"I'll Have What She's Having..."

We have lost the sophisticated and enlightened humor of the great Nora Ephron at the young age of 71.  She wrote the classic "When Harry Met Sally."   Who is not familiar with Meg Ryan's fake orgasm scene and the middle-aged woman at the next table (played by Rob Reiner’s mom) telling the waiter "I'll have what she’s having."  She also wrote and directed "Sleepless in Seattle" and "You've Got Mail" among others.  Her last film was “Julie and Julia.”  She was great friends with Meryl Streep, who said at her memorial service “she was a breathtaking original.”  

Nora Ephron’s writing is a sure-fire recipe for laughter, in my book.  She was devoted to Manhattan, cooking and her family including the wonderful husband she finally found after a disastrous marriage to a philandering Carl Bernstein. She was also a strong feminist.  I knew very little about her until now, after she’s gone.  The more I read the more I admire her humor, her courage and her love of both reading and writing.

Newsweek and the New York Times both had good articles about her.  She came from a family of writers, both parents eventually ended up alcoholics.  Her mother famously told her, "Everything is copy." She turned many of her experiences from a bad marriage to the disappointments of aging into highly amusing scenes in her books and movies.  (I loved her hilarious book of essays from 2006 called "I Feel Bad About My Neck.") 

A life well-lived, ending too soon with a terminal illness.  Here are a few quotes attributed to her that I found interesting.

"I try to write parts for women that are as complicated and interesting as women really are."

"Reading is one of the main things I do.  Reading is everything.  Reading makes me feel I've accomplished something, become a better person. Reading makes me smarter."

Some quotes from a 1996 commencement address to the young women at Wellesley:

"Above all, be the heroine of your life, not the victim."

"One of the things people always say to you if you get upset is don't take it personally.  Understand:  every attack on Hillary Clinton for not knowing her place is an attack on you.  Underneath all attacks are the words:  get back, get back, get back to where you once belonged.  When Elizabeth Dole pretends that she isn't serious about her career, that is an attack on you.  Any move to limit abortion rights is an attack on you--whether or not you believe in abortion.  The fact that Clarence Thomas is sitting on the Supreme Court today is an attack on you."

How refreshing--the idea that it might actually be appropriate to take it personally, to get angry and fight back. 

Farewell to Nora, an inspiration to women and particularly to those who know how to write and to laugh out loud.

The Bug

How to describe my fascination with Ellen Ullman's 2003 novel The Bug? The scene is Silicon Valley in 1984 when the mouse as an input device is still an innovative new technology. The story is told from the perspective of software developer Ethan and a tester Berta--both doing battle (often at cross purposes) to track down an insidiously elusive bug they end up calling "The Jester." The bug takes on a personality of its own, appearing only intermittently at the worst possible times, sabotaging important demos, and ultimately becoming a haunting nemesis for both of them. In the end, Ethan's efforts to debug his code become intertwined with his efforts to debug his life, which is rapidly unravelling all around him as he loses his wife, colleague, and the manager who appreciated him and lured him into the project to begin with despite Ethan's self doubt.

Ethan's real passion is an artificial intelligence program he calls the simulation in which he tries to program his cyber creatures to socialize and thrive. Survival in the simulation depends on whether a cell is surrounded with other healthy cells, but Ethan's creations are not thriving, despite his efforts. The novel's structure is divided into four parts, each preceded with a diagram from the simulation, showing the progression as a hapless cell is deprived of each of its neighbors in turn, paralleling Ethan's own life of increasing isolation.

The author was an English major before she got into high tech (I can relate to that) and weaves a number of literary allusions into the novel including Eliot's Middlemarch, Kafka's The Metamorphosis and Shelley's Frankenstein (the tester's name is Roberta Walton and the name of the narrator in Frankenstein was Robert Walton).

Ullman's descriptions of software engineers and their quirks absolutely rang true from my own experiences in the industry of the 80's--from the relentless fascination with puns to the office collections of toys like squirt guns and boffo swords, to the hilarious description of Ethan's attempts to answer pointed questions from the bean counters about The Schedule while balanced precariously on the only seat remaining in his manager's office--a bouncy ball.

