Mr. Toad's Latest Wild Ride

Caution: hill, cows, sheep, and stone wall are much closer than they appear

For aficionados of Kenneth Grahame’s classic The Wind in the Willows--remember the part where the wealthy Mr. Toad buys a motorcar and careens recklessly through the English countryside? Well, Steve and I have been traversing the same narrow, winding, stone-wall-bordered roads this past week, and we have a whole new sense of horror at the thought of Toad’s escapades. Believe me, “careening” is the LAST thing you should do, especially while remembering to drive on the left. 

When I planned our UK adventure months ago, I had thought that we’d have the best of all possible worlds—a week in London and Edinburgh, utilizing their fine public transport, followed by a week behind the wheel, as we drove to less accessible locales. It would be a lark! We’d be able to really enjoy the picturesque villages as we passed! In fact, after the hustle-bustle of the cities, our motoring sojourn would be relaxing!

 

Now mind you, nowhere in my fantasy did I picture myself being the driver. No, this idyllic daydream always featured my intrepid hubby as chauffeur. I mean, Steve actually enjoys driving in New York City. This would be a piece of (tea)cake! 

 

Fantasy careened into reality from the moment we arrived at the rental car desk in Scotland. I’d made sure our credit card covered all required insurance, and I’d reserved a small Peugeot (small being the operative word). Nevertheless, we were somehow talked into a much larger vehicle ($$$) because the agent said it would be “safer,” PLUS the rental company’s extra insurance ($$$) because it would cover “absolutely anything that could go wrong."

 

From there, Steve was given the keys to a big BMW and we were sent out of the lot and into Edinburgh traffic on a rainy day. Poor Steve! It was a (nearly) crash course in driving on the other side of the street, plus he had to deal with my abysmal map reading skills (the car’s GPS did not work and we had to use directions on our phones). 

We made it out of the city and onto a highway toward the coast, our next destination. Along the way, we learned a) roundabouts are EVERYWHERE b) you want "M" roadways when possible; those are the biggest highways, followed by "A"s and finally "B"s (which are the real back roads) c) British signage is different (“give way” means “yield”, “lay by” means “pull off,” heavy traffic ahead is “queues likely”) and d) were we kidding? Driving is far too intense to even NOTICE the scenery, much less “relax.” 

Hettie's in Pitlochry, Scotland--worth the drive! Almost! 

It's our final day in Europe, and we will be very sad to leave. But I will not miss our “wild” rides through the English countryside. My arm will be sore for weeks from gripping the passenger car door handle, leaning my body towards the center line (my magical way to remind Steve not to hug the curb).

 

Heading back home to Philly, where only the death-defying Schuylkill Expressway beckons. Should be relaxing.

"separated by a common language," indeed

Women Rising

 

I have always had ZERO trouble talking. My role model was my mom, that indefatigable chatterer Joanie. Mom cherished and nurtured her female friendships, setting an example for her three daughters of how to converse on a pretty deep level. Now, some of Joanie’s habits didn’t stick with me—I never did learn how to enjoy talking on the phone, whereas the receiver of that black, curly-corded thing on the kitchen wall, was surgically attached to my mother’s ear 24/7. 

 

But I knew that women had more to offer the world than the culture of the 1950s and 60s had us believe—and that these very valuable contributions need NOT eternally revolve around men. I cringe to recall the Gals of TV Land, the June Cleavers and Harriet Nelsons and (His) Little Margies. Even the incomparable Lucy yearned mainly to be affirmed by doofus Ricky Ricardo! Even the much-more evolved Golden Girls (who, eeek!!!, were considered “seniors” but who were at least a decade YOUNGER than me!!!) spent an inordinate amount of airtime obsessing about the opposite sex!

 

Gradually, women are taking the reins of corporations, leading governments, producing and directing movies. Of course, they accomplish all of this while still being vastly underpaid, compared to their male counterparts. But I have hope for my daughters, all the daughters, that things will continue to improve. 

 

A lot comes down to awareness of our situation. To that end, the amazing writer/cartoonist Alison Bechdel (she wrote the book-turned-musical Fun Home) has what is known as the Bechdel Test. Simply put, women’s conversations with other women are scored by what percentage of them DO NOT MENTION MEN. AT. ALL. I’ve applied the Bechdel Test to theatre dialogue, books, even overheard real life convos, and the results are pretty disheartening. Blah, blah, men, blah, blah, men. We women still have a ways to go! 

 

Think about the guys, in contrast. While they do talk about women, it is often in chauvinistic, dismissive terms. Think of all the cultural offerings featuring testosterone-y soldiers, superheroes, cowboys and business execs, with nary a female to be found. I was struck anew when I searched for an original episode of “Project Greenlight” for my newsletter. The series, about aspiring filmmakers competing for the opportunity to make their movie, premiered way back in 2001. It was the brainchild of lifelong buddies you may have heard of, Matt Damon and Ben Affleck. When I viewed Season 1 Episode 1, what did I discover? With one exception, every single would-be director was a white male (to add insult to injury, the early seasons were produced by the disgraced Harvey Weinstein). Forget about that idea!

 

It's still a cause for comment when women rise to the top, but I pray that soon it will be an unremarkable given. May this become a world where women talk with other women, passing the Bechdel Test with flying colors. 

 

Oh, and let’s throw in some equal pay while we’re at it. That’d be cool.

photo by Melissa Askew on Unsplash