lolita-s-bigtoe.com

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?

We learn to do many things. Our parents were so proud when we said “Dada” and “Mama” followed by taking our first, shaky steps. Those two skills continue for the rest of our lives.

Others, we use for s short time and then set them aside. Sometimes, I wonder if I could still hit a pitched softball or ride a horse. Those were two things I was pretty good at when I was a teenager but, when I do the math, that was seventy years ago.

The last time I attended a National Federation of Press Women weekend conference, I dusted off a skill I hadn’t used in years. The formal dinner closing the event required a long dress. I didn’t have one and I didn’t want to buy a new garment to wear once. While looking over my wardrobe, I decided a navy blue and white top hanging in my closet would work if I had a dark-blue maxi to wear with it.

During the first years of our marriage, I bought a used, electric sewing machine, read instruction booklets to learn to sew and made my own clothes. After I became a part-time journalist, I discontinued the practice and spent my spare hours writing. Still, I should be able to stitch up a straight skirt. I bought a pattern and a couple of yards of material. Then, I had to dig out the direction booklet to thread my sewing machine correctly. I easily finished the project but I didn’t have the rhythm I once had.

As society changes, we must continue to update our skills. Some things like using an automatic clothes washer make our life easier. Others, such as a computer, bring a lot of frustration.

What skills do you continue to use and which ones have you abandoned?

This is the third day of the new year. Are you still reminding yourself to write 2024 instead of 2023? Habits allow us to do things without thinking about it.

Sometimes, that could be embarrassing. For example, at home, Ken and I always wipe our dishes with our paper napkins when we finish eating. I have this horrible vision of being in a restaurant with friends and while engrossed in conversation at the end of the meal, we rub our plates with our cloth napkins.

According to experts who study us, about 40% of our daily actions are driven by repetition. It’s easy to think the words routine and habit mean the same thing but they don’t. Routine refers to an involved task like cleaning the house. Yet, according to journalist Charles Duhigg, author of “The Power of Habit,” we must establish a routine to form a habit.

An action I’ve been working on for several months is putting my hearing aids back in my ears when I leave the bathroom after taking a shower. Last fall, I thought I would ‘kill two birds with one stone’ by doing needed shopping before attending the afternoon meeting of Authors Supporting Authors in Rockford. I finally realized that people in stores weren’t mumbling–I’d forgotten my hearing aids. I just had time to make a quick, twenty-mile-drive back home to get them and return to the city for my meeting.

With the new year, many people have made decisions pertaining to their habits. The brain can’t tell the difference between trying to drop a bad habit or add a good one. The time it takes to develop the act of doing something new varies from person to person and whether it’s pleasurable or not.

Have you made a new year’s resolution regarding your habits? Reward yourself for making a baby step toward change and don’t be too hard on yourself if you slip.

The youngest generation in our family is turning thirty years old–time to act like a grown-up. It seems each time we change the first number in our age, it changes us.

When I was a teenager, many advertisements began, “After forty…” like it was the beginning of old age. My parents, who were in their forties, farmed every day and danced on Saturday nights.

During the summer that I was approaching fifty, I received an invitation to join AARP. I accepted and so did my friend, Joyce. When the two of us spent a week-end at a writer’s workshop in northern Wisconsin, we received our first senior citizen discount–the motel where we stayed gave 10% off to members of the organization. After returning home, I asked Mom, who had faithfully kept a baby book about her only child’s accomplishments, “Do you want to use that as the final entry?” She didn’t think I was funny.

Last spring, our youngest joined his sister in the sixties age bracket. I’ve noticed many ads on TV about health such as getting vaccines are geared to those over sixty.

The year I hit another benchmark, our son asked, “What’s it like to be seventy?”

I responded, “A lot depends on your health. This morning, I walked to the store and purchased two bags of groceries. As I crossed the parking lot on my way home, I saw your old high school coach who was having trouble exiting his car, which was parked in a handicapped space. He’s about my age but it was an effort for him to hobble into the building.”

My cousin, Sis, who was twelve years older than I was had been one of my mentors. When she turned eighty, I phoned to offer congratulations. Her response, “Eighty isn’t old.” The widow continued living alone and driving. Her gift to herself was a newer, used car. Her phrase has been my mantra for the past six years.

How do you handle the milestones in your life?