Do It Yourself. DIY for short, and words to warm the cockles of my heart. I consider myself capable of most things, but also wise enough to know where to draw the line - my talents do not extend to plumbing nor electrics. But give me a drill, screwdriver and tape measure, and I'll happily have a go at most round the house/garden jobs.
Well, when I say most, my vertigo would exclude high level ladders jobs, but I did manage to wallpaper the chimney breast in Phoebe's room, and tackled the guttering round the playhouse, so 3-4 step height maximum is what I'll stretch to (all puns intended).
I can get carried away when it comes to pruning. There's almost nothing I like better than giving a hedge a trim (mind the cable of the hedge-trimmers!), or getting secateurs or shears out to errant branches. It's knowing when to stop that I have difficulty with.
I'm happy cooking in the kitchen, so long as I've decided what to do - it's the deciding that makes my brain ache. I'm competent at needlework - I can sew and knit, and I've forgotten how to crochet, but I'm sure it would come back with a bit of coaching. I can decorate - but it's not my favourite thing, as there's so much preparation to get a good result, so that's something we put off for as long as possible... and I'd like to spend more time in the garden, but life tends to get in the way. So I keep chipping away at it, bit by bit.
As you know, I built the greenhouse myself - the only help I asked for was holding the frame together during assembly, and then Simon checked the bolts were tightened properly, but apart from that I did everything else myself.... and I find myself wondering/pondering/accepting that, for a 'woman', I may not be cut of the same cloth as my 'sisters'.
And I ask myself why this is? Is it an innate quality, something genetic, something in my upbringing, my values, or, more likely a strange and unusual combination of the above? It is an eldest child thing, this self-belief? because, I have distinct memories of being very shy growing up (not now! I hear you splutter!). Or is it the farming side of the family background, and the grandparents influence (on both sides) of the make-do and mend mentality of struggling through the War?
Or is it more than that? Something deeper? And I wonder, in this age of superficiality, in the sexist society where women of a certain (more mature) age become invisible, of less value, lost... and women of another age are pestered for their looks, criticised for their looks, idolised for their looks, hounded for their looks, twittered about for their looks, teased, taunted, and tattered for their looks. And yet others hide their looks away, beneath a veil of dignity, which still gives no shelter from all the abuse inflicted because of how they look. It's the double standard which is confusing, and I'm certain there are no winners.
And it never occurs to me to even think about how I look. Granted, I make sure I'm presentable, showered and if working in the Library, then there's a quick dab of face powder to take the shine off, and a quick flick of mascara, and maybe some lipstick, nothing too gaudy, it's not a disco after all....
But I have no sense, myself, of being anything other than myself, which is me and is who I am, defined, I hope, by my actions, and not how I look. I do what I do because what I do is who I am. For the most part I rarely think of myself as 'woman'. I think of myself as just 'me'. And equally, whilst acknowledging that friends and family are male and female, I don't see them that way. I see them for who they are, each unique in their relationship to me, with history and love and acceptance. What they've got in their trousers doesn't matter. What I've got in my trousers matters only to me, and if there's a spanner in the back pocket, then so much the better.
Great. I've just googled 'spanner in back pocket' to get an image to put here, but all the ones of women/girls are wearing shorts (yeah, right) or cropped t-shirts (highly impractical I'm sure you'll find), and more to the point, they seem to be confusing wrench with spanner, so I'm not going to bother. Fume.
So, how do we guide our 13yr old daughter through this maze of confusion? I hope by acting consistently, by telling her we love her (she squirms when I do), by answering her questions honestly, and keeping a conversation open for her. By treading a careful path between praise and criticism - more of the former, less of the latter, by leading by example, keeping our eyes and ears open, and living a tolerant life. (Although if the fashion for boys wearing their trousers at crotch level and showing their underwear 'hanging loose'?, is still prevalent when Tom's a teenager, come back and ask me about tolerance then... I may just have lost it!).
Here endeth the lesson for tonight.
Keep it loose, mother Goose!
Kat :)
Well, when I say most, my vertigo would exclude high level ladders jobs, but I did manage to wallpaper the chimney breast in Phoebe's room, and tackled the guttering round the playhouse, so 3-4 step height maximum is what I'll stretch to (all puns intended).
I can get carried away when it comes to pruning. There's almost nothing I like better than giving a hedge a trim (mind the cable of the hedge-trimmers!), or getting secateurs or shears out to errant branches. It's knowing when to stop that I have difficulty with.
I'm happy cooking in the kitchen, so long as I've decided what to do - it's the deciding that makes my brain ache. I'm competent at needlework - I can sew and knit, and I've forgotten how to crochet, but I'm sure it would come back with a bit of coaching. I can decorate - but it's not my favourite thing, as there's so much preparation to get a good result, so that's something we put off for as long as possible... and I'd like to spend more time in the garden, but life tends to get in the way. So I keep chipping away at it, bit by bit.
As you know, I built the greenhouse myself - the only help I asked for was holding the frame together during assembly, and then Simon checked the bolts were tightened properly, but apart from that I did everything else myself.... and I find myself wondering/pondering/accepting that, for a 'woman', I may not be cut of the same cloth as my 'sisters'.
And I ask myself why this is? Is it an innate quality, something genetic, something in my upbringing, my values, or, more likely a strange and unusual combination of the above? It is an eldest child thing, this self-belief? because, I have distinct memories of being very shy growing up (not now! I hear you splutter!). Or is it the farming side of the family background, and the grandparents influence (on both sides) of the make-do and mend mentality of struggling through the War?
Or is it more than that? Something deeper? And I wonder, in this age of superficiality, in the sexist society where women of a certain (more mature) age become invisible, of less value, lost... and women of another age are pestered for their looks, criticised for their looks, idolised for their looks, hounded for their looks, twittered about for their looks, teased, taunted, and tattered for their looks. And yet others hide their looks away, beneath a veil of dignity, which still gives no shelter from all the abuse inflicted because of how they look. It's the double standard which is confusing, and I'm certain there are no winners.
And it never occurs to me to even think about how I look. Granted, I make sure I'm presentable, showered and if working in the Library, then there's a quick dab of face powder to take the shine off, and a quick flick of mascara, and maybe some lipstick, nothing too gaudy, it's not a disco after all....
But I have no sense, myself, of being anything other than myself, which is me and is who I am, defined, I hope, by my actions, and not how I look. I do what I do because what I do is who I am. For the most part I rarely think of myself as 'woman'. I think of myself as just 'me'. And equally, whilst acknowledging that friends and family are male and female, I don't see them that way. I see them for who they are, each unique in their relationship to me, with history and love and acceptance. What they've got in their trousers doesn't matter. What I've got in my trousers matters only to me, and if there's a spanner in the back pocket, then so much the better.
Great. I've just googled 'spanner in back pocket' to get an image to put here, but all the ones of women/girls are wearing shorts (yeah, right) or cropped t-shirts (highly impractical I'm sure you'll find), and more to the point, they seem to be confusing wrench with spanner, so I'm not going to bother. Fume.
So, how do we guide our 13yr old daughter through this maze of confusion? I hope by acting consistently, by telling her we love her (she squirms when I do), by answering her questions honestly, and keeping a conversation open for her. By treading a careful path between praise and criticism - more of the former, less of the latter, by leading by example, keeping our eyes and ears open, and living a tolerant life. (Although if the fashion for boys wearing their trousers at crotch level and showing their underwear 'hanging loose'?, is still prevalent when Tom's a teenager, come back and ask me about tolerance then... I may just have lost it!).
Here endeth the lesson for tonight.
Keep it loose, mother Goose!
Kat :)
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