Author: the outside lane

Happy. That about covers it.
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Talkin’ Bout My Generation–so I expect to be making explanations

the outside lane

Our various offices are vying against each other in “Olympic Games” this summer, and each office is to come up with a country name for itself, a flag, and team photos.  One of the managers from another office was telling a coworker and me that his team was going to use his last name and call their country Smithtown.  I said, “Good thing your last name isn’t Jones.”

And everyone kind of squinted at me.  Not because that was a really dark joke to make, but because they weren’t aware of my reference. 

That, my friends, is how you know that your generation is no longer The Generation.

Then, because they asked, I had to try to explain Jonestown and it was just downhill from there.  I finally said, “You know the ‘don’t drink the Kool-Aid’ saying?  That’s Jonestown.”  And if you don’t think that’s a conversation killer…

Explaining the Strange Behavior, Howling Sea Lane, Inside Lane, Lancient History

…but Bad Girls Go Everywhere

the outside lane

Suddenly, my child who was wearing a 4T, this time last year, is fitting well into a child’s size medium t-shirt.  This time last year, he wore an extra-small, and that was roomy.  This time last year, he was still wearing some of his old 3T shorts without issue.  Those toddler days are long gone.  By the time the school year rolls around, he’s going to be 6 feet tall!  And speaking of school…

Today, I read something that amounted to this:  Boys are better at solving problems/taking on learning challenges than girls because boys are encouraged to “try” whereas girls are encouraged to “be”.  That is, girls more often receive encouragement and praise for innate qualities (like prettiness, or goodness, or sweetness), whereas boys more often receive encouragement and praise for qualities that require practice and learning (like thinking, or physical activity).  While the crux of my personal experience does not support the article, that has a lot to do with having had a largely non-coed education.

Until 7th grade, I was either in all-girls school, or my classes were segregated by gender.  Through 5th grade, the boys and girls at my school were taught in separate classrooms.  We might have passed each other in the hallways, but the only time we mixed were for field trips or the class play.  Thus and so, I never experienced the grade school phenomenon of being treated differently because of my gender.  If there was competition to be had it was strictly based on ability, or potential ability.

Then again, I wasn’t a “good” girl in school.  I was a talker, and a balker, and a doodler, daydreamer, eyeball roller.  I wasn’t praised for my goodness because it just didn’t exist.  I wasn’t praised at school for prettiness–there were plenty of prettier girls in my grade anyway.  I wasn’t praised at school for sweetness.  Quite the contrary. 

When I received praise at school, it was for completing tasks ahead of expectation, for excelling at writing or singing, or for giving it my all even when success wasn’t an option (that was phys ed, and that’s pretty much what one of my phys ed teachers wrote in a grade school yearbook!)  But my school and my class were filled with extraordinary girls.

Sarah was an accomplished dancer by the time we were 3rd graders.  Lena could draw with amazing talent.  Helen was on her way to Junior Wimbledon.  Danielle was a violin virtuoso.  Laurel, a few grades ahead, hadn’t even started dancing before 7th grade, and ended up a principle dancer in a ballet company.  My classmates were all girls who did things.  And, I really can’t remember any of my teachers, though 6th grade, who gave us kudos for being quiet*, or nice, or anything other than for being the type of students they thought we should be.

I went to mixed schools for 7th and 8th grades, and 11th and 12th grades.  I think I had been well enough insulated from gender discrimination that when it happened, I didn’t recognize it for what it was.  When I was passed over, or ignored in favor of boys (and I was), I figured it was because I hadn’t asserted myself well enough, or proved myself–that just made me go into overdrive in the classroom. 

Then, I had teachers in those grades tell me to be more ladylike.  Teachers in those grades suggested that I was way too assertive, and two of them (both male coaches, one in 7th and one in 11th grade, who were teaching regular classes) told me that I needed to dial it back a notch because I was making a few of the boys feel bad (and in one case it led to a period in the gym, allowing the students to make grade points with free throws, and the coach asking me how it felt to be bad at something.  ???  Yeah, my mother had a field day with that one.  –Fortunately, I’d already had 6 years of knowing I was pathetic at sports to support me.)  I wasn’t the smartest girl, but I was apparently the most obnoxious! 

I never felt bad when I wasn’t the prettiest or the sweetest.  I knew I wasn’t the prettiest!  Or the sweetest.  I was horrified, though, when I felt I wasn’t smart enough, or able enough.  And I was mystified when my ability was confused with my lack of adorability, and I was penalized for not being a darling.

I had the great fortune to be educated by strong women, and educated to be a strong woman.  It wasn’t until I was in public school that the question of whether or not I would be a “good” woman came into play.

“Good” women, like the Proverbs 31 woman, literally do it all while their husbands reap all the benefit of praise at the city gates.  And “good” women smile beatifically at the fact that their husband is considered rich for their woman’s work.  I can’t even type that without my right eyebrow inching higher and my nostrils flaring.  BS!  I’ll do it all, but ain’t nobody gonna take the credit for it but me!

And if I’m working as hard as that Proverbs 31 woman?  My husband better be busting his chops, too.  Hanging around at the city wall telling his friends how great my garden grows won’t cut it.  I expect an equal partner, who is just as willing to weed and rake as I am**.

