Ryan White 1971-1990

Ryan White was 13 when he was diagnosed with AIDS after a blood transfusion in December 1984. Living in Kokomo, Indiana, doctors gave him six months to live.

When Ryan tried to return to school, he faced AIDS-related discrimination in his Indiana community. Along with his mother Jeanne White Gender, he rallied for his right to attend school. He gained national attention and became the face of public education about the disease.

Surprising his doctors, Ryan lived five years longer than expected. He died in April 1990, one month before his high school graduation. Congress passed the Ryan White Comprehensive AIDS Resources Emergency (CARE) Act in August 1990.

On April 8th, 1990, Elton John served as a pallbearer at the funeral.

His grave has been vandalized several times since his burial.

Cicero Cemetery, Hamilton County, Indiana

 

Mini Story “The Cauldron of Desire”

In the dim light of her cabin, the witch stirred the cauldron where an impossible passion simmered. The air smelled of cinnamon and ancient fire. Her cat, with white eyes gleaming like dead moons, watched from the shadows. No one dared to come near — while he guarded the door, she cooked the soul of forbidden love...🕸🕸🕸

#halloween is coming

 

 

 

Mini Story “The Vulture’s Omen”

Inside an old candle-lit room, a vulture sat on a chair, motionless and alert. In front of him, tarot cards fell to the floor, spinning with the breath of an unseen wind. Within the crystal ball, lightning and thunder flashed through fragments of fate. The vulture didn’t blink… he knew that night, the future smelled like a storm...

#happy halloweeeeeeen

 

 

 

 

     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

Suggested Hashtags:

#fblifestyle, #ElizabethArden, #SleepyHollowCemetery, #WestchesterNY, #BeautyIcon, #SelfMadeWoman, #October18, #GraveTour, #WomenInHistory, #RIP, #BusinessLegacy, #FBLife, #HistoricWomen, #MemorialVisit, #CosmeticsPioneer

 

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.