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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?

On March 8, 1857, the women from various New York City factories staged a protest over poor working conditions. In 1909, the first Women’s Day celebration was held in New York City. The United States Census Bureau calls those events the roots of Women’s History Month.

It took Congress seven decades to establish National Women’s History Week beginning the second week of March 1981. Every year since 1987, Congress has passed a resolution ( and the president has issued a proclamation) designating March Women’s History Month to acknowledge the vital role of women in America’s past.

It’s easy to picture the ladies of the past as docile housewives. Yet, through the ages, each generation had females who thought for themselves. A few made the history books such as: Ida B. Wells (1862 – 1931) who was born in Mississippi and became an investigative journalist and suffragette; Grace Hopper (1906 – 1992) who was born in New York City and became a computer scientist and rear admiral in the U.S. Navy; plus, Sandra Day O’Conner who was born on a ranch in Arizona in 1930 and became the first woman appointed to the United States Supreme Court.

During the 1960’s and ’70s, the women’s liberation movement changed our thinking and our language. Instead of dividing the married and unmarried with the terms Mrs. and Miss, all are addressed as Ms. In 1972, Congress passed Title IX paving the way for our daughter’s generation to compete on athletic teams sponsored by their schools. When the girls finished their education, they were accepted as police officers, firefighters and other occupations formerly restricted to men.

Although women in this country outnumber men 166.6 million to 161.7 million, they are not treated as the majority.

Who in your life was an independent woman?

Every morning, I peruse the Rockford Register Star while I’m eating breakfast. As long as I’ve been able to read the daily newspaper, it has included the comic strip “Blondie.”

Blondie doesn’t look it, but she’s older than I am. The cartoon created by “Chic” Young was first published September 8, 1930. He continued to write and draw the panels until he died in 1973 at age 72. Creative control passed to his son, Dean Young, and a number of artists have assisted in drawing the strip over the years. “Blondie” has remained popular appearing in more than 2,000 newspapers in 47 countries and translated into 35 languages.

In the beginning, Blondie, a young, carefree flapper, was a dance hall girl. Her boyfriend Dagwood was heir to an industrial fortune. Before they could marry February 17, 1933, Dagwood went on a hunger strike to persuade his parents to give their blessing. They disapproved of his marrying below his class.

Marriage caused a change in Blondie’s personality. She gradually bcame the sensible head of the household. Her husband became the strip’s clown.

The Bumsteads, a middle-class suburban family, includes Alexander, now in his late teens, Cookie in her early teens and their dog, Daisy. Their neighbors and best friends are Herb and Tootsie Woodley.

Dagwood works for J.C. Dithers Construction Co. and often naps on the job. His tyrannical boss, Julius Caesar Dithers, who is hen-pecked by his wife, Cora, always denies his employee’s frequent requests for a raise and often threatens to to fire him.

The strip has kept its distinctive look and running gags such as Dagwood’s love for big sandwiches. It has also kept up with the changing times. In 1991, Blondie and Tootsie started a catering business. Dagwood rides to work in a car pool and uses a computer.

Do you follow “Blondie?”

Heraclitus, the 500 B.C. philosopher, observed, “A man never steps in the same river twice, for it’s not the same river and he’s not the same man.”

I’m sure that quote applies to 21st century females, too. It led to the title of my blog, lolita-s-bigtoe.com, aimed at older women. Our society is rapidly progressing. We are constantly dipping a big toe to test the stream of change. When I look back at how my mother did things while I was growing up compared to how I’m doing things now, I marvel at the differences. I almost feel guilty when I dump a load of clothes into my automatic washer and dryer, fold them and put them away. I remember Mom’s Monday wash day. It was a grueling job to clean the clothes in a wringer washer, rinse them and hand them outside on the wire line to dry. Tuesday, a basket of ironing followed.

I know writers who continue to compose their manuscripts in longhand. I enjoy using the computer. It’s so easy to move words or paragraphs around and move them back again if I decide I had it right before. It also checks my spelling. If I have trouble with my machine, I’ll try turning it off and on again. If that doesn’t solve the problem, I call our ‘techie’ son. It’s the same way I’ve always driven a car. When it runs the way it’s supposed to, I’m fine. If it makes a funny noise or a warning light appears on the dash, I quickly find someone who knows how to fix the problem. I don’t embrace all of the latest fads. As far as I’m concerned, Ken’s navy tattoo is enough for this family. I make calls and text with my smart phone, but it’s not my lifeline.

