lolita-s-bigtoe.com

Four years ago, March, 20,2020, our son, Kurt, helped me post my first weekly blog–this is #254. I began with EXAMPLES about two of our elderly, female neighbors that I had admired when our young family moved into our Durand home in 1966. Mrs. Sweet continued to wear make-up although many in her age group didn’t bother. Mrs. Waller stood straight while most of her contemporaries were stooped. These essays allow me to follow my passions and use my gifts to urge people to think about their lives.

I’m aiming at older women, a fast-growing segment of the population, but I also have some men readers. I chose the name, lolita-s-bigtoe.com, because we’re all constantly being forced to ‘dip a toe’ testing the waters of change.

In 1969, after our three children were enrolled in school, I slipped into the world of writing through the backdoor of learn by doing. All I needed to become a parttime, freelance journalist reporting about our community to the Rockford Morning Star was a typewriter and a 35mm camera.

The area newspapers and national magazines that bought and printed my articles wouldn’t have hired me full time because I don’t have a bachelor’s degree. When I graduated from high school in the 1950s, most girls who continued their education became nurses or teachers but neither profession interested me. I didn’t even consider journalism because men reported the news.

To learn more about writing nonfiction, I’ve attended seminars and joined the Illinois Woman’s Press Association, an affiliate of the National Federation of Press Women. The organization sponsors annual contests for published works in many categories. First-place winners at the state level are sent to the national competition. Through the years, my stories have earned numerous awards from both groups.

How did you find your profession?

The week of March 10 – 16 is Sunshine Week, an initiative to promote open government and access to public information. It was established in 2005 by the American Society of News Editors, a nonprofit that promotes principled journalism and fights for freedom of information and open government. Each year thousands of Americans including journalists, media outlets, civic groups, nonprofits, advocacy organizations, schools and promoters of open government celebrate Sunshine Week.

The occasion coincides with the National Freedom of Information Act Day on March 16, the anniversary of the federal government’s adoption of the Freedom of Information Act in 1966. It is also the birthday of James Madison, the fourth president of the United States, who is known as the father of open government. He wrote the Bill of Rights, which ensures a free press and gives everyone free speech.

Government officials work for the public, not the other way around. Without an open government, Americans would only have access to the activities and documents that the bodies choose to share. A lack of transparency and openness can lead to corruption.

When I started as a freelance reporter for the Rockford Morning Star in 1969, I attended all Durand village board meetings and school board meetings. Sometimes, I was welcomed with smiles when members wanted coverage of their actions. Other times, I could feel the antagonism when the boards felt their decisions might not be popular with their constituents. Meetings can be closed for some of their discussions sending media representatives out the door but all votes have to be taken under scrutiny. I phoned in my unbiased report to the newspaper by a 10 p.m. deadline so the article could be included in the next edition. Most of our community’s residents subscribed to the daily that was delivered to homes early each morning by teenage boys riding bicycles.

After thirteen years, I lost my part-time job when the Rockford Morning Star dropped its correspondents reporting from the smaller communities surrounding the city. The newspaper no longer carried stories about neighboring school board and village board meetings.

Today, local and area newspapers are being squeezed by the lack of advertising, their main source of funding. One of the first things I learned as a reporter was the newshole in each edition is the space left for journalism is determined after the paid ads are placed.

TV inundates us with world happenings, but we need local news about our towns and schools, which we support with property taxes that affect both homeowners and renters. Our councils have jurisdiction over the police, water supply, streets and sewers. The decisions of the school trustees determine whether our system attracts families or causes parents to leave our community.

How do you acquire your news?

Last Friday was the first of March; it brings thoughts of spring after a long winter. Rain showers are welcomed after the labor of shoveling snow.

The light will last longer, especially after we turn our clocks ahead one hour when Daylight Saving Time begins Sunday, March 10. The following weekend, we all be Irish to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day.

People are optimistic about the new season, which officially begins the 19th with the day and night equal in length. We look for robins returning after their sojourn in the South. Dandelions are welcomed as the first flowers. Later, some people will cuss the plants as weeds in their yards. Lawn mowers get a check-up to make sure they are in working condition to cut the growing, green grass.

Screens to let in the warm breezes will replace storm windows, which blocked the cold winds.

Housewives will begin their semi-annual cleaning that includes washing windows and curtains plus digging out the dirt that has accumulated in the rooms’ corners.

Gardens will be planned and seeds purchased.

Balls will be tossed as we look forward to the games, which will soon be played.

The month ends with Easter Sunday on the 31st. During the day before, children and their parents will dye hard-boiled eggs bold colors. Later, while everyone sleeps, the fabled Bunny will hide them. Early the next morning, the kids will jump out of bed to begin the hunt. They will also find baskets containing chocolate rabbits, jelly beans and marshmallow Peeps.

Christians will celebrate the resurrection of Jesus Christ with sunrise church services.

What rituals of March will you pursue?

Tomorrow is February 29th. The concept of adding a leap day every time a year is divisible by four has been around for millennia. The reason is the Earth’s orbit. A full revolution around the sun isn’t a whole number, it is 365.2422 days according to National Geographic. Four .2422 roughly equals a full day, which is added to February, the shortest month of the year.

