Showing posts with label nature. Show all posts
Showing posts with label nature. Show all posts

Sunday, May 29, 2011

Of Gender and Choice



Every so often there is a debate about hereditary and nurture, and the parent's influence on a child's own sexual identity. It is said that girl babies are dressed in pink and boys are put in blue garments. Girls have dolls and boys get more mechanical objects to play with. I made most of my children's clothes and my mum-in-law knitted their jumpers and various outfits. In those days we did not know what the child's sex would be until the baby was born. I had a pile of clothes waiting for my babies, all of them blue, yellow or white. The hood of the pram was lined in a pretty blue simply because I thought it went nicely with the grey carriage. I am not keen on pink but I would loved to have had a girl child. I have three wonderful handsome sons. I made them dresses as it was best for nappy changing. I am amazed that tiny little ones are put in jeans as if they were mini dads (or mums for that matter). I enjoyed smocking and sewing their little garments. Stretch material was not available in those days and I wanted them to be comfortable. Once they were running around I made them little easy-iron shirts and shorts.
As far as toys are concerned, soft toys followed by constructive toys which they loved. Cars are loved by little children because they can manipulate them and make them move — brum-brum! Houses can be built and knocked down, cranes can be built and manipulated, blocks built up and knocked down, Leggo taken apart and constructed. Drawing, painting etc etc - boys and girls have the same. Teddy can have his arm bandaged whether the owner is boy or girl. If a son follows his dad that is natural. My sons can use a sewing machine but they don't normally sew — by choice. When my sewing machine stopped working my four-year old fetched me the correct fuse and changed it in the plug. He had watched his dad — his choice.
If parents turn their daughters into pretty-pretty girls in pink only, and, or, turn them into mini-sexy girls at too early an age it is rather silly and confusing. Children should be allowed to be children and play and get messy. To do the opposite and try to keep a neutral sexual identity is rather silly too. Let boys be boys and girls do their own thing too. My lads may have worn convenient little dresses when babies but they all grew up to be strapping lads AND engineers just like their dad!

Thursday, July 1, 2010

Ratty — the friendly squirrel with a peculiar tail



Can anyone tell me what might have happened to this visiting squirrel?
It looks a little like a rat until it skips off. It does not seem as agile as the other squirrels. Is this because a bushy tail gives better balance? But it seems to be surviving okay. If this is a defect I wonder if more squirrels will be born with it. Red Squirrels, grey squirrels and ratty-tailed squirrels!
We call the little fellow Ratty!

Saturday, August 8, 2009

A Watery Break In Derbyshire!





We have just returned from an eight day break in Derbyshire. We had rain most of the time but clear spells when we managed some walking — the woods at Chatsworth (always a delight), the path in Dovedale (heavenly riches) , the nature reserve at Carsington Reservoir (a perfect haven), and the last section of the Tissington Trail (easy walking and a joy for cyclists), We visited my sister and took her to the lovely nature reserve at Attenborough (about a mile from where we lived many years ago — mentioned in my book of childhood memories, When Phones Were Immobile and Lived in red Boxes). And we visited my husband's sister for tea (at Matlock), and joined both his sisters plus husbands for a meal at the Grouse and Claret at Rowsley.
We came across a fantastic log in Dovedale, 'chissled' by nature, which reminded me of a poem I wrote recently. I decided to put it here with the photo of the log plus one of me with my sister. Although we are not a bit alike, one might say that both my sister and I have been similarly sculptured!

Nature’s Sculpture
By Gladys Hobson

Like twisted log tossed on the beach
each groove and knot
forming nature’s sculpture.
If mind is open it can reach
a story true
of life and death —
crafted in lines bold and free
in hollows and grooves
and swirls and knots:
a distorted body —
a soul tormented?

Or is the story nature tells
far from what my eyes do see?
For beauty lies within the heart
and sings a different melody,
Those crafted grooves
that make me shudder
were earned by life’s experience.
Each tells a story of its own
yet builds into a perfect whole.

Again I look into the mirror
unafraid of what I see;
for nature’s sculpture so defined
is beauty of a different kind.
I am who I am —
yes, this is me.