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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?

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?