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How did okay become the punctuation mark to a sentence?

When I was raising kids, I was a dictator. When I said, “Time for bed,” it was a statement. At that time a popular TV program was Father Knows Best. In our house, it was Mom who knew best. Most of the time, Dad was working a shift as a cop, moonlighting driving a semi or sleeping. The little time he could spend with the kids, he didn’t want to be a disciplinarian.

After our children were grown, I noticed young parents telling their sons and daughters to do something and ending their directions with okay, which sounded like a question. Of course, when the adults said something such as, “It’s time for bed, okay?” they didn’t want to hear, “No,” but they often did.

I guess those little ones who were raised with sentences ending with okay have grown up. Much as we think we won’t, we tend to do as we were taught. Wherever I go, people end their directions with, “Okay?” The nurse in the doctor’s office at the clinic led me to the examining room and said, “Please climb up on the table, okay?”

My husband and I entered a restaurant. The hostess greeted us and said, “Follow me, okay?”

After we were seated, the server passed our table and said, “I’ll be right with you, okay?”

I was tempted to respond, “No, I want to order right now,” but I didn’t. I just murmured, “Okay.”

Not only spoken sentences end with the word. A recent post on Facebook read, “Dear church folk, your expectations of the pastor should match your commitment as a member. Okay.”

Do you end your statements with okay?

Lately, I’ve seen a lot of complaints on Facebook about the lack of humans at cash registers in Walmart stores. Customers are expected to use self-checkers. I, too, don’t like to see people lose their jobs. I get as annoyed as the next older person trying to figure out machine payment systems. Twice recently, Ken and I have stopped a young, passer-by in a strange city’s parking lot to help us follow the instructions to leave our car for a few hours. Alas, these changes are considered progress.

May I point out a few other jobs that have been eliminated through the years? In the forties, my cousin was a local telephone operator. She sat before a switchboard and connected a caller from one party line to a person on another party line and rang the required longs and shorts. The automatic dialing system replaced her job. What would people do today without their cell phones?

When my husband was a teenager in the fifties, he worked part-time at an oil station. Customers pulled up to the pumps and sat in their cars while he filled their tanks and washed the windshields. He asked, “Check the oil and tires?” He provided that service if the driver said, “Yes.” When I need gas on a cold, windy day, I cuss today’s self-service.

There was a time, I prepared for a drive to an Illinois Woman’s Press Association meeting in Chicago by filling an old pill bottle with dimes. They were the easiest way to pay the attendant forty cents at each toll booth along I-90. Today, I enjoy using my E-Z Pass and not having to slow down.

Have you or someone close to you lost a job because of automation?

For me, part of traveling is buying souvenirs. I was disappointed during our recent New England tour. We visited a lot of gift shops, but unique items that represented the locale were hard to find. Apparently, t-shirts, coffee cups and shot glasses with the area name sold the best. The only things I brought home were a cute, little jug of maple syrup from a visit to a Vermont farm that produced it and a replica of the Old North Church in Boston.

I haven’t done a lot of traveling, but I treasure the reminders of trips I’ve taken. I love the rearing, wooden horse I purchased from the carver when Ken and I visited my cousin and her husband, Doris and Bob, at their timeshare condo in Mazatlan, Mexico, during January of ’89. I bought it from the artist who was standing along the street, holding his creation in his hands and rubbing it with brown Shinola shoe polish.

A jade butterfly that can be pinned to a garment as a brooch or attached to a chain and worn as a necklace reminds me of our tour of Alaska in 2009. I didn’t know the gemstone could be found anywhere but China.

In 2016, when we were on a bus tour to Savannah, Georgia, a man on the street was charging five dollars to form a name using electric fence wire. I’m always delighted to find anything that features my name. The “Lolita” that sits on our living room coffee table reminds me of that trip plus my childhood on the farm where we used electric fences for temporary cow pastures. I thought it was fun to touch the wire with a long, dry weed and feel the pulse of the battery supplied current to be sure it was working.

What souvenirs do you enjoy?