The toys and puns take on a vaguely hostile air as the intense pressure from the venture capitalists to deliver on the impossible schedule increases. Ullman vividly describes the 7x24 obsession with churning out and debugging huge quantities of code and the challenges many technically brilliant engineers have with emotional intelligence and deciphering what is really going on in their bewildering social interactions. She also does a great job of depicting the challenges of management, aka herding the cats--both what an excellent manager can mean to the productivity and sanity of technical people as well as what havoc can be wrought by a terrible manager. She shows rather than tells us these things--with dark humor and clarity. The story does take a very bleak turn at the end, but she has lined up all the events that lead to this so thoroughly that the ending is logical and inevitable.

Ullman also penned a 1997 autobiography called "Close to the Machine: Technophilia and Its Discontents," about her Silicon Valley years as a software developer--she mentions that she was the first engineer to be hired at Sybase to work on the client side of groundbreaking client-server architecture. In "The Bug" the company is called "Intelligentsia" but includes an eerily accurate portrayal of one of Sybase's founders and his habit of nodding and smiling during every conversation regardless of the content.

Other novels have explored the computer world and its sometimes cutthroat ruthlessness. There aren't many novels that delve into the complexity of a coder's brain, motivations and inner life with this level of depth and empathy. To unambiguously tell the machine what it is you want it to do, you often must become part machine yourself--sometimes at great cost.

Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother

I've been hearing a lot about Amy Chua's book, interviews and articles on how and why Chinese mothers are different from Western mothers in their parenting style. In this excerpt from her book "Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother," she describes an epic battle with her 7-year-old daughter in which she insists the girl practice her piano piece until she's got it right on the night before her next lesson, at a huge cost to the peace and psyche of the family. Her argument is that this is a demonstration of true parental devotion--based on her unshakeable faith that the kid can and will be able to achieve the goal.

When, after a night of screaming and denial of such comforts as supper, water and bathroom breaks, the daughter finally manages to play the piece correctly, she is so thrilled and happy with her achievement that she comes to her mother's bed to cuddle.

According to Amy Chua, Chinese mothers don't allow activities like sleepovers or watching TV--ever. All the more time to focus on the goal of perfect A's in all subjects (gym and drama exempted) and mastery of either piano or violin (no other choices allowed).

Western mothers, on the other hand, are overly focused on their child's self-esteem and don't possess the same unshakeable belief in the resiliency and strength of their children. They want to help each child find her true passion but, for the sake of a kid's happiness or self esteem, are unwilling to push and shove their kids past the inevitable early difficulties when learning a new concept or skill.

In the end Chua does show some balance in her viewpoints on parenthood, concluding with the comment that all decent parents act out of love for their children despite their different parenting styles. She says:

"Western parents try to respect their children's individuality, encouraging them to pursue their true passions, supporting their choices, and providing positive reinforcement and a nurturing environment. By contrast, the Chinese believe that the best way to protect their children is by preparing them for the future, letting them see what they're capable of, and arming them with skills, work habits and inner confidence that no one can ever take away."

The above conclusion rings true for me in my own observations of the contrasts in the two cultures, but why can't these goals be combined by applying a balance of approaches to parenting, based on the kid and the situation on the ground? One size does not fit all; sometimes strict discipline is the right tool and at other times letting go and allowing a kid to stumble and learn from the consequences can be the better path. You've gotta play it as it lays, because parenting is much harder than blindly following one set of rules.

Parents, kids - what do you think?

Are Men Less Adaptable?

M and I read and had much discussion about an article recently in the Atlantic called “The End of Men” by Hanna Roslin. It was about how American women (and actually women in other countries as well to some degree) have actually become the dominant gender in our culture in many ways. For example, more women are now managers in the US (although I can attest this is still not true in high tech). Moreover, countries who allow women to participate in business are measurably more successful financially than those who do not. More women than men are earning college degrees now; in fact, some private schools are so concerned about keeping the gender balance on campus that they’re applying a form of affirmative action and relaxing certain expectations so as to be able to accept more men.
Women are marrying much later in life and more women in their 20s are questioning the value of long-term relationships with men their age, not seeing these guys showing much readiness to be equal breadwinners. They are making sure they themselves can earn their own way and in many ways saying that they don’t need men to have happy, fulfilled lives.

