My 9/11 Tribute to Jean Hoadley Peterson

The following was originally posted in 2006 on the 5th anniversary of 9/11, as part of Project 2,996.  I've re-posted it a few times on 9/11, and it's well worth doing so again today.


I Remember Jean Hoadley Peterson

When I signed up recently to commemorate a 9/11 victim as part of the 2,996 project, I had no idea that the woman whose name was randomly given to me would have been a Christian--a woman who, just weeks before her death on Flight 93, said, "I don't know why, but I feel so ready to meet the Lord!"

Here I was thinking that I could somehow be a blessing by memorializing Jean Hoadley Peterson, but just reading about her has ended up blessing me.

Today I commemorate Jean Hoadley Peterson, who died along with her husband Don Peterson in the crash of Flight 93, the only terrorist-infiltrated flight on 9/11/2001 that didn't reach its intended target.

Jean Hoadley Peterson as a young nurse

Her husband's Bible found

Several days ago I posted about the fact that I had been assigned Jean's name as part of the 2,996 project. I was amazed to get this response from Donna-Jean, a fellow blogger from New Jersey:

"Cindy, I know about Jean Hoadley Peterson. She and her husband Don were believers in Jesus Christ. They supported my uncle's evangelistic ministry here in New Jersey, that's how I first heard about them. They were very generous and supportive.

"Don and Jean were a retired couple, involved with Community Bible Study in their Jersey shore home; Don was a Teaching Director. They were the only married couple on Flight 93; they left behind six grown children and one grandchild.

"Don's dog-eared NIV Bible was one of two Bibles found at the crash site in Shanksville, Pennsylvania. In the Bible was his Community Bible Study lesson from Luke, with his answers written in."

She then referred me to this article about the Petersons, which includes a picture of Don's Bible. I encourage you to follow that link as well and learn more about Jean and her husband.

I was amazed. Out of all the names I could have been assigned, I was given the name of a fellow believer...a woman who, like me, believed in a hope beyond the grave. A woman who was a follower of Christ and a believer and lover of His Word.

Jean as a young woman

So who was Jean Hoadley Peterson?

Jean was 55 years old when she died in the crash of Flight 93. She was a wife, a mom, a grandmother, a registered nurse.

According to the Wall of Americans website: "Mrs. Peterson was born in Evanston, Ill., and grew up in Lancaster, Pa. She received a nursing degree from the University of Rochester, and a master's degree in education from Columbia University. She, too, was deeply involved in church ministries and was a member of Community Bible Study in Spring Lake [New Jersey].

"'She did everything in a very quiet way, never expecting anything in return,' said her daughter, Jennifer Price. 'She was a devoted mother, and after we grew up she devoted her life to helping other people's children.'"

"... she dedicated herself to helping others. The number of people my mother talked to in one day was amazing." --Jennifer Price

"The couple married in 1984 and are survived by six children. David, Hamilton and Royster Peterson, and Jennifer, Grace and Catherine Price.

"Mrs. Peterson is also survived by her parents, Walter and Virginia Hoadley; her brother, Richard Hoadley; and granddaughter, Charlotte."

Along with leading Bible studies, Don and Jean traveled with church friends to help a mission in Santa Lucia, and Jean volunteered at the Helping Hands Pregnancy Center in Shrewsbury, New Jersey.

According to this article, "On Sept. 11, they'd planned to take a later flight to a family reunion at Yosemite National Park, but at the airport seized a chance to switch to less-crowded Flight 93. Their memorial service drew nearly 1,000 people they'd worked with, helped or counseled and had to be moved to a larger sanctuary nearby."

I regret deeply that the earthly lives of Jean Hoadley Peterson and her husband were cut short by the tragedy of 9/11. But I celebrate the 55 years that she lived on this planet, and how she blessed and influenced those around her.

And I rejoice that I will meet her someday in heaven.


*******

The 2,996 tribute to Don Peterson can be found here.

