessed FOF because none of the loss in my life has been devastating, even if it felt that way at the moment. But loss takes lots of different forms and we each deal with it in our own way. I count myself lucky that I’ve “found” what matters most: My family, my health, my friends, my humor, and my perspective.

Tunisia isn’t one of the countries most of us think about too much, but news of its revolution has captured my attention. The recently ousted Tunisian president, Zein al-Abidine Ben Ali, ruled the country for 23 years.  Although he promoted a greater role for women, his second wife, Leila Travelsi, was detested for her alleged corruption and control over large sectors of the Tunisian economy. She and her ten siblings reportedly took money from shopkeepers—Mafia style—and demanded shares in many companies, banks to airlines, TV stations to car dealerships. Tunisians could stand no more.

This got me thinking: Is revolution good or bad?  I guess it can be good and bad. It was good when the thirteen British Colonies of North America rose up against the Kingdom of Great Britain after being denied representation in Parliament.  It was bad when the ouster of Russian Czar Nicholas II in 1917 almost immediately led to the rise of Communism under Lenin.

We’ve witnessed fashion revolutions in our FOF lives (think casual dress on Friday), business revolutions (think store openings on Sunday) and health revolutions (think smoking bans). Some affect us greatly, some not at all. But one revolution has touched every one of us: The Feminist Revolution.  It started a long, long time ago and it’s not over yet.  But we’ve come a long way, baby! (Except, of course, for Leila Travelsi).

Kristin Hannah

Every mom should be so lucky to have a daughter like Kristin Hannah.  When her mother was dying of cancer, Kristin came to sit by her bedside and chat. A law school student at the time, Kristin also got a special gift from her mom during those final conversations. Find out what it was by reading the wonderful interview with the bestselling author on FOF.

If you’ve never read any of Kristin’s marvelous books about real women, or if she’s one of your favorite authors, I invite you to enter our special contest with St. Martin’s Press, her publisher. You’ll have the chance to win one of Kristin’s books or get an advance copy of her next book. Based on the subjects (mothers, sisters, secrets, forgiveness), I can’t wait to start reading.

The sixty lucky winners also will be invited to a private online chat with Kristin. How cool is that! We love embarking on this partnership with St. Martin’s since many of its authors are at the top of many FOF fave lists.

Who do you think painted these charming watercolors?

A.            New England artist Irving Haynes

B.            Henri Matisse in his early years

C.            An Alzheimer’s patient

Of course, you know the answer is C, but the story behind the work is as captivating as the paintings themselves.  When Hilda Goldblatt Gorenstein was a patient in a Chicago-area nursing home in 1995, her daughter, Berna, asked her if she’d like to paint again. “I remember better when I paint,” Hilda answered.  A well-known and distinguished Chicago-based artist, Hilda had developed Alzheimer’s in her eighties and was often agitated and withdrawn. She had stopped painting several years earlier. When daughter Berna relayed her mother’s response to a psychiatrist who specializes in treating the elderly, he recommended she contact the School of the Art Institute of Chicago about hiring students to work with Hilda.

Within the next few years, the elderly artist created hundreds of watercolors and became a symbol of the role of the arts in dealing with neurological disorders.  Apparently, the part of the brain that controls creativity is the last part hit with this frightening disease (memory is affected first), so Hilda was able to summon her talent with the right encouragement and stimulation.

After her mother’s death, FOF Berna created the Hilgos Foundation (hilgos.org) to promote the arts among people with Alzheimer’s and educate the public about the menacing disease, an ever-growing problem as more of us live longer. Berna and French film director, Eric Ellena, also produced a documentary called “I Remember Better When I Paint.” BTW, “Hilgos” was Hilda’s nom de plume.

I want to thank FOF member, Sam, for commenting on my earlier blog about Alzheimer’s and “introducing” me to Hilda and Berna. The more we know about dementia, the less scary it becomes.