It is probably called leap year because during normal times, we advance one day annually. For example, if your birthday falls on Wednesday this year, the next will be on Thursday, but if there’s a February 29, your celebration will jump ahead two days and be on Friday.

Women of the 21st century are free to propose to their partner at any time they choose, but, in my day, it was solely the gentleman’s prerogative. According to tradition, the tables were turned on February 29 and matrimony-minded women had the chance to ask their sweetheart to marry them.

If you want to celebrate this once in four years phenomenon, head to Anthony, Texas, located on the Texas-New Mexico border. In 1988, Mary Ann Brown and Birdie Lewis, neighbors and fellow leaplings, as people born on February 29th are known, approached their town council with the idea of creating a festival to laud Leap Day and officials approved. Governors of both states proclaimed the municipality as the Leap Year Capital of the World and people travel from across the globe to join the festivities. On Thursday, the 29th, the event will begin with a birthday party for Leap Day babies. Friday and Saturday, March 1st and 2nd, people will enjoy live music, attractions for kids, local eats and unique craft vendors.

Will you observe leap day in a special way or just consider the usual part of the week?

The title shows my age–I don’t hear anyone referring to a pet peeve anymore. I’m just listing some of the things that others habitually say that rankle me.

I view people as egotistical who write an opinion piece in the newspaper or on social media that includes, “I know I speak for many others.” I believe I speak only for myself.

A remark that I think is useless is when I run into an old friend that I haven’t seen for a while who says, “We should get together.” I’ll agree but a time isn’t set and we don’t have each other’s cell phone numbers so I know it isn’t likely to happen.

I don’t like to hear grown children say, “I’m going home,” meaning to their parents’ house. I believe as adults, we each create our own. It’s the same thing when I hear a parent referring to a married kid’s place by using only their child’s name instead of using both of the couple’s first names.

Many people end statements with, “Okay?” Today’s generation of parents tell their children about things they’re going to do such as, “We’re going to visit Grandpa and Grandma, okay?” I guess I was a dictatorial parent.

The word also pops up in such situations as when I’m in a doctor’s examination room for a check-up. The nurse tells me she’s going to check my vital signs, but adds, “Okay?” I’m tempted to say, “No,” to see what happens.

I don’t like to hear so-called jokes that demean blondes, spouses or old age. To me, it reinforces stereotypes.

I don’t want to be referred to as eighty-six years ‘young’. A glance in the mirror assures me I’m old.

Do you have any conversational pet peeves?

Today is Valentine’s Day, a special time to appreciate those who mean everything to us. It isn’t necessarily a partner–it may be a friend or a child. I think loving someone who loves you back is the best feeling there is.

Hugs and “I love you” were not a part of my growing up–my parents believed “actions speak louder than words.” Dad and Mom demonstrated that I was their world. As a girl, one of the things that disappointed me was displays in dime stores of red, plastic barrettes with popular first names such as Pat, Carol and Shirley printed on them in gold. My unusual moniker was never there. While I was in country grade school, one of my birthday presents was a brown, leather, zipper notebook with my name, Lolita Tschabold, engraved in gold on the lower right corner of the front panel. I proudly used it until I graduated instead of the cheap versions made of cardboard that the other students had.

After Kenny became my boyfriend, I learned some people easily expressed love in words as well as actions. The first time he told me, “I love you,” was right before he left for his four-year enlistment in the U.S. Navy. I was flummoxed. It took me a few seconds to respond, “I love you, too, and I’ll wait for you.”

I wasn’t the only one who grew up in a family that was reserved. My brother-in-law, Joe, told me he was surprised the first time he saw his wife’s mother sit on her husband’s lap. His parents never made affectionate gestures.

It’s still an effort for me to return hugs from family and friends and I don’t tell them, “I love you.” I hope when they eat a birthday cake I’ve baked, wear a garment that I’ve mended or see me applauding their accomplishments they realize it’s my way of saying, “I love you.”

Are you a demonstrative person when it comes to love?

Today would have been my parents’ wedding anniversary. Much of what I am comes from them; their genes and upbringing shaped me for better or worse. I was as amazed as my new husband when my mother’s derogatory words spewed out of my mouth during our first disagreement.

I’ve also adopted some of the ways of people I’ve esteemed during my lifetime. Recently, our family gathered at a restaurant to celebrate a birthday. While I spooned soup into my mouth, I rested my right elbow on the table. Suddenly, in my head, I heard Mr. Potter’s soft voice, “Lolita, we don’t put our elbows on the table.” I quickly moved my arm. His daughter, Karen, was my best friend when I attended country school. I ate many meals at their house and adored her parents.

Most people wear their wristwatch on their left arm but mine is opposite. I was in fifth grade when my cousin, Doris, gave me her old timepiece because her boyfriend gave her a new one for Christmas. When she said, “Hold our your arm,” I automatically gave her my right and she looped the band around my wrist. I’ve never changed because Doris put it there.

I admired my junior-high teacher, Miss Tunison. I altered my handwriting to incorporate her quirk of dropping the line within a word.