More on Don and Jean Peterson

A loving memoir of Don Peterson

Many thanks to Donna-Jean Breckenridge for her invaluable direction in this tribute

I have some bookfessions to make...

Source: bookfessions.tumblr.com via Cindy on Pinterest

So, I hear today is National Read a Book Day...and what better time to share some Bookfessions with you?

I recently discovered a Tumblr blog that's obviously written by someone who is a kindred spirit to me, when it comes to all things books and reading.

It's Bookfessions...and it mainly consists of numbered thoughts and sayings about the author's love of books and reading.

The author writes: "THESE ARE CONFESSIONS AND/OR THOUGHTS OF A BOOK LOVER, BIBLIOPHILE, BOOK ADDICT, READER, LOVER OF LITERATURE, NERD...CALL ME WHAT YOU WILL, BUT HERE THEY ARE."

Here are just a few Bookfessions.  Head over to her blog (this link will take you to a full archive), and if you're like me, prepare to relate to and identify with almost everything!

Source: bookfessions.tumblr.com via Cindy on Pinterest

Source: bookfessions.tumblr.com via Cindy on Pinterest

Source: bookfessions.tumblr.com via Cindy on Pinterest

Source: bookfessions.tumblr.com via Cindy on Pinterest

When I went to a British school

(Once again, I'm delving into the archives! Originally posted 9/9/11)

As I've mentioned before, my parents were missionaries in Beirut, Lebanon, for a couple of years when I was a little girl in the mid-60s. I recently dug up some things I wrote reminiscing about my time there. Here you go:

Manor House School

Manor House was very near our first home--in fact, in clear view of our balcony. It was situated in a building the color of manila paper, with green trim. I was once told that the bulding had formerly been a nunnery.

It had about four stories, and was very plain inside, with small classrooms and none of the bright artistic decorations I was used to in my American schools.

The students wore uniforms--the girls my age dressed in gray pleated skirts, gray V-neck pull-overs, and white blouses. All I remember about the boys' uniform is that they wore short pants, which seemed to me very strange.

Portrait of the queen

I remember my first day. I sat in the lobby with my parents, facing a large portrait of Queen Elizabeth II. I was nervous, shy, and disoriented.

In time an older boy with a British accent escorted me to my classroom, with its teacher, a stout, dark-haired, middle-aged lady named Miss Diamond.

Gradually I became accustomed to Manor House School. the books were plain but not dull, with absorbing stories about people like Robin Hood and Little John. At Miss Diamond's instruction, I used a British accent when reading aloud in class, and became quite "fluent."

Miss Diamond was not unkind, but she was annoyed by my habit of saying "OK," and taught me to always respond with "Yes, Miss." She found my little Americanisms annoying, and did her best to rid me of them.

A large, jolly lady named Madame Augustine taught us French, which I learned to love. Arabic I found less fascinating, but I applied myself and learned the rudiments.

Miss Gardiner

My second year at Manor House started out calmly enough--until our new teacher from England arrived--Miss Gardiner.

Miss Gardiner terrified and awed me. She was stern, strict, overly puritanical in my opinion, and unkind. My classmates shared my terror of the large old lady with the iron-gray hair worn in a braid encircling her head and a round, bespectacled face.

I remember how it annoyed me when, after lunch, she would clean her teeth with her tongue. How she terrified me when she hit my best friend, Nadia Nash, for cheating!

Nadia was part Lebanese, part British, and spoke with a delightful French accent. Her mother was a popular French and music teacher at Manor House, and we were the best of school friends. I shared her tears over the humiliating corporal punishment Miss Gardiner had administered to her.

I was fond of reading books, which I kept on my lap away from Miss Gardiner's eyes. So you can imagine my horror when she punished Serena McClelland for doing that very thing! Serena was the beautiful child of Scottish missionaries. I admired her silky blond hair, fair skin, pink cheeks and blue eyes, and it hurt my very soul when she cried.