I will never be a “good” girl, and I’m proud of that.  Pretty fades into oblivion.  Sweet is overrated.  Praise your girls for being great thinkers, great problem solvers, great challenge over-comers, for having good reasoning abilities, and common sense, AND for being pretty, and kind to others, and respectful, and considerate, AND for being true to themselves, and pursuing their dreams, and for striving to get what they want for themselves–if it’s reaching for the next A, or the newest Barbie–encourage them to dream, then put legs to those dreams and run toward them.  They’ll learn to run fast enough that the naysayers and sexist twerps will just be a blur in their peripheral vision.

*By quiet, I mean unassuming.  We were encouraged to be assertive, and even a little aggressive.  Field Hockey was a big deal, after all.

**And I have that equal partner.  I am extremely fortunate.

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No Worries, Y’all. But would you like some fries with that?

the outside lane

My dear friend, Leslieann, read my last post and dashed off a concerned email.  I responded with our woes (it’s a big financial blow caused by an outside source) and she sent back her relief.  “That is frustrating.  I’m sorry.  I was afraid someone was sick or something.” 

Reality jolt! 

We do have our health.  None of us are sick.  I would much rather deal with financial ills than physical ones.  I can always find a part-time job to cover the losses.  Somebody has to work the night shift at McDonald’s! 

So:  No one is sick.  No one is hurt.  We’re just figuring out how to proceed.

P.S. I am swearing off ever owning property again, or at least I am swearing off ever leasing a property again once we sell this place.

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Well, it was going to be a happy post…

the outside lane

I was thinking, today, that when we are children, life just happens to us.  We may be presented with some limited choices, but for the most, we are just handed our lives.  We are handed what we will eat, what we will wear, our hairstyles, our language, our decor, our environment, our surroundings entirely.  In the teen years, as we are presented with more choices, we start learning to make life happen for ourselves, and we start dying our hair, wearing crazy shoes, speaking our made-up slanguages, papering our rooms in posters, contributing to the overall atmosphere, and pressing to exert ourselves even further.

If the process works well, then by the time we graduate high school, we have a very good idea of how to go make something happen for ourselves.  We go make college, or jobs, or relationships happen, then we spend about ten years figuring out what we are really like.  Are we the forest and navy striped polos Mom used to make us wear?  Or are we the ragged Anarchy in the UK tshirt we wore out Senior year?  Or are we somewhere in between?  Are we the curls and huge bows Mom thought were so cute, or are we the buzz cut with the chin length bangs?  We learn the balance of extremes.

If things don’t go as nature intended, we end up stunted in areas, and it takes much, much longer to find a balance between dogged loyalty to the choices that were once made for us, or keeping a self-defeating grip on the first choices we made straight out of puberty.  I am an excellent example of both of these defects, and I was in my very late 30s before I started feeling my way into some balance. 

…and after the phone call I just took, my equalibrium is way off. 

It seems like Life has decided the best way for me to get information is by letting me experience the down side of everything first.  AUGH!

Chef Lane, Family, Home Interiors/Exteriors

Stewing and Swaying in the Summer Heat

the outside lane

Today, I expanded my cooking oeuvre to include one of mutt tagine of lamb.  Mutt because I used the instructions from a Moroccan recipe, with the base of an Irish recipe, and the ingredients of an entirely other Greek meat dish.  I thought it was really good, and am looking forward to lunch tomorrow.

I cubed a pound of lamb and browned that in well salted olive oil, onions, and a Tbs of garlic paste, then added a cup of stock I made boiling the lamb bone and the fat I had trimmed down, and 1.5 cups of chicken stock.  I added 4 carrots sliced into 1/4 inch rounds, an eggplant halved and sliced, and a half pound of asparagus, chopped into 1 inch bits.  Into that I added 1/2 Tbs each of Allspice, Coriander, and 1 Tbs of brown sugar, and salted and white peppered to taste.  I let that cook on medium, covered, for 45 minutes.

While that was cooking, I shredded 2 small potatoes and fried them over olive oil with garlic and herbs, then broiled them.

I served the tagine over rice, with a helping of potatoes and a dollop of sour cream.  Tasty!

**********

At the grocery store, this morning, I found a great deal on a hammock–and on a hammock that doesn’t tip and tilt as much as usual.  This one hangs from two anchors on either end, rather than just one in the middle.  That also means it doesn’t rock as much as most hammocks, so I won’t get seasick lying in it.

B had been skeptical about having one, but after seeing how happy Thor was in it, he decided to have a go himself.

While I was cooking, Thor was napping in my bed, and B was whiling away the afternoon in my new hammock. The nice thing about being the photographer in the family is that no one took pictures of me while I wallowed in it!

By the time I got to try it out, it was really time for me to start getting ready for my father and his wife to arrive, so I just lived vicariously through the boys.

My dad arrived bearing gifts–lovely gifts that he had received as birthday presents from his lovely wife over the years.  Several mint condition cars that Thor dove into like a pile of marshmallows.  He loves wheels.

Peepaw and Thor, and the passing down of collector cars from one generation to another. It was fitting that Thor had chosen his Mustang tshirt for the day.

Tomorrow is another Monday, and we’ll hit the ground running as usual.  At least I’ll be running toward a great lunch.  Then, I need to go to the hardware store for something, but I can’t remember what.  I’m sure it will come to me at 3 in the morning.