Author: admin

One of my first words was, “Why?’ It’s still my favorite. My nonfiction urges people to think about the answer to that question.

While I was growing up, I never thought about becoming a writer. In high school, I took office courses and worked in one while I was single. After our three children were in school, I expected to return to that sort of job. Instead, I was intrigued by a newspaper ad and became a freelancer reporting on the Durand community for the Rockford Morning Star. Most area residents subscribed to the daily and read my articles about village board and school board actions, which affect everyone in the community.

I joined area writers’ groups and attended workshops to improve the craft I was learning by doing.

Thirteen years later, the newspaper dropped their part-time freelancers. I queried national magazines for women, farmers and police. Some accepted my articles about people and their passions whether it was seeking ancestors, participating in an antique tractor pull or enforcing the law.

I joined the Illinois Woman’s Press Association, which is affiliated with the National Federation of Press Women. Their numerous awards for my published articles assured me I was doing the right thing.

At the beginning of 2008, our 48-year-old, developmentally different daughter, Linda, was diagnosed with terminal breast cancer. I quit writing to care for her. After she died in August, I was at loose ends.

As Ken and I made plans for our 50th anniversary celebration the following April, I decided to write a memoir about our seven-year courtship in the 1950s. A lot had been penned about the ’40s with World War II and the wild ’60s but little about the decade in between. As a guideline, I had Mom’s diaries that she’d left behind when she died. Every day, she jotted down what they were doing on the family dairy farm. That gave me the who, what, when and where of the times. I checked our high school annuals and old newspapers for specific events. My memories fleshed out the happenings. Attending workshops on creative nonfiction taught me to write my story like a novel. I joined the Janesville Area Writers and read aloud excerpts from my work-in-progress at their monthly meetings. The other members gave thoughtful critiques. It took ten years of writing and rewriting to finish the manuscript. I was elated when Adelaide Books, an independent New York firm, offered me a contract to publish “The View from a Midwest Ferris Wheel.” It’s available from Amazon in Kindle and paperback.

Writing a blog was my next step. I started lolita-s-bigtoe.com aimed at the growing contingent of older women but I do have some male readers, too. On Wednesdays, I share what’s on my mind hoping to stir others’ thoughts.

Why did you pursue your career?

I was fortunate to have my mother with me until she turned ninety. I miss the many women she was during those years.

When I was a first grader at Rockton Grade School, a playground swing, constructed with a thick, board seat hung from a pair of chains, hit me in the head giving me a brain concussion. I remember the thirty-year-old woman who spent the night with me at the Beloit Hospital. To check my eyesight, I can still see her standing at the foot of my bed and asking, “How many fingers am I holding up?”

Mom and I didn’t always see eye to eye. For seventh grade, I started riding the yellow bus to the new Durand Junior High School. During breaks in the day, I joined a group of girls practicing for cheerleading tryouts. In years past, I’d admired the dresses Aunt Frannie made for some of the high school cheerleaders. I dreamed that would be me someday. To participate in the tryouts, I brought home a permission slip to be signed by a parent. Mom said I couldn’t because she would be busy with evening milking when I would need to be taken to town to attend boys’ basketball games. I was mad at her for days.

When Dad and Mom became grandparents, they were usually available to babysit when my husband and I went out. Our three children spent the night at their house. Friends envied our being able to sleep in the next morning after being up late the night before.

My mother was my relief when Linda, our developmentally different daughter, pushed me to my wits’ end. Mom suggested I take a day off once a week. I looked forward to time by myself shopping in Rockford and enjoying a leisurely lunch in a nice restaurant.

I knew my mother didn’t want to be the dependent, old woman she turned into during her eighties. Helping her remain in her home was my chance to return some of the love and care she had shown me.

How do you see your mother?

Each time I drive by the Harrison Cemetery on Highway 75, I wonder why my friend, Sandy, died in her forties while I’m enjoying my eighties. I’ve watched our children and our grandchildren grow up and become successful adults while she missed out on so much. I know I’m not responsible for my friend’s life. In fact, I’m not sure I’m even in charge of my own.

We are each created differently and don’t know what lies ahead. As I look around at the folks I’ve known for years, I’m amazed at how everyone has changed and the ways we’ve each remained the same.

While my generation was growing up, one of the highlights of summer was having a travelling carnival spend a long weekend in our village. Besides the thrill rides, cotton candy and games of chance, there always was a Gypsy fortuneteller. If our parents would have allowed my teenage friends and me to enter her tent and have our futures told, we would have laughed if the woman had accurately predicted the life each of those country girls would lead. We would have agreed her prophecies were impossible. But times change and people change with them.

After I married a farmer, I sewed several, shirt-waist dresses to wear while I cared for our three, small children just like the housewives and mothers portrayed on TV. In the fifties, society sought to put every girl into the same box. Not all women fit–I was one of them. I was overjoyed when my husband left the farm and became a county deputy. It was serendipity that I found my calling as a writer. Looking back, I believe the life I’ve led so far has been right for me.

Has your life been right for you?

