I was a first-time bride at 52. At 44, I was dumped after an 11-year relationship. No notice—my mother was dying and, bottom line, he felt ignored. After a couple of years of getting myself back together (and burying my mother), my friends started telling my I needed to get “back out there.” I went to a party where I planned to stay for an hour and go home. While talking to the host’s mother, in walked a tall, handsome fellow with a great smile. Alone. After introduction, the host’s mother invited him to sit with us, which he did. She left to talk to her son (the host) and the next thing you know, it’s 5 hours later. We were engaged two years to the day of our meeting and married a year ago. I tell anyone who is hoping to meet someone—go places where you may not know a lot of people, where you may actually meet someone new, instead of seeing people from the same, old crowd. If anyone would have told me I would meet someone new after my breakup, I wouldn’t have believe them. I thought that was it for me. I am happy to report that I was wrong.

Strawberry blond hair and a million freckles. As a kid, I couldn’t get away with anything because people would say, “It was the kid with the red hair.” Now, at 52, the strawberry blond hair is a striking color and is a good, natural cover for gray, so I love it now. My freckles are faded, but still visible. I miss being in the sun and keeping my freckles dark enough to look somewhat tan. But I’ve come to terms with using sunblock or staying out of the sun. I just wish people would stop telling me to go to a tanning bed and “get a good base.”

A total “No” on stockings. Two reasons: I really think they are like wearing plastic bags on your legs (and if you think about it, you are wearing plastic bags on your legs). I lived in California for a year in the mid-90s and noticed that no one wore stockings, so while living back in Pennsylvania now, it’s my homage to living in California. I don’t tan, so it looks like I am wearing white stockings, but I don’t care. After years in button-down corporate America, it’s nice to be much more casually dressed. In cooler weather, I wear dress pants and knee socks to work. No knee-highs either.

Desk Set is one of my favorites. I have a masters degree in library science and have yet to put it to use, but when I do, I want to do reference. I love watching that movie and seeing the women answering reference questions. I also love the part where Bunny tells Peg that they could get a place together when they’re old and “keep cats.” That has always struck me as so funny. Finally, I want to live in the “Laura” apartment.

I wanted to be a nurse until I was a senior in high school. After being a candy striper, I realized that I didn’t do well with odors. So, given one is taking care of people who may emit them, I gave up nursing as my career choice. I like my profession as a writer and editor, but I’ve always wished I could have been a nurse.

Hey—I’m 52—and I don’t care who knows it. People say, “you don’t look 52.” I always remember Gloria Steinem being quoted at some age saying, “this is what __ looks like.”

My two sisters and I were lucky to have two great parents. My mother was the rock of the family—as someone said earlier, lived through the toughest times in the 20th century—and taught us that you just keep going. She was wise, warm, demanded good behavior, and was always there for her kids. Having come from a less than loving home herself, she made sure that she treated all three of us equally and loved us fiercely. My dad was a kind, but remote, father until he was in his 50s and then seemed to have discovered he had three interesting daughters. The sadness with his early death at 60 is that we didn’t have enough years to get to know him. My mother gave us so much of herself, that even though she’s been gone for almost 6 years, she is with all three of us everyday. We grew up to be three lucky women!

Suzanne, Yes, it is one of the loveliest wedding dresses ever, not to mention we get to look at Paris while Audrey is in it—and that Audrey is one of the most beautiful women, ever. That clip was a delight on a dreary day in Pennsylvania. Thank you!

I had lunch with a friend the day this article appeared in the NYT. He said Billy’s parents should sue the bully’s parents. Maybe that will get their attention when they have to sell their house to settle a lawsuit. I’m not a big fan of using litigation at the drop of a hat but, in this case, I think it’s a pretty good idea—nothing else is working.

As a first-time bride at 51, I wanted a wedding dress that was sophisticated and stylish. I went to two stores where I was shown gowns with enormous skirts—I can’t imagine what I would have looked liked in one of those dresses. At the third store, I said again, I am 51 years old and I don’t want to look like an elderly Tinkerbell at my wedding. I was also adamant that I did not want a strapless dress. The woman helping me finally persuaded me to try on a strapless dress. Bingo. A lovely champagne gold color, strapless with beading on the bodice, and a small train. It’s true that you cry when it’s the right dress. To confirm that it was, I asked my two best friends to leave the room. I said in a whisper to my dear, departed mother, “Well, mom, what do you think?” The lights didn’t blink and there was no rush of cold air, so I knew it was the dress. And it was.

All I can think of is how embarrassed his wife must be. Look at previous pictures where she is radiant at her husband’s victories—and now look at her sadness. And, when I think how I would have felt it that had been my father—those poor children. I can’t imagine returning to school to face friends, etc. What was he thinking? Well, I guess we know what he was thinking about and it wasn’t about his family. Shame on him.

In the 1970s, I worked at the research lab for a large steel company. The buildings had been built in the 1950s. All the women’s restrooms had sofa/lounge areas. The business manager said they were mandated “by law,” to provide an area where women could rest. Much as I hate to admit, it was nice to have a place to go to close your eyes for a few minutes to get rid of a headache, etc. These days, we don’t have anywhere to go in the workplace to catch a few minutes of quiet. While it seems silly to mandate a women’s rest area, it was a nice perk that could recharge your batteries on a bad day.

My four nominees for Mt. Rushmore: Eleanor Roosevelt, Margaret Sanger, Madame Curie, and Abigail Adams. All women who contributed either more than they knew or who changed (or helped to change) the world—one step at a time.