Math--what awful memories that word conjures! The students were far ahead of me in that area, and it seemed I couldn't grasp any but the simplest principles. Most of the morning lessons were devoted to math, so after lunch I could more or less relax.

Reading time

At this time I could sit in my class and listen to Miss Gardiner read. She was constantly reading aloud to us, and it was the only part of her teaching that I enjoyed.

She read to us of the history of Britain, and I was fascinated by the kings and queens--a fascination that continues to this day. She read Greek mythology and classic literature.

So I profited from Miss Gardiner's teaching after all. She helped instill and nurture in me a love of literature that grew steadily.

Manor House seemed like an odd school to me, but I know that much of what I am today was influenced by my time there. I've no doubt that my Anglophilia--love of all things British--took root at that time, and has never left me.

My fifth grade was spent at American Community School, almost an exact replica of a Hometown USA school. It was fun and interesting, but not nearly as much of a really different experience as was Manor House School.

(This was originally posted September 9, 2011)

From the Archives: I'll See Steve McQueen in Heaven Someday

"I live for myself and answer to nobody." (Photo Via Fashion's Most Wanted)

A superstar's remarkable conversion story

(originally posted 10/4/2010)

I'm not even sure if I've even seen an entire movie starring the late actor Steve McQueen. I knew that he had been called "The King of Cool" for his performance in movies like "The Getaway," "The Magnificent Seven," "The Thomas Crown Affair," and "Papillon," among many others.

I also knew that he had been married to three beautiful women (actresses Neile Adams and Ali MacGraw and supermodel Barbara Minty), but I didn't know much else.

However, this tribute post about him recently sparked my interest. When something sparks my interest, I have to read about it...so I checked out a book about Steve McQueen from the library.

While Steve McQueen: Portrait of an American Rebel, by Marshall Terrill, is largely a sympathetic portrait of the actor, it's also painfully honest about his faults and failures.

My heart went out to the actor when I read about the horrific childhood that colored his actions for the rest of his life.

Despite his undisputed success as an actor, McQueen's life was in many ways a big mess. Although he dearly loved and was happily married to his first wife, Neile, he cheated on her not just repeatedly, but continually.

In fact, throughout his life his reputation was that of an incurable womanizer.

He wildly over-indulged in drinking and regularly took drugs ranging from marijuana to LSD and cocaine. He exasperated fellow actors, producers and directors with his erratic and unreasonable behavior.




McQueen with first wife Neile and daughter Terry (via Classic Forever)

He earned megastardom and respect for his acting talent, and the loyalty and love of his closest friends. Since he'd never had a loving father, he determined to be a good father to his children, Terry and Chad, and by all accounts, he was that.

Ten years before his 1980 death, McQueen was asked if he believed in God. His reply: "I believe in me. God'll be number one as long as I'm number one."


With son Chad McQueen, who went on to act (Karate Kid, Karate Kid 2), produce, and drive race cars like his dad
1971 Sports Illustrated photo by Heinz Kluetmeier (via A Continuous Lean)
Reading this unflinchingly honest book, I wasn't prepared for the stunning conclusion.

A few months before he found out he had cancer, Steve McQueen became a Christian. By all accounts, he was what my Baptist preacher dad used to call "gloriously saved."

It was not a deathbed conversion. McQueen didn't know he would soon be dead when he accepted Christ.

As evangelist Billy Graham (who met with him for several hours before he died) relates it:

"Apparently, he had been led to Christ by a pilot whom he had hired to teach him to fly an old vintage airplane. He apparently saw something in this pilot, Sammy Mason, that he admired and liked, and asked what made the difference in his life. Sammy Mason sat down and carefully explained how Christ had changed his life. Steve later learned that he had a fast-moving and possibly incurable cancer. While this was a shattering blow, his new faith in Christ became a resource for extra strength."