I’ve lived most of my life in what used to be called a “role reversal”—my husband stayed home with the kids and I earned the money to support us all. (When I mention this arrangement to others it is amazing how many men say, “Oh—I always wanted to do that.”) At the time M wanted to write and believed he’d be able to find the time to do that at home and take care of the kids and run the household. Easier said than done, as any stay-at-home parent will confirm, but we were new parents and we didn’t know. I had entered high tech and was making a pretty good salary for that time, more than I’d expected to be making with a BA in English. My hopes to teach English in high school didn’t work out, since jobs in education were scarce back then.

Unlike many “Mr. Moms” I’ve heard about, M took the role very seriously—ran the household, did all the cleaning, planned and cooked all the meals in addition to raising our two children and making sure they got where they needed to go for pre-school, elementary school, piano lessons, softball practice and more in our trusty Dodge Caravan. M and I have always had a very equal relationship and made all our decisions in every area together. It has been a good partnership.

But I’m not sure most men are prepared to do that despite their expressions of interest in it, and I hear that many who have ended up unemployed at home while their wives work have not adapted in such a way as to pick up some of the housework and cooking so that work overall is equally shared. So in that case, the imbalance and unfairness is unacceptable, especially to young women these days who see their way clear to living completely independently of men and having complete freedom to do whatever they want whenever they want, including having children by themselves if they wish.

And if this is starting to happen as the norm it is a huge shift in culture.

Reinforcing this is what I have often observed over the years in my work--that when change and adjustment and adaptation to current conditions on the ground are needed, it is often a core group of women who step in, collaborate, help each other often reaching across organizational boundaries, finding the new path to make it happen.

Many reasons were offered in the article for why men are not the kings of the castle they used to be. Modern businesses call for more social intelligence, more collaboration and communication skills, to balance the competitiveness. Men turn too often to competition first and foremost, and do not seem to draw on the other skills where they would work best. Also, the suggestion is made in the article that men are less adaptive to the constant and inevitable change in business today than women are. More men than women are unemployed these days since some of the hardest hit job categories are primarily male-oriented, construction and manufacturing for example. And when men find themselves booted out of a job that then completely disappears, they seem less able to see the paths to reinvent themselves, to adapt to new careers and learn new skills.

You might think, as a woman, I’m glad to see this. But I’m not. My long-time relationship with M is based on equality, respect, and a refusal to be boxed in by assumptions about what our roles should be. In other words, we have both adapted and continue to adapt to a wide variety of changes and this is why we are still a happy couple. That is not to say we haven’t had our difficulties and had to adjust to major changes (the empty nest is so very empty at times, not to mention the changes that deaths in the family can bring). But we have continued to make it work and learned a lot along the way. I hope my son and daughter both find someone they can share this kind of relationship with. I also want them both to be able to have strong, productive careers that give them satisfaction and the feeling they have accomplished good work.

Meanwhile, gentlemen, please don’t underestimate what women have to offer-- and how about paying us an equal wage for equal work? That would be a good change.

The Other Mother

He was 34 years old when he told her, to her great delight, that he was finally ready to have children. He presented a clear and written plan: there were to be two children; not one who would be lonely, not three who would be overwhelming. She would earn the money (since she’d shown a knack for it) and he would quit his job and stay home with the children, because this was an important job best not delegated. And in his “spare time,” he would write.

He learned a lot, fast. Childbirths were not in clearly defined stages as outlined by the Lamaze coach but instead were messy, hair raising and unpredictable affairs with nevertheless satisfactory conclusions. Fear that he would be too disgusted to change diapers evaporated as he became accustomed to this and other quotidian activities. He was astounded at the titanium strength of the bond that formed almost immediately once each child was born—a bond both painful and joyous at once.

His sleep problems worsened during the era of 2-hour feedings and the spare time for writing never seemed to arise—but there were other rewards and he persevered.

