lolita-s-bigtoe.com

In March 2019, I started my blog–this is #354. I aim at older women. a fast growing segment of the population. I’ve found some men read what I write, too, which pleases me. My title, lolita-s-bigtoe.com, refers to how, as older people, we are constantly testing the waters of change like a swimmer preparing to dive into the ocean. My comments are limited from 300 to 500 words because of people’s short attention span.

Each Wednesday, my subject is whatever crosses my mind. Since I learned to talk, one of my favorite words has been “why.” Any time I find myself seeking an answer, I think maybe some of my contemporaries have wondered about the same thing. I try to educate my readers to the point of saying, “I didn’t know that.” From time to time, I share my frustrations with our changing society; or comment on my day-to-day. I hope to encourage others to think about their own lives. According to Socrates, a polarizing Greek Philosopher in 399 B.C., an unexamined life is not worth living.

When I started covering Durand school board and village board meetings for the daily Rockford Morning Star, I didn’t have time to rewrite my articles before the 10:00 p.m., phone-in deadline. I left that up to my editor. One of the first things I learned when I started preparing newspaper features and magazine stories was that the most time is spent rewriting. In-active verbs and cliches spring to my mind first. Maybe while I’m washing our lunch dishes, I’ll think of the exact word I’m looking for.

These essays allow me to continue to use the skills I have honed since 1969, when I became a freelancer submitting articles to area newspapers or national periodicals devoted to women, farmers or police officers. For many years, I’ve spent my mornings writing. At first, I sat at the portable typewriter my parents had bought as a Christmas gift when I was a high schooler. Eventually, I progressed to a computer. My modernization has been possible because I have my own, personal techie on call, also known as our son, Kurt.

Are you learning new skills to keep up with our changing society?

I think there is nothing that we are more critical of than one another’s driving. Men seem to think they have a corner on the skill because they were the first motorists. My dad had an eye disease in middle age that made it impossible for him to pass the eye test for a driver’s license. He would agree that Mom was a good driver but it was obviously a blow to his manhood to be the rider.

In my mother’s generation, she was part of a very small minority when she quit riding her horse to school and began propelling a ’29 Dodge from their farm to attend classes at Durand High where she was a senior.

By the time I took Drivers’ Education at the same high school during my junior year, all of the girls as well as the boys in the class took the elective course. Each of us wanted to be ready to pass the test required to obtain a state driver’s license when we turned sixteen.

Our school bus drivers were men. Today, when I meet the yellow vehicles on the road, I notice most of the people behind the steering wheels are women. Automatic transmissions plus power steering and power brakes have made buses and trucks easier to handle.

I’m sure my skills remain intact because I must pass a state required eye test and a driving test to annually renew my license. Illinois is the only state in the union to require this of its elderly.

There is probably a reason the righthand front side of a vehicle is called the passenger seat. The word begins the same way as passive, which is defined as accepting or allowing what happens or what others do, without active response or resistance. This could mean the rider does not make derogatory remarks or gestures such as stomping an imaginary brake when someone else is behind the wheel.

Do you enjoy driving?

On this day sixty-six years ago, I became a mother. It’s a good thing there was no qualification test because I’d never have passed. Ken had more experience with a child than I did–he’d babysat his oldest niece, Judy, when he was a teenager. I knew nothing about little ones because I’ve been an only child and never a babysitter. I was afraid of babies. I’d never held an infant until I held my own.

The only preparation I had was buying and absorbing “Dr. Spock’s Baby and Child Care,” the current handbook for parents.

After three days in the hospital, Daddy brought Linda and me home from Monroe. My mother, who lived about three miles away, came to help me cook formula made from evaporated milk, Karo syrup and water; bathe Linda in the kitchen sink and change cloth diapers fastened with two, huge safety pins and covered with plastic pants. The used ones were stored in a covered pail soaking in water and bleach until there was a washer load.

The next morning, when I opened my eyes in our upstairs bedroom and it was light, I realized Linda hadn’t woken up during the night for the 2 a.m. feeding. I quickly checked our daughter, who was sleeping in a basket beside our bed, to make sure she was breathing.