I continue to absorb things I see or hear. Recently, I saw an ad featuring an older model who wore a hairstyle similar to mine but hers looked better. I took a copy of the magazine photo to my stylist the next time I needed a cut and she used the picture to alter my ‘do.

My persona is like a collage, a creative work that was popular a few years ago when people were gluing various materials together to form a work of art.

Who can you identify as being a part of the collage that you call myself?

Most of the things we do require that we are qualified. For example, to vote in elections, we must first register at our county clerk’s office and be issued a card identifying us and designating our precinct.

To continue driving, older applicants like Ken and me must exhibit our proficiency behind the wheel to an employee of the Illinois Secretary of State’s office before our licenses are renewed.

If we consult a professional such as an attorney, we’re aware that the person spent four years in college, three years in law school and passed the state bar examination.

When we have a household problem and need a plumber or an electrician, we know the person who answers our call has completed an apprenticeship with an expert and received state approval.

All professionals who are licensed in Illinois from a hair stylist to a doctor must annually participate in a continuing education program to extend that piece of paper.

There are a few things that don’t require qualifications. As a freelance journalist, many of the area newspapers and national magazines that bought and published my articles wouldn’t have hired me on a fulltime basis because I don’t have a college degree. When I graduated from high school in the fifties, most girls who continued their education became teachers or nurses. Neither occupation appealed to me.

The most demanding work in the world, a parent, doesn’t have any qualifications or I wouldn’t have three children. I grew up as an only child and I never babysat when I was a teenager. I was rarely around babies–actually, they scared me and I didn’t want anything to do with them until they were at least two years old. When I became a mom, my instructors were my doctor, my mother and my sister-in-law who was raising six kids. Dr. Benjamin Spock’s book, “Baby and Child Care,” was my manual.

What qualifications do you have?

I am the matriarch of a police family, but that doesn’t mean I agree with all of the laws my kin enforce.

The day before New Year’s Eve, I stopped at a Walmart to buy the sparkling wine, Asti, to drink with our holiday supper. As I joined the checkout line, the woman ahead of me, who had a cart of groceries, invited me to go ahead of her because I had only one item. We both ended up waiting what seemed like a long time. The young female behind the counter was apparently a teen-ager who had to leave the area in search of a grown-up to wave my purchase past the scanner. She returned and the three of us ‘cooled our heels’. Finally, a white-haired lady appeared and jerked the bottle in front of the reader. The girl could bag it and take my money.

Sometimes, I run into that same problem in our smalltown grocery. Usually, the adult in the next lane stops checking long enough to walk across the aisle and slide my bottle of wine past the scanner. Whether you buy alcohol or not, this tableau makes you wait while the employees satisfy the state law.

It seems to me the young person behind the counter could wave a sealed container of booze or a package of beer past the OCR instead of taking an adult from their task. Whether you buy alcohol or not, the tableau wastes your time as you wait in line behind the purchaser or in the next lane where the grown-up must leave to handle the job.

I like to see stores hire teens. Our kids enjoyed their part-time jobs while they attended school; Lisa worked in the garage of the local Ford dealer and Kurt was employed at a marina across the road from Lake Summerset. Besides earning money, they each learned to satisfy a boss plus a lot about what it takes to operate a small business.

Are there any laws that you disagree with?

My treasures wouldn’t catch the eye of a burglar, but they make me smile as they remind me of the important people and times in my life. A few of them are:

Dad’s small, patched German accordion that he played by ear is on a shelf in our curio cabinet. When I was in grade school, he taught me to play “You Are My Sunshine” but I couldn’t add any more tunes to my repertoire. A few years later, I took piano accordion lessons; I needed to read sheet music to play songs.

I have a charm bracelet that a jeweler made using five childhood rings worn by Mom, our daughter, Linda, and myself. That seems like a better idea than leaving them in boxes stored in a drawer.

The hand-carved, wooden, rearing horse atop the China cupboard in the corner of our kitchen was purchased from the artist at a flea market in Mexico. Mom babysat so Ken and I could spend a week with my cousin, Doris, and her husband, Bob, who had time-share lodging there during the winter.

The small, stuffed, black and white puffin perched on top of our refrigerator was purchased during the disastrous, summer holiday in Alaska with my friend, Gloria. The guide who drove the van for our trip made many errors but the six of us women riding along had a lot of laughs. In a tourist shop, I couldn’t resist buying the bird after reading that sometimes it eats so much that it can’t fly. I could empathize because I always expect to gain a few pounds during a vacation.

The two, little, plastic duckies that sit on our coffee table beside my rocking chair are less than an inch tall and were a prize in a candy pack. They remind me of our daughter, Lisa, and the cuddly, yellow Ducky that comforted her during the difficulties of her childhood.

The little stuffed devil that rests above my dresser mirror was a customer premium when my cousin, Doris, was selling cosmetics. The plastic face reminded her of our son, Kurt, so she gave me one.

I wear the Linde star sapphire ring that Ken bought as a Christmas present many years ago. At the time, his patrol partner suggested that he should spend his money on a new, zigzag, electric sewing machine instead. Sometimes, love isn’t practical.

What are your treasures?