October 4 thru 13, Ken and I joined forty-three others going to New England on a Tri-State Travel bus tour. The group included couples, four pairs of women and a single man. People were congenial–at mealtimes we sat down at a table with anyone and enjoyed a pleasant conversation.

Hans, our driver, and Gene, our guide, were excellent at their jobs. Each day, Gene moved our seats. The people ahead and behind us remained the same but those across the aisle changed.

Each person’s large suitcase was stored under the bus. At the motels, it was delivered and picked up from outside our room door. We brought our carry-ons aboard and stowed them overhead. The bus had WIFI and outlets to recharge devices.

“Early to bed and early to rise” could have been the theme of the trip. Usually bags had to be ready by 7 A.M. Gene told us we were on a tour–not a vacation. He had a schedule to keep. Louis Armstrong’s recording of “What a Wonderful World” began our bus ride every morning. We covered a lot of ground, saw a lot and did a lot. Most of the days were cloudy but we enjoyed seeing the autumn leaves at the peak of their color.

One advantage of living in the Midwest, we can reach any place in the United States in a matter of a couple days of driving. While traveling to and from the East, Gene showed movies and documentaries, played games and told a few stories about his experiences. He and Hans each had a repertoire of jokes. The first day, a side trip to Niagara Falls was a surprise treat to break up the riding. About every two hours, we made a rest stop and the coach had a restroom.

Complimentary breakfast buffets were provided by the superior motels where we stayed. The tour fee included all dinners and we ate well. We usually had a choice of two entrees. One evening, most of us chose a whole lobster. It came with bibs and instructions on how to take it apaart. I prefer the way tails are served in our neighborhood restaurants. Lunches on our own were our only added expense other than gift shops.

Knowledgeable local guides joined us at four points of interest–Mt. Washington, the highest peak in the northeast United States; Kennebunkport, a popular resort town including the Bush’s summer home (which we viewed at a distance); Boston, historic city from the Colonial & Revolutionary era; and Cape Cod, including Plymouth Rock and Hyannis with its history of the Kennedy family.

I’m glad Hans was dealing with the Boston traffic, especially the rush hour congestion leaving the city. We experienced Cape Cod’s first Nor’easter of the season. The wind and rain were mild compared to the weather reports of days following our visit.

If you plan to take a bus trip, choose a reputable organization. Forty years ago, my parents took trips with the same Galena-based company. After Dad died, Mom continued to join their tours by herself.

In 2004, a friend and I went to Alaska with an incompetent guide. Two years earlier, a three-day trip to Agawa Canyon in Ontario, Canada, to ride a snow train went well, so we thought we were making a good choice, but it wasn’t. For example, on a Sunday afternoon we arrived at a huge, shopping center that included amusement rides. An hour later, it closed. We ate in a lot of McDonald’s.

How do you travel on vacation?

If is a short word, but it carries a lot of meaning. How different things would be IF this happened or IF that didn’t happen.

This week, I’m remembering October 19, 1962, the Friday evening my husband’s parents were killed when another auto crashed into their Corvair at the intersection of Riverside Boulevard and Owen Center Road on the west side of Rockford. Rolland, 55, and Hazel, 51, were coming home from their office jobs. On their way, they’d stopped at the Logli’s supermarket in the Rockton Avenue Shopping Center and stocked up on a week’s worth of groceries.

It was a terrible shock to Lola Mae, Tom and Ken. Most of Lola Mae and Joe’s six children were old enough to have a slight understanding of what had happened. Tom was single, but Jan was his girlfriend. We’d been married 3 1/2 years. Our daughters were one and two, too young to know why we were so sad. Kurt was on the way, but I didn’t know it.

The next day, Ken and Tom went to look at the car. They came home with many “ifs.” If their folks had been wearing seat belts. If they’d been driving a bigger car. It was three years before publication of Ralph Nader’s best-selling book, Unsafe at Any Speed, condemning the Corvair.

I listened and thought a lot about it. Finally, I realized if they’d bought another can of peas, a staple on their shopping list, the time it would have taken to grab the can off the shelf and place it in their shopping cart plus the checker to ring it up would have changed when they passed through the intersection. The other car would have missed them. Sometimes I believe things are meant to happen.