While this isn't a "Christian" book, it recounts how friends and colleagues saw the difference McQueen's faith made in his life. Steve began attending church every Sunday, reading his Bible and praying.

While he was undergoing experimental treatments for his cancer, McQueen met with some doctors who practiced visualization techniques to encourage healing.

In his interview with them, McQueen repeatedly talked about his faith and how he wanted to share it with others.

He told the doctors:

"...you mentioned earlier about finding a cure in my life. Well, that cure was finding the Lord in my life.

...I really believe that I have...something to give to the world as far as my relationship with the Lord. Something that I can teach to other people. Something about a message that I can give."

You can totally see traces of his grandfather in actor Steven R. McQueen

Later in the interview, he talked about his dreams of getting well, going back to his favorite home in Ketchum, Idaho, flying his beloved planes and "...to try to be able to change some people's lives. To tell people that I know the Lord, what I have to offer, what's happened to me."

In the book, Marshall Terrill relates the passing of the superstar when all the treatments failed and he ultimately died after developing an embolism.

Terrill says he died "painlessly and quietly."

Immediately, his son Chad said he wanted to be alone with his father.

"Upon entering the room, Chad turned on the light...Steve's eyes were still open. Chad sat on the bed beside him. As he looked at Steve, he noticed something odd. His eyes, which had been gray the past six months, had returned to their bright blue color. Chad also noticed the Bible that the Reverend Billy Graham had given to Steve. It now rested on his chest, opened to Steve's favorite verse, John 3:16."

"For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life."

Satisfied that his dad had died in peace, Chad closed his father's eyes, bent down and kissed him on the forehead. "So long, Pop. I love you."

After reading the book, I was sad that McQueen never got the chance to fulfill his dream of telling the world about his faith in Christ.

But then I realized, yes, he did. Everyone who reads this best-selling book (or this blog post, for that matter) will read, sometimes in his own words, about his faith and how it changed his life.

Rest in peace, Steve McQueen. Someday I'll see you in heaven.

source

Steve McQueen

1930-1980

I've been terrible.

I haven't blogged in almost a month!

I really don't have a great excuse. I've been blogging for almost 9 years now, and sometimes it goes in cycles...there are times that your enthusiasm wanes, or you just don't feel like you have anything to say.

Because I do really enjoy blogging, though, I won't be abandoning this blog. And with a new season approaching, I feel my creativity slowing returning.

In fact, an awesome give-away is just around the corner!  Everything's in place for it...I just have to decide when it will actually go live.

Stay tuned! :)

Go to sleepy, little baby: the backstory of a lullaby

*

Since my three children and two grandsons were tiny, I’ve been singing them a lullaby:

Go to sleepy, little baby
Go to sleepy, little baby

When you wake, we'll patty patty cake
And ride a shiny little pony

That was all I knew of the lullaby, which I could vaguely remember my mom singing to her own children and grandchildren. I found myself personalizing it:

Mommy loves her little Jonny (or Jussy, or Lizzie)

Mommy loves her little Jonny Mommy loves, she kisses and she hugs

Oh, Mommy loves her little Jonny…

I did the same with my grandchildren. I never thought they paid much attention to what I was singing as I rocked them to sleep.

But one time I was rocking Josiah, when he was very young, and I started singing the personalized verse. Suddenly, Payton, who was just a toddler, joined in, “Nana loves her little J.D. (our nickname for Josiah),” and sang it word perfect!

Obviously it had sunk in during the many times I rocked him to sleep. I loved it. :)


Where did it come from?


Well, the other day I got curious. Where had this lullaby originated? There was a “Go to sleepy little baby” in the movie, “O Brother, Where Art Thou?”, but it wasn’t the version I knew.

It took me just minutes to discover that the lullaby I know originated with TV host Judy Canova. It was the song she sang just before signing off of her show, back in the 1940's and early 50's. I even found some mp3s of the song…and lyrics! There are a lot more lyrics, and I plan to learn them.