How do you decide to adopt the new trend or stick with your tried-and-true method?

Next Tuesday is Valentine’s Day. I’m thinking about ‘puppy love’ that clumsy, short-lived, romantic affection felt by children or adolescents. I remember the night before our first-grade Valentine party at Rockton Grade School. I was addressing cards for my classmates. I selected a special one and told Mom, “This one’s for Bing.”

She said a firm, “No.”

I didn’t ask why and finished.

Bing, my first boyfriend, was a blond, second grader. I’d met him while riding a yellow bus with the other farm kids who lived along Highway 75 west of the village. During the morning and afternoon trips, we sat together on a bench seat. Our classrooms, which each contained about thirty pupils, were across the hall from one another. Our teachers often brought their students together. March first, I left Bing behind when our family moved to a farm southeast of Durand.

I continued at Dobson country school with a total enrollment of ten students in various grades. Frankie became my new boyfriend. The ‘big girls’, including his twin sisters, teased us about our romance. Soon they filled recess times by planning and executing our ‘wedding’.

When I was in fourth grade, we moved to a farm northwest of Durand. I increased the enrollment at Putnam country school to nine. I continued to find new boyfriends in different places.

For junior high and high school, I rode a yellow bus to Durand. During the summer when I was a fourteen, schoolmate Kenny asked me to ride on a Ferris wheel. That encounter turned into real love with an actual wedding.

Eight years ago, I saw in the news that the fellow that was nicknamed Bing fell into a bin of shelled corn. His grandson and an emergency crew saved his life. Seventy years later, he was still farming in the same area. I wonder if he remembers me.

Who was your first puppy love?

Next Monday, February 7, would be my parents’ anniversary. On a Thursday afternoon in 1935, they stood with two attendants for a private ceremony in the church parsonage. The following Saturday night, they hired a hall for a dance attended by friends and relatives from surrounding communities.

For years, I thought the professional photo taken of the three of us when I was six weeks old was their wedding picture. I couldn’t imagine them without me and Mom said they were wearing the same clothes.

When I was planning my wedding, I asked Mom, “Why were you and Dad married in February when the weather was so iffy?”

She replied, “A lot of us were married in February to be ready to move onto a farm when landlords changed tenants the first of March.” Those young people had guts to marry, start farming and have babies in the midst of The Great Depression.

Before Alex and Edith became Dad and Mom, each of them had grown up on a family farm with child-sized tasks for boys and girls. He attended a country school for eight years and learned to farm from his dad. She was raised by her father after her mother died when she was seven. She went to a country school for eight years and then rode a horse to town every day to graduate from high school.

They rented a family-sized farm on shares. The young couple furnished the labor, team and horse-drawn equipment. Edith donned pants and worked alongside Alex instead of wearing a dress and remaining in the house. The milk cows and hogs were owned jointly by the landlord and the tenant. Expenses and income were split 50/50.

My folks worked together for thirty-six years. At the beginning of 1971, they retired and moved to their new house in the village. He became a janitor at the school and she was a housewife.

Have you ever taken an objective look at your parents’ early years?

During the winter, I whistle when I walk. Corduroy jeans were on my Christmas list a few years ago. When I first wore them, my husband said I reminded him of the rich kids that went to grade school with him. The well-to-do boys wore corduroy pants, which were warmer than the overalls he wore. He remembered the noise they made walking down the aisles.

Rich was a relative term in our community. We had a few professional men who wore suits to work. They were better off than the farmers and factory workers who wore blue collar duds and made up the majority of the community.

Most of us who never will join the ranks of the affluent have something in mind that signifies rich to us. Lorna, one of my friends, admired the redwood lawn furniture that she saw in news photos of the rich and famous. She flaunted her purchase when she placed what was certainly a cheaper version on her patio.

In the fifties before I was married, I worked in an office in downtown Rockford. Every afternoon, I walked past the elite department stores on my way to catch my ride home. After the Christmas holidays, their windows were filled with beachwear for those who could afford a winter vacation in a sunny climate. I often thought it would be a real treat to be shopping for a bathing suit in January. My dream came true thirty years later. My cousin and her husband invited Ken and me to spend a week at their time-share condo in Mexico. I didn’t swim but I needed a new bathing suit to work on my tan to show I’d been in the tropics instead of the snow. Once in a while, it’s fun to act rich even when I’m not.

What have you bought or done to feel rich?