He soon developed a routine that worked, and stuck with it. One thing he remembers is how much he loved to read to the kids and how much they loved it too. He worked hard to make the house a home, plan and shop for the weekly menus, cook the meals, keep the kids and their clothes reasonably clean.

When she came home from long days at work he sometimes left her to bathe the children and read the bedtime stories, while he disappeared for hours at a stretch seeking the alone time he had sacrificed. The times to write became few and far between.

At one point he taught the kids to call him “Captain,” since he couldn’t bear to hear “Dad!” even once more. He helped find a good pre-school, helped later with homework, taught both kids how to cook, volunteered for field trips and in the computer lab at the elementary school, danced to Jimi Hendrix with tiny dancers in the kitchen, allowed games to be played with pots and pans, and supported kitchen chemistry experiments. He went to baseball, softball and basketball games. He set up piano lessons and insisted on practice sessions.  He had the kids track their allowance money and make budgets to give them a better appreciation for the value of money.  He insisted that chores be done each week and tracked progress in charts on the refrigerator door.

He encouraged both kids to work hard in school, to think and ask questions, to notice nature and take a strong interest in the sciences. He took the kids on boogie boards out to the reef at Panama City Beach and dove for sand dollars. And he made sure they had sunscreen on beforehand. He played catch, threw the Frisbee, taught them how to ride their bikes. He watch the movie “Mr. Mom” with more critical analysis than amusement: “What bozo doesn’t know how to run a vacuum cleaner?”

He provided support and a listening ear when the working mom had a bad day at the salt mines. The “role reversal” was a matter of mild interest to friends and of concern mixed with amazement to grandfathers, but was never really well understood outside the immediate family.

He never really took adequate credit for all he contributed to make two beautiful, intelligent, good-hearted children who I am grateful for every single day.

This is a tribute to the “other mother.” Happy Mother’s Day!

M

Each year the entry on my calendar says simply “M.” This morning I go to the hospital and change into one of the thin pink (they are always pink) gowns, place my clothes in the locker (I always try to get #7 but it is never free) and wear the key on its stretch band around my wrist. I sit in the waiting room filling out a form on a clipboard. Next to me this year is a very old lady with a lovely, well-lined face and snowy white hair, in a pink gown much like mine. We commiserate on the meager two-snap closing in the front of the gown, and then she blinks in dismay through thick glasses at her own clipboard.

“They want me to fill this out and I can’t see,” says she. “My daughter usually helps me, but she left for Alaska this morning.”

I don’t want to presume, but I want to help if I can. “I could help you if you like,” I say.

“Would you?” She seems genuinely relieved, so I scoot over to the chair next to hers and we work together on the form. I learn that her name is Marilyn. She was born in 1918 and is 91 years old.

She has had two different kinds of cancer and two different operations for it, one for each breast. “What bad luck,” I say, “But you sure are a survivor!” She smiles gamely.

She tells me she is very glad her daughter lives nearby and can’t imagine how it would be to not have family close at hand. She is wonderful, and positive, and still quite spry. I feel a surge of grief for my own mother, gone for 11 years now.

“See you later, and good luck,” I say when they call me in for the strange imaging process that involves mashing my breasts into various painful configurations.

I ask the technician how this test is done for women who have had double mastectomies and remark on how positive the woman waiting outside seems to be. “Oh, she probably had lumpectomies and we can still do tests in those cases. Yes, it sounds like she hasn’t allowed breast cancer to define her. For some women, it ends up defining them forever. For others, it defines them for a short while of course, but then they live through the experience with grace and strength. Seeing that happen is one of the best parts of my job.”

So far each year, despite a few false alarms, the news has been positive. Whatever comes, I hope for grace and strength.

Wearing Slacks in Ellettsville

I attended high school in the small southern Indiana town of Ellettsville. (You remember Ellettsville—I wrote a song about it). Back then, girls were not allowed to wear slacks in high school; it was Against the Rules. Don’t even ask about jeans—that would have really been pushing the envelope.