Her glass bottles stayed in the refrigerator. I had a small, electric warmer that I kept on the upstairs, bathroom windowsill to use during the night. During the day, I heated each one in a pan of water on the stove. To make sure the contents were the right temperature for baby, I squirted it on the inside of my wrist.

Mom returned many times to help me through the stressful days of caring for our little girl. Luckily, Linda was a good baby who slept a lot.

Our needed furniture had been gathered from relatives. The metal crib in the small, upstairs, nursery had been Uncle Hookie’s baby bed. The bathinette and the playpen sitting in our living room belonged to Ken’s sister, Lola Mae. Most of Linda’s baby clothes had been worn by her cousins, the six Gaffney kids.

When I began to feel confident that I knew what I was doing, I realized we would soon have a second child. Lisa was born the following April. Caring for two wasn’t much different than doing for one. Kurt came along, two years later. With three babies in four years, I became adept at child care.

Were you experienced with children when you became a parent?

We think of love during February because stores are pushing Valentine’s Day sales. But not everybody has a satisfying relationship–some people endure unrequited affection.

I sometimes wonder if we would have country music, which always tells a story, if it wasn’t for heartbreak. Whenever I ride in the truck with Ken, “Willie’s Roadhouse” plays on the radio because we’re fans of the classics that were popular during our younger days. A lot of the tunes relate a man’s misery. One of my favorites is George Jones singing “He Stopped Loving Her Today.” It took the fellow’s death to end his affection for a woman who was no longer his one and only. It isn’t so much the song but the memory it evokes. It was popular in the summer of 1980 when I had histoplasmosis and my left lung was surgically removed.

Dolly Parton wrote “Jolene” in 1973 and it was her first smash, solo hit. I think that song is ridiculous. One woman begs another, “Please don’t take my man just because you can.” I only want a man who loves me through all happenings of life. I expect him to stick with me when I look a wreck or am unlovable. If he’s tempted by a prettier face, a lither figure or a sunnier manner. I don’t want him–she is welcome to him.

I think there seem to be few songs like “You Are My Sunshine” written by Jimmie Davis in 1940 that extol a loved one in a person’s life. I guess we share sadness quicker than we share happiness.

I can’t imagine what it must be like to love someone who doesn’t love me in return. I’ve been fortunate to have the same guy in my life since I was fourteen. We’ve gone from teenage crush to old age satisfaction.

Have you suffered heartbreak during your lifetime?

This is February, time to look at New Year’s Resolutions. During the Christmas holidays I was deep in nostalgia about past occasions. The new year makes me think of new beginnings.

I don’t usually make New Year’s Resolutions. Not that I don’t have any bad habits or couldn’t use some more good ones, I just doubt whether I’ll do much changing.

I am breaking one bad habit. I got a head start right after Christmas. I won’t disclose my secret vice but I am leaving it behind in the old year. Sometimes I lapse but I’m doing pretty good.

Most of my goals are to keep doing what I’m doing. I’m still enjoying writing my blog. It’s about the amount of writing I want to do. I don’t have the energy to chase down magazine stories and submit proposals as a freelancer nor write another book. To pen my memoir, “A View from a Midwest Ferris Wheel,” I had to learn to write creative nonfiction. It took me ten tears to have it ready to submit to a publisher.

One thing I’m trying to do is walk through the house in the evening during each commercial while I’m watching TV. I sit too much.

One of my writer friends covered the suggested 10,00o steps daily inside her house. She had a pedometer to record her movements. I don’t expect to cover that much ground but I think moving during each commercial is a reasonable goal. The ads used to occur every fifteen minutes but I think they are oftener now but I haven’t timed them. That was when one business sponsored a program such as Chevrolet and Dinah Shore. Now, multiple products are hawked during each break and they last about four minutes, I think.

Are you keeping up on your New Year’s Resolutions or didn’t you bother to make any?

The first thing people notice about a woman is her hair. Changing the style, alters how a female sees herself. A good cut can lift someone out of a low movement, restore energy and identity. When someone walks out of a salon feeling like themselves again–that’s impact.

