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August 27 bursts with many good memories. It’s the birthday of two women who were pillars in my life–Mom’s eldest sister, Frances, and my husband’s sister, Lola Mae.

Aunt Frannie and her husband, Uncle Hookie, always seemed old to me. They took the place of my maternal grandparents, who had died before my mother was married. I thought staying overnight at the Rowleys’ was close to heaven although their old house lacked electricity and was far from palatial. It was the people in it including my two teenage cousins, Doris and Sis, that made me feel special.

As an only child, my companion was our English bulldog, Tony. I referred to him as my little brother. Aunt Frannie gave me my first, hardcover book, “Lad: A Dog,” which Albert Payson Terhune had written about his beloved collie. I read that volume over and over.

Now and then, Aunt Frannie, who was an experienced seamstress, made a dress for me. As a kid, I had to climb up on the dining room table for measuring and fittings so she didn’t have to get down on the floor. For my first office Christmas party when I worked at the Department of Agriculture, I bought a pattern and pale-blue brocade with a gold and turquoise flower design, so she could make a one-of-a-kind frock with an off-the-shoulder bodice and a gathered skirt. Before she cut into my expensive material, she made a muslin prototype and fitted it to me. On the day of our party, I felt like a model greeting the people from the other offices on the second floor of the post office building and the farmers who came in regularly.

For years, I had dreamed of Aunt Frannie making my wedding dress, but she became ill and I was glad she was able to attend the spring event. She died in the fall, soon after I told her I was expecting a baby. Her response had been, “It’s almost like being a great-grandma.”

After Ken and I were married, Lola Mae became my lifeline. My husband worked for her husband on the farm and she lived less than a mile up the road. When I became a mother, she was a wealth of guidance because she was raising six children.

I remember preparing to host a bridal shower for my female, high school classmates honoring Shirley who would soon be married. Late in the afternoon, I made the open-faced, ground Spam and cheese sandwiches that I would serve as part of the night’s lunch. All I would have to do during the evening was pop them in the oven. It suddenly dawned on me, it was Friday and the several Catholic women who would be among my guests couldn’t eat meat. I phoned Lola Mae, who also was Catholic. She quickly concocted some festive, open-faced tuna sandwiches, which she delivered.

Lola Mae has passed away, too. I won’t be able to send the two ladies birthday cards except in my heart.

What women influenced your life?

School bells are ringing around the country and students are moving up a step. For some, it’s a scary, new level–kindergarteners begin first grade; elementary pupils enter junior high and teen-agers become freshmen.

It was a big change when I was bused from our farm to the newly, created Durand Junior High School to join more than thirty others in the seventh grade. For the preceding six years, I’d been the only one in my class at a one-room, country school.

Two years later, we climbed the stairs to the high school study hall situated in the top story of the main building. My class was the last group to suffer the indignities of freshman initiation. For one day, we were peons who literally bowed to the seniors as if they were kings and queens.

Our demeaning attire was dictated by them. The girls wore men’s work shirts and bib overalls on backwards, a pair of men’s work shoes and carried a suitcase filled with our books. Most of our fathers were farmers so we could raid their closets for our outfits.

The boys donned gym trunks with bathrobes over them, baby bonnets, shoes with the fronts cut out and a ribbon on each toe. They carried their books in a bucket.

After the day of silliness was over, we changed into our best school clothes to attend an evening, welcoming party hosted by the upper classmen. We felt like we belonged.

The following year, after the new term started, our superintendent, ‘P.G.’, announced the trustees voted to end initiation. Fred, the president of Ken’s class of seniors, went on a rant against the school board, but all he could do was gripe. We weren’t given a reason for the change, but rumors were that some schools had gotten out of hand leading to parental complaints.

The Class of 1955 matured from the time we wore those outlandish garbs to the formal caps and gowns of graduation.

The twenty-four of us remained friends. Every five years, we held an evening reunion in an area restaurant to brag a little and catch-up with everyone. As we aged, we began meeting annually in a Durand eatery for lunch. Those get-togethers have fallen victim to the passing of time and people.

What memories do you have of your school days?

