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By the time a person becomes a senior citizen, a lot of people have crossed their path. Memories of family and close friends come to mind often–thoughts of others are stirred by an odd word or gesture.

One area of our front hallway has turned into Tracy corner. Our first ride on the Ferris Wheel was instigated by Ken’s longtime buddy, Wayne, who seven years later served as best man at our wedding. He and his wife, Gloria, were our pals until their deaths. A wooden, corner-shelf inscribed “Home Sweet Home” was their present for our 40th anniversary. The large, artificial plant sitting on the floor was sent by the family for the funeral of our daughter, Linda. A banner hanging on the wall says, “Friends are like quilts…treasures and comforts,” and was their gift.

A recent posting on Facebook of a photo of the Durand 1st grade class of 1967 – 1968 that included our daughter, Lisa, and our neighbor, Lester, reminded me of the years Sherill and her sons, Junior, Lester and Paul, were our fast friends after our family moved into the village in 1966. The boys were similar in age to our Linda, Lisa and Kurt and lived in the same block. The group played outside whenever they weren’t in school.

Sherrill’s husband, Ronnie, worked second shift in a Rockford factory and Ken often put in similar hours. During our quiet evenings after our children were in bed, Sherrill and I competed in many games of Scrabble.

Not all people I remember played a large part in my life. To me, it’s amazing the ones that come to mind when I hear a certain word or see a specific movement. The other morning while I was finishing breakfast, Ken left for a doctor’s appointment. As he was going out the back door, he waved and said, “Bye.”

I responded with, “Bye,” and lifted the index finger of my left hand because I was holding my toast. The gesture reminded me of Gladys Bliss. For many years, she ran a grocery store here in Durand and was active in the community. She was also the mother of twin boys who were classmates of Ken’s. Any time she was driving along village streets and met someone, she always waved by lifting only her index finger.

What are your memories of various people?

As long as I can remember, books have fascinated me–beginning when my mother read to me and continuing as I sit down with one each evening before I go to bed.

Every morning, I solve the cryptoquote in the Rockford Register Star. A recent quote by Laura Bush was, “A good book is like an unreachable itch you just can’t leave alone.”

Years ago, when I was engrossed in a book and Ken thought I should be taking care of household chores, he threatened, “My next wife isn’t going to be able to read.” He’s still keeping me around.

One of my first favorites was “The Little Engine that Could,” by Watty Piper. It’s the story of a little blue train that helps deliver toys and food after a larger engine refuses. Despite feeling small and unsure she chants, “I think I can,” while climbing a mountain proving that determination and hard work can overcome obstacles. It still comes to mind when I prove to myself that I’m not too old to complete a task.

After I entered school and completed the adventures of Dick and Jane, I discovered Albert Payson Terhune’s writings about his collie dogs.

In high school, the first adult story I read was Margaret Mitchell’s “Gone with the Wind.” I liked how a novel could transport me from my mundane life across time and space to another time and place with exciting people.

When I’m reading and get interrupted, a bookmark always allows me to resume where I left off.

I’ve found that I don’t perfectly say some of the words that have entered my vocabulary because I’ve only read them and not heard them in conversation. Years ago, I learned the correct pronunciation of cacophony at a writers’ group I attended.

I usually read murder mysteries instead of the latest best sellers. After I’ve read them, I donate them to a used book shop at the library instead of accumulating them on a shelf.

I belong to a book club so once a month I read something that I wouldn’t otherwise know about. It’s fascinating to hear what others think about the same story.

Do you enjoy reading?

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?