I believe competition is a part of everyone’s life no matter what you do. When I was little, I accompanied Mom to help Aunt Frannie cook dinner for the members of the threshing ring. The men sitting around the table debated which wife served the best noon meal during the harvest season.

For siblings, rivalry begins in childhood. Brothers and sisters note who’s receiving more of their mother’s attention. Who eats the last piece of cake? What TV show will they watch?

As an only child at home and the only one in my class while I attended a one-room, country school for six years, I didn’t face competition until I rode the yellow bus to Durand for junior and senior high. The thirty-some seventh graders dwindled to twenty-four graduating seniors. Competition in the classroom culminated in who would be honored as salutatorian and valedictorian.

We also began the dating game. Would the boy I had my eye on ask me to the prom?

Entering the working world, I competed for jobs. Once I was hired, there was rivalry for the various positions in the office.

Young, adult men and women vie with one another for the person they’ll marry. “The Bachelor” and “The Bachelorette” TV shows exploit these contests.

New mothers compare their babies’ accomplishments. Who’s crawling? Who’s walking? Who’s talking?

As a freelance journalist, I strive to be better today than I was yesterday. I compete with other writers to have my articles accepted by a newspaper or magazine editor. For my memoir and my blog, I’m trying to attract readers.

Some of my retired friends are on waiting lists for senior housing. In their free time, they join groups playing cards or bingo for prizes. I think the struggle never ends.

Do you feel like you’re in a competition?

For the first time in 63 years, our anniversary will fall on Easter Sunday. The traditional vows we exchanged when we were married and repeated when we celebrated our Golden Anniversary sum up our relationship as husband and wife: “to have and to hold from this day forward for better, for worse; for richer, for poorer; in sickness and in health; to love and to cherish until death us do part.”

Together we’ve matured from teenagers to octogenarians. We share seventy years of memories beginning in high school. There’s our song, “Battle of New Orleans.” It isn’t romantic, but we smile when we hear Johnny Horton describing that clash between the U.S. and the British during the War of 1812. The tune saturated the air waves in 1959 when we honeymooned in the ‘Big Easy’. It also reminds us of our own hostilities through the years.

We were blessed with three children. We’ve mourned Linda, our developmentally different , oldest daughter, who died of breast cancer at age forty-eight. Lisa and Kurt followed in their dad’s duty shoe footsteps and completed careers as cops.

Kurt married Sandy and we have two grandchildren. While Katelyn and Jacob were growing up, I learned why my mother said it was a privilege to babysit the kids. The two have joined the law-and-order family tradition–she is an assistant state’s attorney and he is a police officer. Katelyn has added her husband, Sean, to our family. We celebrate holidays and special occasions together. April 17th, we’ll all enjoy brunch at Merrill & Huston’s Steak Joint in Beloit.

Since Ken retired and I continue writing in my family-room office, we spend a lot of time at home. Occasionally, one of us leaves the house to pursue our own interests–he goes fishing or I go to a writers’ gathering. I still get butterflies in my stomach at the thought of seeing my husband again after a few days’ absence.

Who’s the love of your life?

On a lazy Sunday afternoon, I answered a knock on our backdoor. There stood my Uncle Raymond and Uncle Bobbie who said, “Our wives came to see your new babies–we came to see your new car.” Most of the guys I know treat their cars like their babies. Ken went outside to show off our ’62 maroon Chevy Corvair.

For the past three years, we’d been driving the ’56 Lincoln my husband had when we were married. He’d dreamed about that auto while he was still in the navy, “I knew it would be two years old before I could buy one but I didn’t car.” The vehicle had reached the point that it needed repairs. A trip to the shop was very expensive to fix the luxury car. It was time to replace it.

Fifteen years later, with spring in the air, a red convertible sitting on a Rockford lot caught Ken’s eye. Papers in the glove compartment detailed the service record of the ’65 Plymouth. My husband talked with the pervious owner, a man who farmed in the Poplar Grove area. The twelve-year-old auto became our second car.

On a lovely summer day, I heard a knock on our front door. I glanced out the window and saw a Corvette stopped at the curb. We didn’t know anyone who drove a Corvette–the fellow must be lost and need directions. I opened the door to a fortyish man who asked, “Is this where Ken Ditzler lives?”

I replied, “Yes, he’s around in the garage.”

Later, when Ken came in the house, he said, “That was the guy who used to own the convertible. He came by to make sure I was giving it a good home. He was happy with the way I was taking care of it.”

Have you had anyone come to your house to visit a car?

In past generations, women who didn’t marry before turning thirty were called old maids. They were pitied and seen as burdens–somebody had to take care of poor Auntie.

Today some women choose to live single lives and face few obstacles. Those who came before made it possible for them to have their choice of careers. In the past, only a few were doctors, engineers or lawyers. Now nearly 60 per cent of students enrolled in college are women. Occupations closed to females such as police officers, fire fighters and trades people have opened their doors. Women who earn their own paychecks do business, apply for credit cards and obtain mortgages to buy houses.