Once people decide to make a change, they want it to happen now. A young woman who is tired of coping with long hair hanging down to her armpits goes to a stylist and with a few snips of the scissors, she emerges with a chin-length bob.

We have an upcoming wedding in our family. I received an invitation to a shower for the bride-to-be. The young woman, whom I haven’t met, is registered at Target. I checked the store’s website, found her preferences, chose and ordered a gift for pickup in Machesney Park, which is about twenty miles away. By the time I’d showered and dressed, I had an email that it was waiting. The counter was right inside the doors. Within another hour my shopping was done and I was back home. A gift bag for the bulky item made wrapping easy.

We are acquiring the habit of solving problems quickly. Some believe that if our Congress would pass the necessary legislation, some of our societal problems would be ended. If only it was that easy. People flaunt the existing laws.

Since Moses came down from Mt. Sinai bearing stone tablets etched with the Ten Commandments including, “Thou shalt not kill,” homicide has been outlawed, but that hasn’t eliminated the crime. According to the FBI, there were 21,570 murders in 2020.

There are numerous rules controlling drugs, but in 2021 more than 106,000 persons died from drug-involved overdose according to the National Center for Health Statics at the CDC.

The National Highway Traffic Administration estimates that the number of fatalities for 2021 will be 42,915 people. Speeding is one of the major risky behaviors involved in car crashes although all roads have speed limits ranging from 70 mph on divided, four-lane highways to 25 mph on village streets.

How do you think we can fix our societal problems?

When I graduated from high school in 1955, every weekday morning carloads of people who worked in Rockford businesses left Durand and returned later in the afternoon. Men and women were employed from factory assembly lines to offices. I began as a clerk for a branch of the U.S. Department of Agriculture located in the post office building, but I couldn’t afford to drive the twenty-five miles from our farm. I found a ride with someone who also labored in the city.

The manufacturers that produced goods soon began leaving our country for foreign shores, taking their jobs with them. In 1968, American economist Victor R. Fuchs called the United States a “service economy,” which includes doctors, lawyers, wedding planners, shoe salesmen, waitresses and others.

In my opinion, we are moving toward a “self-service economy.” I was driving through Oregon, Wisconsin, on my way home and the gas gauge indicated I’d better fill up. I stopped as soon as I spotted a station. I got out, followed the directions to enter my credit card but then the instructions puzzled me. I don’t know why every brand has to design their dispensers a little differently. I’ve been pumping my own gas for at least twenty years, but instead of using my logic to figure out my next step, I approached the gray-haired man who was standing on the other side of the double pumps while his tank filled. “Can you please help me? I’ve never been here before.” He came around and quickly explained what I needed to do next. As we both waited, he made a little small talk admiring my western-style shirt.

Whenever we patronize a fast-food restaurant or a coffee shop, we stand at the counter to place our order and pick it up. The big-box stores are going to self-check-out and so are some of the smaller, chain variety stores. When I need cash, I stop at our bank’s ATM machine.

Do you prefer having a person serve you or do-it-yourself?

For a long time, it was difficult for Ken and me to get away for a vacation because we needed to engage a caregiver for Linda, our developmentally-different daughter, who lived at home. To celebrate our anniversary every April, we made the effort.

A few years ago, I was intrigued when I read about a spring, senior-citizen, bus trip to Savannah, Georgia. I phoned the number listed in the newspaper and learned it was already filled, but they could put me at the head of a waiting list they were compiling. It wasn’t long before I received a call informing me that they had a cancellation–we could go. I was elated.

As I thought about what I would need to pack, I realized some other couple probably had an illness that forced them to rescind their reservations. Their problem created our blessing.

Whether we call it fortune, chance or luck, it’s an external, arbitrary force affecting human affairs and comes in two varieties–good and bad.

After a baseball game, one group of fans cheers the winning team while the other bemoans losing. Skill is important in every contest but luck always plays a part.

Many professions rely on peoples’ misfortunes. Doctors of various specialties make a good living treating illness and injury. Police officers and firefighters are called when a constituent has a problem. If a car or an appliance won’t run, we fume a bit and engage a repairman. The same thing occurs when our electronic gadgets fail to respond.