A bad whittling can take weeks to recover as the person waits for locks to grow out. Hair normally lengthens about 1/2 an inch per month. It can be slower for older adults due to shrinking follicles and hormone changes. As we women age, we also notice out hair becoming thinner.

The hairstylist influences cultures more than most people realize. Hair shapes fashions, defines decades and creates icons. Remember the ’70s when many women wanted to look like Farrah Fawcett on the TV program, “Charlie’s Angels?”

The beautician sees her customers through every chapter of life and supports the person in the chair. She holds a level of trust most professionals never touch–clients may reveal things they don’t tell family, friends or therapsists.

I’m not the type to divulge secrets but I continue to be friends with the woman who did my topknot for years. Since she retired, the two of us continue to get together for a chat over lunch. She referred me to another stylist in the same Rockford establishment where I recently had my hair cut.

A trim is the only reason I go to a salon about every two months. With the popularity of straighter styles, I no longer periodically endure the two-hour, chemical torture of a permanent to make my stubbornly, straight hair curly. I began doing that when I was four years old. At that time, mothers were enthralled by popular, child star, Shirley Temple, and wanted their daughter to also have curls.

I’m satisfied with my white hair and don’t desire any other color. When I was in my thirties, I experimented with lightning my dishwater blonde hair. It didn’t take long for me to see that I had very, dark roots. That ended my life as a blonde. Besides, I wasn’t having more fun as the saying promised.

Do you have a favorite hairstylist?

Elinor Harrison, who worked fifteen years as a professional dancer and singer, is a dance choreographer and a movement scientist at Washington University in St. Louis plus a lecturer in the Performing Arts Department. For the past decade, she has been developing therapeutic techniques involving singing and dancing to help people with neurological disorders.

She recommends that everybody sing. Not only is singing a deeply ingrained human cultural activity, research increasingly shows how good it is for us. Before people played music, they likely sang. Singing and chanting can have profound benefits to physical, mental and social health, with both immediate and long term effects.

Physically, the act of producing sound can strengthen the lungs and diaphragm plus increase the amount of oxygen in the blood. Singing can also lower heart rate and blood pressure, reducing the risk of cardiovascular diseases. It also improves mood and reduces stress.

Vocalizing can even improve you immune system, as active music participation can increase levels of immunoglobin A, one of the key antibodies to stave off illness.

We teach children nursery rhymes with gestures; we spontaneously nod our heads to a favorite song; we sway to the beat while singing at a baseball game.

Recently, I was watching TV showing excerpts from Taylor Swift’s Eras Tour. Many of the young women in the audiences were singing along with her.

Group singing provides a mood boost, improves overall well-being and may promote feeling of social connection and bonding. When I was in high school, I was a part of the Mixed Chorus, the Girls Chorus and a small ensemble. One of the advantages of attending a small high school is a person doesn’t have to be good to participate in extra-curricular activities.

Humans are, in effect hardwired to sing and dance, and we likely evolved to do so. Matching footfalls to one’s own singing is an effective tool for improving walking. Seemingly, active vocalization requires a level of engagement, attention and effort that can translate into improved motor patterns. It works even when you sing in your head.

Do you sing in the shower or while doing household chores?

Arthritis is the swelling and tenderness of one or more joints. Its main symptoms are pain and stiffness, which typically worsens with age. According to the National Health Interview Survey, nearly half of U.S. adults aged 65 and older, which includes 25.7 million people, have doctor diagnosed arthritis with more women than men suffering from the disease. Some people say their malady is worse during humid or cold weather.

The most common types are osteoarthritis, which causes cartilage, the hard, slippery tissue that covers the ends of bones where they form a joint, to break down and rheumatoid arthritis when a person’s immune system attacks the lining of joints.

Uric acid crystals, which form when there’s too much uric acid in a person’s blood, can cause gout, most often in the big toe. Infections or underlying disease, such as psoriasis or lupus, can cause other types of arthritis.

Risk factors include tobacco use, family history, other health conditions such as obesity and lack of physical activity. Yet, athletes, especially those who play contact sports, and people who have physically demanding jobs or do work that puts a lot of stress on joints, are susceptible.