What “ifs” have made a difference in your life?

When a man and a woman marry, there are adjustments, even for people like Ken and me who came from similar backgrounds. During those early days when we were getting used to living together, I often thought of the outspoken, young Japanese woman who was my friend while I was in the TB sanitarium a couple years earlier. Her husband was an Illinois farmer who had been stationed in Japan with the air force. I can’t even imagine their many differences.

Food seems to be one of the big hurdles. The first Christmas Day I ate a turkey dinner with Ken’s foks, I was relieved when his mother’s dressing tasted similar to Mom’s. It’s one of those dishes that has many variations. One of my friends told of choking down her mother-in-law’s oyster stuffing every Thanksgiving.

I liked to cook and Ken had a big appetite, but mealtime brought our first disagreement. The problem arose when we finished eating and each of us reached for a toothpick. My family had always used the flat ones; he preferred the round ones.

It was definitely a small problem, but as an only child, I never learned to negotiate, compromise and just plain give in. I was in charge. I couldn’t see any compromise and I didn’t want to give in. It took awhile for me to figure out my grocery bill wouldn’t be any higher if I bought two boxes of toothpicks at a time–one of each. The holder that sat in the middle of the table easily held some round and some flat toothpicks. That set the stage for coming to terms with future differences.

How have you reached a compromise with those you share a home with?

Overchoice is where a broad array of choices decreases satisfaction or quality of life. I think we’ve reached that point.

It takes me longer in the grocery store, not because I’m older, but because I’m dealing with too many choices. As a young mother with babies in washable diapers, I lifted down the biggest box of Tide powder detergent sitting on the shelf between Duz, Dreft and Ivory Snow. Today there is a whole row of Tide liquid in various sizes and mixes–Cold Tide, Tide ultra Oxy, Tide with Downy and various other combinations. I must look closely for the quarter-inch high letters “he” to be sure I am choosing one that will work in my front-loading, automatic washer.

It’s the same thing with most items on my list. I can’t just grab my preferred brand of canned tomatoes. I must bend down below the rows of chili ready, garlic and olive oil or other mixes.

In the old days, those who lived in town, turned on the spigot at the kitchen sink for a glass of chlorinated water from the community well. On the farm where I grew up, we had our own pump that tapped into an underground spring that gave us clean, good-tasting water. Today, there’s a section in the store for various brands of bottled water.

When I was a child, an ice cream cone was vanilla, chocolate or strawberry in the grocery store. My children chose from 31 flavors in the Baskin Robbins shop.

I hate picking up a mechanical item for Ken. No matter how well my husband preps me, a clerk always asks one more question than I have the answer.

Do you find it exasperating to make so many choices in everyday life?

Last Thursday morning, nineteen bikers, some with passengers, were up with the sun to begin the trip from Sterling/Rock Falls, Illinois, to St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital in Memphis, Tennessee. The St. Jude Rides group was delivering the $56,000 they had raised during the past year along with a truck box of toys. My husband followed with our pick-up pulling their trailer carrying ice chests filled with water and soft drinks. (I rode along.) If anyone had a problem along the way, the motorcycle could be stowed inside the van and our crew cab had room for two passengers. The sun beat down and the temperature climbed to the mid-nineties. Gas tanks and bladders required frequent stops.

Motorcycle cops wearing knee-high, leather boots and sturdy helmets escorted us from state to state. The troopers halted traffic at each signal light and stop sign. As soon as we all passed through, the men in uniform straddled their Harleys and roared ahead. Their warning lights flashed and sirens barked to clear their path to the next intersection.

We spent Thursday night at the Pear Tree motel in Sikeston, Missouri, and were back on the road early Friday morning. Along the way, we were joined by delegations from Peoria and Princeton, Illinois; Des Moines, Iowa; Nashville and Dyersburg Tennessee. By the time we rolled into Memphis, the line-up of two hundred motorcycles plus support vehicles stretched about two miles.

At 11.45 A.M., we entered the St. Jude complex that includes multiple, large buildings with another under construction. After a box lunch, the program began with the group leaders presenting a combined check for $1,007,150, a record amount raised by the room full of people wearing maroon shirts with the St. Jude Rides emblem. During the past thirteen years, their donations have totaled more than $7.1 million. The hospital costs about $2.2 million a day to run.

