Time changes things, from minimum wage to teen idols.  Do our generations define us? You decide.

I laced up my sneakers and tugged on a faded marathon T-shirt proclaiming: “I can do 26.2!” Talk about false advertising. It should have read: “Ten years ago, I could do 26.2. Now I just wear the T-shirt.”

Most women I know pledge allegiance to a certain brand of makeup. There’s the brand-happy Clinique types, the crunchy Origins women and the suburban Mary Kay ladies. Then there’s me, the one who buys what’s on sale or even (gasp!) goes without makeup whenever possible.
    It’s incredible that I missed the boat on makeup loyalty, considering my roots in beautification run deeper than mascara down cheeks during a viewing of The Notebook.

No childhood is perfect, but when I reflect on my Christmas memories, I must admit that most of them are pretty darn good. My mom was always big on holidays, so for me and my little brother, Christmas meant stringing popcorn, baking cookies, making handmade ornaments, watching The Grinch Who Stole Christmas and going caroling. (My mom is generally a pretty quiet person, but for some reason, she’s close to obnoxious when it comes to door-to-door caroling!)

Christmas is a special time of year. Holiday music sets the tone for romantic strolls through colorfully lit parks. Sparkling decorations match the sparkle in a couple’s eyes. And the snow (when Nashville actually gets some!) sets the perfect scene for this most whimsical season. For one Nashville newlywed, Christmas this year means more. It marks the beginning of a new and wonderful life with her husband.

Her blue eyes dance and a smile tugs at her lips as Lee Compton talks about her husband and her plans for the upcoming holidays. An easy chuckle escapes as she explains their tradition of having friends over for “outrageous soup and salad and absolutely ludicrous dessert,” at the beginning of the season.
    “We did a lot of things as a couple,” she notes, “and I see no reason not to continue.”

Cynthia smiles as she remembers what Christmas was like when she was a child. Her family gathered for Christmas dinner and enjoyed greens, mashed potatoes and turkey. Of all the beautiful and timeless hymns at the church service, her favorite was always “Amazing Grace.” She and her sisters and brothers were always surprised to receive the exact presents they had asked for. Christmas meant happiness, laughter, family and celebration.

For the past several years, my family has been observing what we call Christmashanukkah. My husband is Catholic, and I am Jewish. Between us, we have four children: my two sons and his two daughters. With the ages ranging from 13 - 17, we knew that we needed to find a way to keep both traditions alive ... to make the holiday season something that they would look forward to, regardless of our different religious backgrounds.

Those of us born on one of the other 364 days of the year likely agree that having a birthday on Christmas would stink. Think of all the presents you get jipped out of, right? All the focus is taken off of you and placed on the birth of (ahem) someone else. The handful of people I know born in December all mention fewer gifts and smaller parties, but for Anita Jenious, whose birthday is on December 25, she wouldn’t have it any other way. “Absolutely love it,” she says. “The whole world is decorated for your birthday, and no one ever forgets it.”

I am a veteran. My battle scars were not acquired upon foreign soil, but rather from the internal landscapes of heart-yanking, gut-gnarling and soul-wringing grief ... those less-than-tasty servings from the buffet of life experience.

I’ve felt the earth move under my feet and, with all due respect to singer-songwriter extraordinaire Carole King, it’s terrifying. Moreover, my life as I knew it — not the sky — came tumbling down, tumbling down.

Everyone has disappointments. The secret is remembering the past, and trusting that the future will unfold as planned. A dear friend of mine once told me that if I wanted to hear God laugh, I would tell him my plans. And she’s right, at least in this case.

Nobody was rooting harder than I was for the Kansas City Chiefs to beat the Green Bay Packers on January 15, 1967. It was the first world championship football game between the American and National Football Leagues in the country’s history. I just wanted it over.

I’d moved from college into an apartment on Kansas City’s Country Club Plaza, and I set out looking for work with the optimism of the Chiefs on their way to that historic first Super Bowl.

I remember when I was 16, I came into the kitchen one morning for breakfast. I wasn’t greeted with my mother’s usual, “Good morning,” but rather by a look of shock mixed with a slight hint of amusement.
“Shellie, where did you get that?” she asked, trying to hold back her laughter.

When I found out that my mother had Alzheimer’s, a friend gave me a book. There was a quote in it that said, “To tell you about how Alzheimer’s Disease has affected my mother, I’ll have to tell you who she was before Alzheimer’s.” I think that is what a big part of this journey has been about: finding out who my mother was and is, and also who I was and am becoming because of it. It’s kind of ironic that I am transitioning into being a caregiver for a woman who spent her entire life being that for so many other people.

I think my love story should be a book, a movie, a mini-series. Ever since August when it was announced over the air (I’m a 92Q radio personality) that I was pregnant and engaged, people have been asking me to explain it all. I never know where to start. How do you explain 24 years in a few minutes? The short version is that at 37, my first (everything) is going to be my third husband and the father of my third child.

In life, there are good days and bad days. I’m at a place now where most are good, and that’s great.  I remember the last time I had a relapse, and I’m proud to say it was last year. I say “proud” because when you’re battling an eating disorder, every moment counts and you have to learn to celebrate every triumph. Anyway, for some reason, chocolate cake is my “trigger.” Every time I eat it, I have to fight the urge to throw up.

When asked why she thinks she was voted one of HerNashville’s most “women-friendly” businesses, Lavish Events owner Tara Stouder-Milam hesitates momentarily before wisely surmising,

“The majority of my clients are women, and I do whatever I can to make them feel at ease and to make their dreams come true.”

After speaking with this savvy entrepreneur, it’s easy to see why dreams are coming true both Tara’s life and in the lives of those she touches.

“People in Nashville love to get married.”

Retropolitan owner Amy Heimermann makes interior space fresh, fun and personal.

AmyHeimermann has a gift; a talent for making a house a home. While her eye for design is unquestionably superb, her gift, really, is getting inside the heads of her clients and helping them define their own styles.

Probably every woman who has walked into a fancy, high-priced clothing store has felt, at least briefly, the urge to check her self-esteem at the door. The impeccably dressed salespeople, the meticulously arranged displays, and even the lighting and music often create an intimidating atmosphere. All but the most confident fashionistas may yearn to escape to the anonymity of familiar department stores and mall retailers.

But how can a woman cultivate her own personal style with a wardrobe full of mass-marketed, widely available clothing?