In the book, “The Complete Dinosaur,” Bruce M. Rothschild, Professor of Medicine at Northeastern Ohio Universities College of Medicine in Youngstown, Ohio, states rheumatoid arthritis can be traced back to a small portion of dinosaurs and prehistoric man.

Reference to arthritis is found in texts at least as far back as 4500 B.C. A text dated 123 A.D. first describes symptoms that appear similar to RA.

In 1859, British rheumatologist, Dr. Alfred Baring Garrod, gave the disease its current name.

Although, the ailment has been known for centuries, there is no cure. Treatment usually consists of over-the-counter anti-inflammatories and therapy to stay strong, active and confident throughout your daily routine. If a person has severe arthritis, surgery may be needed.

Do you cope with arthritis?

I have joined the younger generations in texting with my smartphone. To me, there are times it offers more advantages over calls. When I have just a quick question such as the other day when I asked our daughter, Lisa, “Do you freeze Black Bean Soup?” I’d gotten the recipe from her and it made a lot. Her quick answer was, “Yes.” A short answer to a text can be done nearly effortlessly.

A phone call disrupts what a person is doing and encourages small talk about such mundane subjects as the weather.

Texts leave a printed record. If a conversation slips my mind and I ask someone, “When are we meeting for lunch?” Their response leaves a note of the date, time and place to transfer to my calendar.

I can send a message to our two children, Lisa and Kurt, at the same time. When I had to use the wall phone to pass on information to them, I might tell one twice and the other not at all.

There is privacy in texting. A message can be sent from a public place such as a hospital waiting room. To make a phone call, a secluded area must be found. Others don’t want to be disturbed by someone’s conversation and I don’t want to share my information with strangers.

I’ve never been a big, phone talker. I have to plan the things I’m going to say before I make a call. While I was forming my habits growing up, we were on a party line, which we shared with several neighbors. Although some women chatted on it, my mother never did and she urged me to keep my calls short. There was also no privacy. We never spoke about anything we didn’t want known throughout the community in case someone was listening to our conversation. “Rubbering” to neighbors’ talk was a pastime for country people.

My phone makes a distinctive sound when I receive a text. If I’m too busy to check it at the time, it’s waiting when I get to it.

Much of my typing a message can be automatic. When I start a word, several alternatives usually appear on the dial. All I have to do is touch the correct one.

Do you use a smartphone and text?

Tonight, people around the world will be celebrating the end of 2025 and the beginning of 2026. For a few days, I’ll have to remind myself to write the new year each time I jot down the date.

While I was growing up, my parents celebrated by attending a dance and I, an only child, had to tag along. One year when I was in grade school, I remember their friends, Myron and Ruth, picking us up when the thermometer read 20 below. At least, we got into a warm car. I made a mental note to remember that night so when I grew to dating age, my parents could never convince me it was too cold to go out.

When Ken and I were young marrieds, there was a year when it was 20 below but our friends, Billy and Mickey, accompanied us to a Loves Park nightclub for dinner and an evening of entertainment. I still remembered that long ago, frigid night going out with my parents.

Our most memorable celebration was 1954 – 55, when we were teenagers. Ken had joined the U.S. Navy and was home on leave for the holidays. To begin the evening, his long-time pal, Wayne, driving his Ford, picked up his girlfriend, Gloria, plus Ken and me to attend the movie, “White Christmas,” at the Coronado theater in Rockford. After that, we stopped in Durand at the dance in the Grange Hall to join the crowd welcoming the new year with paper hats, cardboard horns and tin noisemakers. That event ended at 3 a.m. By then we were hungry and drove south to the mile-corner where The Hilltop remained open to serve revelers. After we ate cheeseburgers, I arrived home at 4 a.m. and kissed Ken good-bye. In a few hours, he would fly away–I didn’t know how long before I would see him again.

When I got out of bed at noon on New Year’s Day, I was in the doghouse with my mother for getting home so late. I didn’t care–it had been worth it to spend the time with Ken.

We no longer go out to celebrate New Year’s Eve. It’s an effort to stay up and watch TV until the ball drops in New York’s Times Square and our clock reads 11 p.m.

Do you celebrate New Year’s Eve?