Stay private. Enjoy your own inspiration. Grow in                                      silence.

TIS THE SEASON, DONCHA' KNOW. . . ?

 

 

Apples are always associated with Autumn, whether it's bobbing for them at a party, or candied, and always baked in pies, the apple is part of the celebration of the season. 

I am here, and it is now. Further than that, is all moonshine.

We must be skeptical of that which we want to believe.

 

Elizabeth Arden

1879 - 1966 

Today, we visited the final resting place of Elizabeth Arden at Sleepy Hollow Cemetery in Sleepy Hollow, Westchester County, New York. Elizabeth Arden—businesswoman, beauty pioneer, and one of the richest self-made women of her time—died on this date, October 18, 1966, at the age of 87.

We also reflected on her legacy beyond the grave: the iconic red door salons she opened on Fifth Avenue and around the world, which redefined beauty as a form of confidence and self-expression for generations of women. At a time when makeup was stigmatized, Arden boldly declared that every woman deserved to feel radiant—on her own terms.

Her grave site is peaceful and dignified, nestled among the historic stones and winding paths of Sleepy Hollow Cemetery—a place steeped in American history and quiet reverence. Visitors come not only to honor her memory but also to acknowledge the quiet revolution she sparked in beauty, business, and female independence.

Elizabeth Arden's real name was Florence Nightingale Graham, and she was a Canadian-born businesswoman. She was born in 1879 in Woodbridge, Ontario, and later moved to the United States, where she built her cosmetics empire.

Rest in peace, Elizabeth Arden. Your vision transformed how women see themselves—and your legacy continues to inspire empowerment, elegance, and entrepreneurial courage.

Sleepy Hollow Cemetery

Sleepy Hollow, Westchester County, New York, USA

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October's red and gold leaves have spent their colors and are swept brown and dry along the fence rows; sharing space with thistles parachuting their seeds into the wind. The quiet time is at hand. The fall rains will bring a rustling in the leaves and a gentle tapping at window panes. In the distance, we can see Winter, his icy fingers beckoning, standing with the wind whipping his tattered and threadbare overcoat and his chill breath blowing. This is a time for reflection and thanks, and a harvest time for our thoughts. This is the best season of all. 

 

Autumn, the most beautiful of the four seasons. The path between summer and winter was measured by milestones like the Harvest Festival, Halloween, and, Thanksgiving. The wonder of Autumn is always threaded through with a bitter-sweet undercurrent of sadness. A sense of loss in saying goodbye as I watch the slow dying of the old year. An awareness of time passing and being lost. A reminder of the transience of beauty as trees blaze with color for one last defiant hurrah before the chilly fingers of winter strip the landscape bare. It's this ambiguity of mood that makes the most complex and subtle season that is the wonder of Autumn. If summer is a pretty girl in a flirty frock, Autumn is a beautiful woman with a hint of sadness about her, which only makes me love her more.