If you're curious, here's a little clip of me singing a few lines of the song...



For me, this lullaby is the essence of my mother’s love for her children, and my own love for my children and grandchildren. As long as there’s a little one to rock to sleep, I’ll be singing it.

*Pictured are Tiffany Manning and her adorable baby girl, Gianna

My Life Lately (in Instagram)

My daughter Elizabeth and me

I'll just admit it.  So far, this hasn't been my favorite summer.  But there have been some definite highlights, like the one I'm experiencing right now...my daughter Elizabeth spending a week with us.

She just lives a couple of hours south of us, but between her job as a Clinique salesperson and her studies at Illinois State University, she doesn't get home nearly enough for my liking.

Anyway, since I've been somewhat lax about posting lately, I thought I'd share some phone pics with you!

I love to listen to my daughter play the piano!

The two of us had lunch at Chipotle today...she's thinking about trying a gluten-free diet, and we found at that Chipotle is amazingly gluten-diet friendly!

Elizabeth won a door prize at a radio event.  It was mostly stuff for our dog!

A shot of the Rock River, which runs through our town

My handsome hubby at the wheel

In front of a mic at the radio station where I work

Front Porch Photo Shoot

I think I've decided that I'm the best person to take pictures of myself.  I took all the pictures in this "front porch photo shoot," and I think they turned out decently.  I wanted to pose with some of our potted plants and hanging baskets to complement the floral top I'm wearing.

I also wanted to show my "face o' the day," especially the eye make-up look I came up with.

All the eye make-up prodcuts I used were ELF, except for the mascara, which is Clinique High Lengths.  My daughter Elizabeth, who is a Clinique associate, gave me a sample of this mascara, and as soon as I can afford a full-size tube, I'm getting it!

The ELF shadows I used were a light pink under the brow, and a charcoal one on the lid and in the crease.  (Sorry, not sure of the actual names.)

I always start my eye make-up look with ELF eyelid primer, then a swoosh of a neutral shadow to set it, before applying the rest.  It ensures that my eye make-up stays put all day!

The debt I owe John Glenn

via

I posted this several years ago, but today is John Glenn's birthday, so I figured it's a good time for a repeat!--CS

Today is the birthday of astronaut/U.S. Senator John Glenn, and that got me thinking about how a brush-with-fame moment launched me (appropriate wording, eh?) on my journalism career, at the tender age of ten.

The year was 1967--five years after Glenn's orbiting the earth in "Friendship 7." Astronauts were heroes to kids my age...bravely and literally going where no one had dared to go before.

My parents were missionaries in Beirut, Lebanon, and I was a student at the American Community School there (having spent the first year and a half of my education in Lebanon at a British school, Manor House.)

John Glenn was visiting Beirut to tend to some business dealings he had there at the time. (My memory is foggy, but I think it had to do with PepsiCola or some other soft drink). Someone persuaded Glenn to put in an appearance at the American Community School, and he was to appear at an all-school assembly.

The appearance would be in the form of a sort of press conference. Two kids, a boy and a girl, would be chosen from each grade to get their chance at "interviewing" the former astronaut. I was the girl chosen from my fifth-grade class. We sat in chairs on the stage, facing Mr. Glenn.

Actually, each of us would be allowed to pose just one question to Mr. Glenn, but we could form our own questions. Mine: was he ever scared or nervous when he was in outer space?

For the first time in my life, I realized the thrill of asking a famous person a question, having that famous person treat my question as valid and worthy of answering, and having them reply well.

Many times in my career in radio, I've been one of several reporters at a news conference at which the focal point is someone quite famous. I'm not naturally an aggressive person, so it takes some nerve to ask a question loudly and clearly enough to let it be known that this is my moment, my chance to ask my question.