Friends and relatives mourn the death of a loved one; but sons and daughters may gain property or a business. Bequests might help grandchildren attend college. Many non-profit organizations are benefactors from a prominent person’s will.

When has your good luck been at the expense of another’s bad?

For as long as I can remember, the Ferris wheel has played a part in my life. During the summers while I was growing up, my family attended the festivals in the surrounding small towns and the Green County Fair held in Monroe, Wisconsin. The events included a travelling carnival that set up a midway with snacks, games of chance and thrill rides. Dad always took me for a spin.

When 16-year-old Kenny asked this 14-year-old to ride the Ferris wheel at Davis Days, I didn’t realize it was our beginning as a couple. Sixty years later, we commemorated that momentous occasion by taking another whirl at the Old-Fashioned Days hosted by the State Bank of Davis.

The Ferris wheel was designed and created by Illinois native and civil engineer, George Washington Gale Ferris, Jr., for the 1893 World’s Columbian Exposition held in Chicago from May 1 to October 30 and attended by 25.8 million people. The original structure was 264-feet high with 36 cars each carrying 60 passengers for a total of 2,160 people. Through the years, the popular ride has been duplicated in many different sizes.

A Precious Moments replica of a Ferris wheel was part of the decorations for our Golden Anniversary open house. It has a father and daughter sitting in one bench seat, a teenage boy and girl in the next and an old couple in the third. It remains in our curio cabinet as a reminder of days gone by.

After our celebration, I used our reminiscing to begin a memoir about our seven-year courtship during the 1950s. I had my mother’s diaries to jog my memories. It took ten years of research, writing and rewriting before I submitted it to Adelaide Books, an independent New York firm. They offered me a contract and published my story titled, “The View from a Midwest Ferris Wheel.” It’s available for sale on line from Amazon in Kindle and paperback form. To publicize my work, I’ve joined a new group, Authors Supporting Authors, and attended several book fairs.

What has been a continuing part of your life?

I read a lot of murder mysteries. Often, one of the characters doesn’t want to be recognized and uses a disguise. It may be as small a change as wearing sunglasses. Sometimes, women dye their hair a different color or men add a false beard. A thin figure may be obscured with a little padding.

In real life, we do the same thing, but it isn’t intentional. As time passes, people change in looks. Many of us gain a little weight; the ladies who colored their first gray hairs have gone white or the gentlemen have copied the latest fashion and grown some type of facial hair. Outdoors, sunglasses may be worn.

One day I was enjoying a cup of coffee and a roll in a small Rockford shop. I glanced up as two, middle-aged men dressed in suits and ties entered. One of them told the fellow behind the counter, “I’m Detective Oswald. I understand you had a break-in last night.”

I recognized the name as one of our son’s high school classmates. I took a second look at the speaker who had thinning hair and the beginning of a pot-belly.

Attending a funeral or a school reunion, I have a mental list of the people who might be there. This gives me an edge in figuring out who a person is. For some strange reason, when I meet those I haven’t seen for a while, I expect them to look the same as the last time I saw them.

One thing that doesn’t change much is the way we talk. While watching an old movie on TV, the voice of a performer catches my attention and I recognize a young Jimmy Stewart or Katherine Hepburn who I’ve only known as an older actor or actress.

One of my pet peeve’s is someone who comes up to me and says, “I bet you don’t remember me.” I’m tempted to agree, “No, I don’t,” and go on my way but my social upbringing steps in and I don’t. It embarrasses me to admit that the person doesn’t ring a bell with me.

How do you feel when you don’t recognize a person you knew in the past?

Eons ago, our ancestors were hunter/gathers. They spent most of their day fishing, hunting animals and seeking vegetation such as berries and honey for something to eat. Sometimes I feel I have a lot in common with them because of the time I spend providing food. I like to cook but I also enjoy doing other things. If we didn’t have to eat three times a day, I would have a lot more free-time.

During the sixty-four years Ken and I have been married, I’ve made at least 44,000 meals. Since we have been empty-nesters, most of the casseroles and soups I prepare last for more than one meal, which gives me several days of reheating instead of starting from scratch.

