Making it? Are you sure?

I’m fascinated by the discussion in this article from the Atlantic , the online comments on the article, and the online conversations that followed (just google it).  The article zeros in on coding and hacking and contrasts “making,” which the author sees as primarily a male domain, with caregiving, educating, and other more traditionally female roles.  The author points out that traditionally female jobs are, of course, traditionally low-paid.bib-aprons

“But there are more significant issues, rooted in the social history of who makes things—and who doesn’t.”

Being a stay-at-home mom was not unusual when my kids were small. The years I spent as an unpaid-but-full-time volunteer (in issue and electoral politics) when they were older were outside the norm, though. Working in politics was very satisfying, but there’s no doubt that the lack of a paycheck cast(s) a shadow on my self-image.  Still, I always felt that I was making something:  I was making a difference.

That’s why I am interested in the discussion about what we make.  The author believes that the maker movement ” mostly re-inscribes familiar values, in slightly different form: that artifacts are important, and people are not.” Others suggest that making things that last is more highly valued than making things that are quickly consumed (dinner, anyone?).   Pointing out that women make food, the commenters quickly move into a discussion of why while women are often described as good cooks, top chefs are still usually males.  me sf

“It’s not, of course, that there’s anything wrong with making (although it’s not all that clear that the world needs more stuff). “

I’m know the world need more good food.  Although I’m not particularly artistic, I’m pretty sure the world need more beautiful stuff.  And that sometimes it’s hard to appreciate what’s beautiful if it isn’t attached to a price.

Makers-Mark-BottleAt this point, I think  I am a maker.  Some of what I make is ephemeral, some lasts.  Most of what I make involves other people, either as consumers or as partners. I understand the author’s concerns, and I appreciate that she has inspired me to think about what that means.  The term has become kind of intimidating, but I want to define it for myself rather than rejecting it because I don’t agree with the way others define it.

I’d love to know what you think…..

 

 

Pantry dinner

pan·try
ˈpantrē/
noun
  1. a small room or closet in which food, dishes, and utensils are kept.
    synonyms: larder, store, storeroom;

    archaicspence
    “we set out moth traps in the pantry”

    I don’t have a pantry.  When we moved here in 1980 we created a big wonderful kitchen from the old awful kitchen, the pantry, and, mostly, a new addition.

    Still, I like the idea of a pantry.  And, often, I like making dinner from what is in the (imaginary) pantry.  Tonight I made pizza margherita with tomato sauce I froze last summer, mozzarella left over from birthday pasta, and basil that I couldn’t resist at the farmers market.  Plus, of course, dough made with the large bag of flour I store on my baking cart, which is almost as good as a pantry.
    my salad

    photo (11)

 

I made salad from greens also left over from the party (i.e. left over because I thought there was no way we could eat more than the three giant bowls of salad I served, but in fact we ran out).

It’s kind of a fun game, pantry dinners.   I probably have at least a month’s worth on my shelves.  But after a few days, I always want to pick something that sounds wonderful and requires me to purchase even more ingredients, often exotic herbs and spices that will be used once and then added to the list of things I feel just a little bit guilty for having.

My grandmother had a pantry.  Until her last years, however, she didn’t have a refrigerator.  We often visited her on Sunday afternoons and almost always accepted dinner.  Luckily the county health inspectors never visited, because her storage practices would not make it today.  Still, I never remember being sickened from the meals she cooked.  She always had Juicy Fruit gum in the pocket of her apron for us.  I remember.

 

 

It matters what you make, too…

“With our thoughts we make the world.”  Gautama Buddha

buddha

My home in Toledo is the center of my world, and I think the Buddha has it right.  Each of us makes our own world with our thoughts.  But also with our hands.  I’m starting this blog because I’d like to think, and to write, about making it:  making the world and making a life.  Making a home and making a difference.  No deep thoughts, but hopefully some interesting reflections and a bit of engaging conversation.  Welcome.

(Thanks to Big Al for the Buddha in my garden.)