They may be the devoted aunts their nieces and nephews count on to be in their cheering section no what they’re doing. The women are another role model for the maturing children.

They may devote more time to their careers because no one is waiting for them at home. If they have chosen an occupation that is needed 24/7, they’re the ones working on holidays so others can be home with their families.

They may be among the volunteers always needed especially by non-profit organizations. Serving on governing boards, they provide a different viewpoint from an all-male contingent.

Some become helpers for elderly family members making sure legal papers such as wills and powers of attorney are in place. They provide rides, oversee bank accounts and help with household chores so senior citizens can continue to live in their homes. If an assisted living facility or a nursing home is needed, they aid in finding the best fit.

Women still face discrimination and misogynists. Today’s single females are adding their efforts to making life better for the next generation. Whatever they do, they are in charge of their lives.

Who do you know that enjoys a single life?

I became a grandmother during the month of March twenty-eight years ago. That is one of the aspects of my life I had no control over. Our son and the young woman who became our daughter-in-law married and settled in the village where he grew up. It was their decision to have two children.

I quickly discovered why my mother said it was a treat to babysit. Time with the growing kids allowed us to get acquainted as individuals. One of the things our grandchildren learned visiting our house was how to interact with Aunt Linda, who was developmentally different.

As a mother, it had been my habit to answer a lot of childish requests with, ‘no’. It was easy to later change to ‘yes’ if need be. If I said ‘yes’ in the beginning, I was stuck with it. I can still hear our young granddaughter imploring, “Grandma, don’t say ‘no’. Say ‘I’ll think about it’.” Of course, I complied.

Our grandson often challenged me to play War. I’d enjoyed the card game when I was growing up.

The kids thought it was a treat to ride with Grandma and Grandpa when we all went out to supper at an area restaurant to celebrate a family member’s birthday. They learned about Grandpa’s fallibility when he made a wrong turn on the way and glossed it over by saying, “We’re taking the scenic route.”

I’ve enjoyed attending their events from pre-school tea parties, athletic games and college graduations. It’s enlightening to have conversations with the young adults.

They’ve continued the family tradition of law enforcement–she is an assistant state’s attorney and he is a police officer. I felt special to be invited along as our granddaughter chose a wedding dress.

Do you have grandchildren?

This Women’s History Month is a good time to look at some of the females who made me who I am. The most influential person in my life was my mother. She taught me that a woman could play many roles. On the farm during the week, she donned pants to work and sweat beside my father. Saturday night, she put on make-up and a dress to dance with him at area halls. At times, I’ve strived to be like her and I’ve also struggled to be different. As an adult, it was a shock the first time her angry words came out of my mouth. I would have laid odds that could never happen. As I age, I have to admit I’m proud to be like her.

Two others were my cousins, Doris and Sis. For this only child, they were the closest to sisters I had. They were fourteen and twelve years older than I was, but I felt accepted as an equal. By observing them, I learned to apply nail polish and eye make-up, both things Mom didn’t bother with. I also listened closely when they talked about their dates.

In their twenties, Sis married and looked after her own family. Doris, who remained single until her forties, continued to spend time with me. When it was time for my junior prom, we boarded the train in Rockford to shop in Chicago so I would have a one-of-a-kind formal. She was my lifeline while my boyfriend was in the navy. After I became a working woman, we vacationed together. She taught me how single ladies split expenses and behave when away from home.

When I started reporting community news for the Rockford Morning Star, my editor told me all I needed was a typewriter and a 35mm camera. To fill in some of the gaps in my knowledge, Susan, my friend and the journalist for the local paper, shared her on-the-job experience with me.

Who were some of the mentors in your life?

Recently, I was part of two groups of women, the Book Ends book club and a baby shower. Once upon a time, gatherings of ladies were referred to as ‘hen parties’. I suppose that term is outdated and I don’t know what’s in vogue now. When it’s all females, the conversation and the food are different. I was reminded how much I need that camaraderie.

The book club, a group of older women, meets the last Friday morning of each month to discuss the novel we’ve all just read. Several years ago, I joined the group to peruse books I wouldn’t otherwise select. I love to read, but my tastes have never run the same as other girls. Back when I attended a one-room, country school, we had the travelling library. Once a month, a man driving a pick-up truck exchanged the gray boxes packed with books. I always grabbed the Hardy Boy mysteries instead of Nancy Drew.

I can’t remember the last baby shower I attended. There was a time, they were a big part of my social life. Now, I’ll become the great-great-aunt of the expected young man.

Showers are such joyful occasions. The event is centered around the young woman who is proudly displaying her baby bump. Soon her discomfort will be behind her. I wonder how the phrase, “We are pregnant,” entered our vocabulary.

With today’s store registries, it’s easy for guests to shop and gift bags solve the wrapping problem. It’s part of the fun to watch the mother-to-be remove the paper and be enthused about diapers, pacifiers and tiny clothes.

We also had two women who are looking forward to becoming grandmothers. They will enjoy the growing child and leave the responsibilities to their son and daughter.

When’s the last time you were part of a group of women?