It isn’t just the cooking; I have to decide what we’re going to have. The other morning, I checked the refrigerator to take inventory of what was left over from making other dishes and needed to be used up. I saw celery, green pepper, sweet onion, sour cream, mayonnaise, grated cheddar cheese and bacon. I can’t recite recipes, so I have to find them. I do remember which cookbook, notebook or recipe box to look in. I realized I had the makings of a Seven Layer Salad, which goes with anything else. All I would need to buy was a head of lettuce and a package of frozen peas.

Add in trips to the grocery store. When we lived in the country, that was a once-a-week excursion. Living in town with a market a few blocks away, I go whenever my list gets long or I need something right now.

Of course, cooking and eating makes dirty dishes, which have to be cleaned. I’ve never felt the need for a dishwasher. Our pullman-style kitchen, which was tucked into an alcove when our house, one of the oldest in the village, was remodeled, has no room for one either.

How much of your time do you spend providing meals?

This weekend, we’ll begin celebrating the 4th of July, which is Tuesday. There’ll be community activities including parades and fireworks to commemorate the beginning of our country in 1776 and our freedom.

The opposite of freedom is control. I’ve raised three children and along the way I’ve heard, “No! I won’t and you can’t make me.” I have to silently admit that is true, but parents still try.

I remember chocking down green beans when I was eight. After a summer day of haying, Mom included the vegetable from the garden when she fixed supper before Uncle Hookie and his daughter left for their farm. I only liked the pork chops and potatoes, but she said, “If you want to ride on the tractor with Doris when she goes home, you have to eat your beans.” The five-mile trip on the JI Case with my older cousin was incentive enough for me to clean my plate.

Continually governments on all levels from Washington, D.C., to the family issue rules and regulations. They range from the COVID-19 federal order to wear a mask inside public places to Mom’s edict, no cell phones at the table. We live in a carrot-and-stick society using both reward and punishment to induce cooperation.

Love is one of the biggest carrots we have. People do great things for those they care about. Mothers and fathers devote much of their time to their children. First responders work 24/7 to help their fellow citizens cope with problems. Soldiers give their lives for their country.

Money can be both a carrot and a stick. A boss may offer time-and-a-half wages for employees to work longer hours.

While driving on the tollway with its speed limit signs of 70 mph, I stay in the slower lanes because the drivers using the left lane are going much faster. I hope a trooper comes along and gives them tickets requiring payment of fines. Maybe that would change their behavior.

Do you have your own version of, “No! I won’t and you can’t make me,” to exercise your freedom?

Today is the first day of summer–the longest day of the year. The sun will rise at 5:21 a.m. and set at 8:39 p.m. making our day 15 hours and 17 minutes long. I enjoy living where we have a change of seasons. I think having the same climate year-round would get boring.

My clothes are dictated by the weather. I use two closets–one is in our bedroom where the things I wear every day hang and the other is upstairs where I store my off-season outfits. I enjoy donning short pants with tee shirts and sandals for these hot days. When fall arrives, I’ll be just as happy tucking them away and bringing out the jeans, sweat shirts and boots.

I’ll cook differently, too. Instead of chili or sweet potatoes with ham casserole, I’ll make a shrimp salad or chicken sandwiches.

While growing up, one of my joys of summer was going barefoot in the grass. Having to walk across our gravel driveway–not so much. I didn’t have a beach to feel the sand between my toes but we had a stream running through our permanent pasture, the milk cows’ grassland that never was plowed up for crops. The creek was a great place to play–catching tadpoles or just wading and feeling the mud squishing underfoot was fun. It wasn’t deep enough for swimming, a skill I never learned.

Once in a while, I still enjoy going barefoot in our yard. I’ve read about “grounding.” The theory behind that says putting our feet on the earth allows us to absorb electrons, which have numerous physical and mental health benefits by keeping us in the moment instead of thinking about the past or future. I keep watch for the dangers such as stepping on sharp objects, pests and hot sidewalks.

How will you enjoy the summer?