How will the person respond? Will he/she deride the question or de-value it in some way? That's always a possibility. So it's great to hear the person say something like "Great question," or even just to hear them go on to answer it in solid and substantial fashion. Especially when it may be a tad controversial. And I'll admit, I've gotten a little thrill as I think, "This is going to sound great on the radio." And I'm even gratified when I see it on TV later, and realize the sound bites used were from the reply to my question.

John Glenn treated a little ten-year-old girl's question with respect and consideration. He admitted to being nervous and even a little lonely in space--but went on to say that he was so busy working the controls and doing his job, that he had little time to dwell on such things. At least, that's how I remember his reply.

I had always loved reading and writing, but that experience was a turning point for me. I had discovered the thrill of asking questions and getting answers.

From then on, I interviewed everyone from fellow students to siblings and relatives. I spent my junior high and teen years with a portable tape recorder always at hand. I was a reporter and then an editor on my high school newspaper staff, and then my college newspaper staff. From there, it was a short hop to radio news, which I've been doing for over 25 years now.

I still love interviewing. I love satisfying my curiosity by delving into other people's stories and, with my questions, guiding them in the process of revealing their thoughts and feelings.

So, happy birthday, John Glenn. And thanks.

From the Archives: When was the last time you wrote a letter?

via


"Will this fading generation... also be the last to write letters? Messages crafted by hand rather than bits of binary code? Writing that carries emotions rather than emoticons?

"...Think of letters and the mind falls on Paul of Tarsus, Abraham Lincoln, Jane Austen, Mark Twain; on love letters written during the American Civil War, or letters written to a parent by a frightened soldier at the battlefront..."--Catherine Fields, The New York Times

(originally posted June 28, 2011)

Today is Long Letter Day, billed as "a time to stop and write that long letter to an old friend."

Which begs the question, does anybody write letters anymore? Should we? Why?

I myself can't remember the last time I wrote a letter. E-mails, sure. Texts just to say "I love you" or "I'm praying for you." But a letter?

This New York Times article by Catherine Fields, "The Fading Art of Letter-writing," opens with Fields' description of the regular letters she gets from her 75-year-old aunt in England.

Fields writes:

"A good handwritten letter is a creative act, and not just because it is a visual and tactile pleasure. It is a deliberate act of exposure, a form of vulnerability, because handwriting opens a window on the soul in a way that cyber communication can never do. You savor their arrival and later take care to place them in a box for safe keeping."

Some of the many letters my mom wrote to me when I was in Bible college in the late 70's--I saved all of them!

As a Bible college student, far away from home in the late 70's, my mother's regular letters were a lifeline. There was no e-mail, no cell phones, so these loving, chatty missives were like cherished gifts showing up in my otherwise-empty student mailbox.

My husband and I were apart for some two months prior to our marriage in 1978. Somewhere in my house are the letters we exchanged during that time--sweet, naive, romantic and probably somewhat cheesey expressions of our love. Do modern couples have this testament to their devotion?

via

Apparently there are those in the younger generation who are trying to revive the art of letter-writing. Letter-writing clubs like this one are springing up all over the world, where members meet just to put pen to paper to "go back to the old-fashioned way of sending their regards."

Witness blogs like LetterLover.net ("where the written word lives on"). Blogger and written-word advocate Samara O'Shea writes:

"...there is nothing—not a text message, not an IM, not a Facebook status update—that competes with the emotional connection made through a letter. Handwritten or typed, snail-mailed or handed over—doesn’t matter. It’s the time you take to choose your words carefully and write them down that becomes a tangible testament to how much the other person means to you."

via

I doubt that I'll start conducting all my correspondence by snail-mail. But I do feel the urge to bring letter-writing back into my life, at least occasionally!

What about you? Do you ever write letters? Do you enjoy getting them? Do you think it's an art that needs to be preserved? Let me know!

Think on these things

Calligraphy by Michael Noyes

So much bad news.

Yesterday in the area where I live, the body of a little newborn baby boy was found among the trash at a recycling center.  My heart hurts...with so many couples longing for a child, someone considers a baby just so much trash.