The program continued with an informative talk from a woman who works at the facility. She had written a song for the staff to serenade a child at completion of chemo treatment. The lyrics appeared on a large screen and she invited everyone to sing along.

A mother with her seven-year-old daughter told what it’s like to hear, “Your child has cancer,” and find hope at St. Jude’s. Families never receive a bill for treatment, travel, housing or food–because all a family should worry about is helping their child live. The program concluded with a tour of the facility, which was founded in 1962 by entertainer Danny Thomas. The treatments invented there have helped push the overall childhood cancer survival rate from 20 percent when they opened to 80 per cent today.

What’s your favorite charity?

Who decides these green things are plants to be cultivated and those are weeds to be eradicated?

Milkweeds, named for the milky, white sap found in their stems, grow up to six feet tall with broad, egg-shaped leaves, fragrant pink flowers and green pods. The perennials are poisonous to most animals but proven lifesavers for humans and monarch butterflies.

During World War II, the government asked my dad and other farmers like him to wait until fall to mow the interlopers growing in the corners of their fields. In early September, us kids fought our way through the head-high patches and gathered their pods. A pound-and-a-half of the floss from the pods could be sewed inside a life preserver, which would keep a 150-pound sailor afloat for ten hours.

Today, people are urged to grow milkweeds to prevent the extinction of monarch butterflies. The plants are the insects’ food source, home and nursery. According to U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service statistics, nearly a billion monarchs have vanished since 1990. Herbicides used by farmers and homeowners to eliminate milkweeds are blamed.

The king of butterflies with their familiar four-inch, black, orange and white patterned wing spans floating in slow, sailing flights aren’t just pretty to watch, they are pollinators needed for plants to reproduce. Their bright color warns predators they make a poisonous snack.

Do you consider milkweeds intruders to be eliminated on your land or friendly plants to be cultivated in your garden?

Today is my birthday. Let me fill you in on a little history of my generation. Those of us conceived during the Great Depression of the 1930s are the smallest group in the twentieth century–people didn’t need another mouth to feed. Only 24.4 million birth cries were heard in the United States after the stock market crash of ’29 compared to 31.7 million in the forties and 40.3 million in the fifties.

We “remember Pearl Harbor” and did our little bit for the war effort. Following high school, our boys marched to battle in Korea, the first in a string of undeclared wars. President Eisenhower ended that conflict in 1952, but the Cold War with Russia continued and so did the draft. The men in uniform were trained and ready to do whatever might become necessary. The threat of nuclear weapons wafted over the globe like a mushroom cloud.

In our twenties, we settled down. Ninety-six percent of us girls wed and most had three babies. Only seven percent of those who married did not become mother, the lowest proportion of childless women in any generation in American history.

The Pill became available in the ’60s and revolutionized women’s lives. Those who had sacrificed their own college education to work for PHTs (putting hubby through) went back to school and careers. Our generation became the first to have a large number of females employed outside the home. This new independence contributed to more than a quarter of our marriages ending in divorce. This created single-parent families, which were predominately headed by mothers.

Raised on radio, we revamped TV. Mary Tyler Moore went from Dick VanDyke’s wife to the single-woman star of her own show. Other female firsts abounded: Madeleine Albright, Secretary of State; Janet Guthrie, Indianapolis 500 race car driver; Sandra Day O’Conner, Supreme Court Justice; Geraldine Ferraro, Democratic Party nominee for Vice President; and Elizabeth Dole, candidate for the Republican Party’s presidential nomination. All of those events were reported by journalists including Barbara Walters.

The Census Bureau predicts that in 2020 there will be seven to eight million 85 and older. Many will be single–one out of three American women passed 65 lives alone and one out of seven men. Strong ancestors, healthy eating, exercise, medical care and camouflage help keep us feeling good and looking good, but physical and mental impairments can reduce us to climbing molehills instead of mountains. We must continue to speak for ourselves and form partnerships with the generations following us.

What are you planning for your future?