Still kicking

 Yesterday I attended one of the pre grading sessions for red and black belts and practised one, tow and three step sparring, mainly partnered with red belts. I'm now second Dan and have been for some years, but I don't demonstrate enough power to move on to third Dan. I'm chuffed I got this far anyhow. Playing takes up some of my lonely empty time, still makes me smile, and keeps me measureably fit for an old woman.

I wish there were more women in the club.

Stories of middle-aged women

"As a woman of 50, I’m surrounded by my contemporaries and what women of that age go through: parental loss, cancer, dealing with Alzheimer’s, children growing up. All these issues that are here in our lives and they’re invisible."

thus spake Samantha Bond recently, here, when bemoaning the lack of stories of middle-aged women.

Such am I.  I and my peers are coping with aging relatives, taking on legal powers of attorney, mourning those we are losing alive to Alzheimer's, and vicariously taking on the troubles of our grown-up children.  Our children may be living the dreams we once had: emigrating, studying fantastic university courses.  Or they may be worrying us with troubled relationships, dangerous driving, failing exams, not working. 

Is there not drama in such lives?  Apparently not, and hence Bond's moan.  There are few theatre, film or stage productions of the lives of people like me.  Despite the bulk of theatre audiences being made up of middle-aged women, despite the novels written by and for us, there are not the productions, and hence there are not the roles for the actresses like Bond. 

Middle-aged women are like the main supporting wall of a house, central and sustaining, but hidden.

Made in Dagenham

I went to see this film, Made in Dagenham, with a neighbour. We were growing up around the time these women machinists at the Ford factory were striking for equal pay after management had regraded them as unskilled, with consequent low pay. After weeks on strike, the women met Barbara Castle, who in getting them back to work, also initiated the equal pay act. That was May 1968.

On Friday 13 May 1968, I took my maths GCE. In May 1968, my neighbour received a letter about an accounting apprenticeship she'd applied for. It read,

"Dear Miss R, thank you for your application. The vacancy is for a male."

It was attitudes from similar managers of such organisations that limited my choice of career. It's thanks to the women of Dagenham that we have the Equal Pay Act, and that women now expect to be able to apply for all sorts of jobs, not limited by their sex. And, if it hadn't been for that Labour government, I wouldn't be doing what I'm doing now at the Open University.

Just a mum

When I was doing my MBA, I did a thesis with a research element. I had to arrange interviews from home with a toddler and baby around while I phoned. If I had a fellow mum around when a call came through unexpectedly, I'd apologise that I was in a meeting at the moment.

One of my British Computer Society colleagues occasionally has problems when she says she's a mother. She posted this on the BCS women's forum:

A woman, renewing her driver's licence was asked by the woman at Registry to state her occupation. She hesitated, uncertain how to classify herself. 'What I mean is, ' explained the woman at Registry, 'do you have a job or are you just a ...?'

'Of course I have a job,' snapped the woman. 'I'm a Mum.'

'We don't list 'Mum' as an occupation, 'housewife' covers it,' said the recorder emphatically.

I forgot all about her story until one day I found myself in the same situation. The Clerk was obviously a career woman, poised, efficient, and possessed of a high sounding title like, 'Official Interrogator' or 'City Registrar.'

'What is your occupation?' she probed. What made me say it? I do not know. The words simply popped out:

'I'm a Research Associate in the field of Child Development and Human Relations.'

The clerk paused, ball-point pen frozen in midair and looked up as though she had not heard right. I repeated the title slowly emphasizing the most significant words. Then I stared with wonder as my pronouncement was written, in bold, black ink on the official questionnaire.

'Might I ask,' said the clerk with new interest, 'just what you do in your field?'

Coolly, without any trace of fluster in my voice, I heard myself reply, 'I have a continuing program of research, (what mother doesn't) in the laboratory and in the field, (normally I would have said indoors and out) 'I'm working for my Masters, (first the Lord and then the whole family) And already have four credits (all daughters). Of course, the job is one of the most demanding in the humanities, (any mother care to disagree?) And I often work 14 hours a day, (24 is more like it). But the job is more challenging than most run-of-the-mill careers and the rewards are more of a satisfaction rather than just money.'

There was an increasing note of respect in the clerk's voice as she completed the form, stood up, and personally ushered me to the door.

As I drove into our driveway, buoyed up by my glamorous new career, I was greeted by my lab assistants -- ages 13, 7, and 3. Upstairs I could hear our new experimental model, (a 6 month old baby) in the child development program, testing out a new vocal pattern.

I felt I had scored a beat on bureaucracy! And I had gone on the official records as someone more distinguished and indispensable to mankind than 'just another Mum.'

Motherhood! What a glorious career! Especially when there's a title on the door.

Does this make grandmothers 'Senior Research associates in the field of Child Development and Human Relations' And great grandmothers 'Executive Senior Research Associates?' I think so!!!

I also think it makes Aunts 'Associate Research Assistants.'

I'd answer my colleague, but the forum's on yahoo and a pain to read, especially as I frequently forget my password.

Ada Lovelace day

Ada was a name that daughter's father and I had thought of calling her because I was a programmer, he taught me programming, we enjoyed controlling the computer, and Ada Lovelace was the world's first computer programmer, not a bloke, a woman. A geek as Brussels Girl Geek blogger writes here.

A thousand bloggers have pledged to blog about a woman in technology on March 24th. But who shall we pick? I don't know yet.

Proud to do what I do

Yesterday's experience made me proud of being a mother, a step mother, a twice happily married woman. I think I'll rewrite my business cards to announce these as my qualifications, along with my voluntary unpaid experience in the public sector. There were a couple of women yesterday who were a bit diffident about what they did. Unlike the majority they were not bankers or involved in finance. One insisted sternly "I don't do anything". With patience I found out that one had left banking and now runs her own bespoke jewellers, and another not only has raised a family but has worked as a magistrate for so long that she is on the advisory panel for recruiting new magistrates. And I met another recently through the schools appeal panel, who has been a local councillor for over twenty years, but insists "I do nothing." It is a sort of contrast with those who identify themselves by their career experience. I think I'll create a scrap book or a web pages of such women who do nothing.

E J H

mother, step-mother, wife

ex-Community Health Council member, school governor ..