The Penn State scandal shows perversion and abuse of innocence can be allowed to go on unchecked. People that are in power, that are in a position to stop it, simply look the other way.  How many children could have been spared if Penn State officials had done the right thing?

So much political turmoil.  What's going to become of our nation in the next few years?  Will we lose the essence of what America is all about?

We can't ignore tragic, frightening or ugly events...nor should we bury our heads in the sand.  But there is an antidote for every child of God.  Phillipians 4:8.

 Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things.

[I love the calligraphy above, by Michael Noyes (you can purchase that print on his site).]

I'm committing that verse to memory and have made it my life verse.

As a radio news person, I have to often call on that verse for comfort and hope when the news gets too ugly, sad and depressing.

And I want my life to be about highlighting all the good things in that verse.

Is There An Expiration Date on Beauty?

Source: Uploaded by user via Cindy on Pinterest

On the blog The Online Stylist, blogger Amanda Start is responding to an article in which some magazine fashion guy named John Januzzi questions how long people should people should continue style blogging. Januzzi is quoted as saying:

“Everyone out there has some kind of expiration date. What happens when a personal-style blogger wakes up and she’s 35 and not the cute 20-year-old girl in Brooklyn anymore?”

Granted, Januzzi was talking specifically about blogging. And mine is not really a style blog. But his remarks struck me as extremely age-ist and frankly, ignorant. I wrote this comment on Amanda's post (and by the way, Amanda took issue with Januzzi's comments as well):

"Expiration date"? Absolutely not!

That cute 20 year old is not going to "wake up one day" and be 35...she's going to evolve in the space of 15 years, and most probably be better and more beautiful at 35 than she was at 20. (Unless she takes the route of excessive alcohol, tobacco and tanning and makes herself old before her time, of course.)

I'm in my 50s, and determined to be the best "woman of a certain age" that I can be.  I'm one of MANY over 40 bloggers who still care about beauty and fashion.

 My friend Patti writes a blog called Not Dead Yet Style, and she hosts a blog link-up called "Visible Monday," so titled because women of our age often think we have to accept being invisible.

 Does that guy really think women should stop caring about these things because they're maturing?  Hogwash!

That sounds like a bunch of age-ist nonsense to me.

Even the most gorgeous 20 year old is getting older by the minute.  At some point she'll have to decide if she wants to just let herself go, or make a conscious decision  to be the best woman of ANY age that she can be.

Yes, it means accepting flaws that aren't going to go away.  But it also means putting equal focus on inner beauty as you do outer beauty.

What do you think?

Again, Januzzi was talking about style blogging. But I'd love to know what you think. Should women put themselves on the shelf, beauty and fashion-wise, when they get older? I'm still boggled that he implied that 35 is in any way old, by the way. Sheeesh.

Oh, How Pinteresting: Retro Style

Source: bellesdepub.free.fr via Cindy on Pinterest

I have a board on Pinterest devoted to Retro Style. I love the styles of yesteryear, especially when they would fit right in today! Enjoy...

Source: myvintagevogue.tumblr.com via Cindy on Pinterest

Source: abby-rd.tumblr.com via Cindy on Pinterest

I would totally wear seamless hose...I think they're adorable!

Source: wehadfacesthen.tumblr.com via Cindy on Pinterest

Pencil-thin eyebrows notwithstanding, Greta Garbo's elegance is timeless.

Source: recklesslybeautiful.tumblr.com via Cindy on Pinterest

Let's not forget the gents!  Cary Grant was amazing, so sophisticated...makes me wish men still wore hats.

Source: berkeleyhat.com via Cindy on Pinterest

How amazing is this silk derby hat?  It looks like it could have been worn aboard the Titanic.

Source: thebridescafe.tumblr.com via Cindy on Pinterest

Very Gatsby-esque...and I have a feeling we'll be seeing more of this kind of style when the movie comes out!

I'm participating today in Oh, How Pinteresting, hosted by the Vintage Apple!

Click on the icon...and DO leave a comment, please!

Visible Monday: Why I'm Taking Pictures of Myself

Those of us who are my age all remember when women decided at around 40 that they were done trying to look attractive. They spent the rest of their days in polyester pants and shapeless tops. Not for me.

I often take a pic of myself in my car, just before I leave for work--when the look is fresh (my neighbors may think I'm crazy!)

Believe it or not, there was a time when I really didn't know what I looked like.

This was a period of several years, in fact.  I was some 50 pounds heavier than I am now.

I knew I was fat.  I could tell that by looking in the mirror.  But I had no grasp on my actual appearance.  I kind of had no body image at all.  I really couldn't close my eyes and imagine what I looked like to others.

I tried not to be photographed.  This was before digital cameras, before people were taking pictures left and right, so it was relatively easy to disappear when a camera turned up.

When you're fat, you tend to only look at yourself in the mirror from the neck up, and even then you may not realize just how fat your face is--I know I didn't.

Fast forward to the present.  I am still overweight, but I have a clearer image of what I look like.  I see the faults--the ones that can't be changed--and the things that can and should be changed.

After my sister gave me a bunch of her clothes, I texted a pic of myself to her when I wore them

Awakened by blogs


At some point, I made a conscious decision to do everything within my power to be the best woman-of-my-age that I can be, physically and otherwise.

I think it really began in earnest when I was unemployed for a while, and I started watching make-up and hair tutorials and following fashion blogs.

I enjoyed them immensely and learned a lot, but there was just one problem.  The blogs and tutorials were pretty much all by young women.  Let's face it--young women have a leg up in this whole beauty thing because they ARE young!

So I was delighted to discover blogs by women closer to my own age, some even older, who were determined not to just lay down and die when it came to beauty and fashion.

Most of those blogs are ones that take part in the very bloghop I'm taking part in today...Visible Monday,  hosted by Not Dead Yet Style.  I love the title of that blog, and I love the subtitle: "how to look authentic and beautiful in our middle years."

I was actually wearing a pony tail in this pic--not sure how it didn't show up in this pic, but it wasn't a good look for me!  I felt it made me look frumpy

Visible!

These are women who are determined to look their very best, regardless of their age, size...whatever.

At first, I was hesitant to post pictures of myself "modeling" an outfit I put together.  I'm no expert on style, and I'm certainly not a model.

But reading these blogs has energized me.  I am more conscious of my appearance, the image I present to the world--in a good way! Those of us who are my age all remember when women decided at around 40 that they were done trying to look attractive.  They spent the rest of their days in polyester pants and shapeless tops.

Not for me.  I'm far from perfect...as I said, I'm all too conscious of my flaws...but there are some I can work on!

Taking pictures of myself


Although I don't blog or publish all (or even most) of them, I've started taking a picture of myself most  days.

It's amazing how helpful it is.  I've found things that I wouldn't have noticed in the mirror, and I take note of it.  Things like..."Cindy, you laid that top eyeliner on a little too thick."  "A ponytail is not a good look for you."  "You need to blend that blush better."  "Those shoes didn't really work with that outfit." "Wearing eyeliner on your waterline makes your eyes look smaller."

I used this outfit for a Visible Monday several weeks ago

I don't mean hating on myself...we're talking constructive criticism.

Of course, they're not all negative.  I can also see the things that ARE working--colors that suit me best, styles that are more slimming than others, etc.

Texted this to my mom, who wanted to see how my latest hair-coloring turned out

I don't know how long I'll keep doing it, but for now these self-portraits are proving helpful.

I'd love to know how you feel!


Please share in the comments section whether you're trying to evaluate your appearance more, and what you're doing.  I'd love to hear your thoughts!

I'm linking up today with Visible Monday--click the icon below!

Sunday Song: This Is How it Feels to be Free

The Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir--This Is How It Feels To Be Free