My 16-year-old heart was outraged at this injustice, especially in the dead of winter as I shivered waiting at the bus stop in my pantyhose and skirt uniform. One icy February morning I defied the rule, and wore a very nice pair of sea green tweed wool slacks to school. My father was called at work and had to come get me and bring me home to change. My mother, a teacher in the school system, was called on the carpet. Needless to say, my parents were not thrilled with my rebellion.

I also wrote a letter to the editor of the Herald-Telephone suggesting that in enforcing this rule the all-male school board was driven more by prurient interest than the best interests of female students, since they benefited from clear views of young girls’ legs in the bleachers at the gym during basketball games. The authorities remained unamused, and unswayed.

Oddly enough I never wrote a letter to the editor about another matter at the time. Abortion in even the first trimester was illegal and a girl that wanted one had to take a shady trip to Indianapolis and pay cash for a dangerous procedure rumored to involve coat hangers.

Now I watch events unfold in Iran. Courageous women and men face injury and death to stand up for their human rights. The Internet obligingly carries full coverage, and a young woman named Neda (whose name means “Voice” in Farsi) dies before our eyes. You have only to peruse a book like “Reading Lolita in Tehran” to see how much has been denied the woman in Iran since 1979—the right to wear what they wish, look as they wish, read and study what they wish, speak their minds, have their votes count, be who they really are. Mixed anger and admiration surge in my 56-year-old heart as I see their amazing bravery in the new Iranian revolution.

To Boldly Go

We walk over to CU’s East Campus Research Park along Innovation Drive, noticing the inspirational quotations embedded in the sidewalk. For the first time I see that one of these is a quote I hadn’t spotted before:

“To boldly go where no man has gone before…” – James T. Kirk

Many questions arise, not the least of which is “will future generations realize that James T. Kirk is a fictional character (he is, right?) played by an actor named William Shatner? Who later in life ended up as a cocky senior partner in a Boston law firm ironically continuing to boldly go where no man has gone before?"

And another question: how do we know these are places no man has gone before? It can only be because women, having already been to these places and confirmed that there were indeed no men there nor had there ever been, have obligingly shared that information with the men. But we always knew women were good communicators. What the heck do you think Uhura’s job was on the starship Enterprise? She was the beautiful black communications officer; the men on board were at a loss to communicate with all those non-human sentient life forms without her help, as she flipped switches on some giant switchboard-like panel and fiddled with that pre-Bluetooth device in her ear that always seemed to be screeching painfully. It was Uhura who kept saying to Captain Kirk, “Yes, captain, I can confirm that this is yet another place where men have yet to boldly go! But you go now, boy.”

Speaking of communication, I still long for those wonderful devices from Star Trek that translated language automatically. If I could have one tool at work that I don’t currently have that would be it, since there are days, my friend (and I assure you that you are my friend of you are still reading this) when there’s a world of confusion and wasted time around miscommunication, misunderstandings, impedance mismatches and confused priorities that would be aided by such a device.

News Flash: I’m a woman who doesn’t wear lipstick – and I vote

I am utterly amazed at some women who were for Hillary who are now saying that with McCain’s nomination of Sarah Palin they will vote for that ticket. Palin’s positions on almost every issue you can name are diametrically opposed to Hillary Clinton’s positions. Sarah’s womanhood, in and of itself, does not sway me in the least. And I am very weary indeed of all the references to lipstick as some red badge of courage for womanhood. Lipstick is a choice for women like any other choice (and God knows we need our choices), but as a symbol it stinks. Please, please – can we get back to important issues like what the hell we are going to do about the economy and the war and health care? Just say no to lipstick politics.

Mallory, Myth and What I Like

I strongly recommend a book called “Find Me” in a series by one of my favorite authors, Carol O’Connell. The focus of the book and series is a character of mythical proportions named Mallory (although her first name is Kathy she prefers just Mallory). Mallory works for the NYPD but is certainly one of its most unconventional members. She is the adopted daughter of the otherwise childless famed NYPD detective Louis Markowitz and his wife Helen. Lou rescued her at age nine from the New York City subway tunnels where she had been leading a mysterious and feral existence on her own since approximately age six.

Mallory is beautiful, brilliant, and savage. She follows her own code in the battle of good against evil and remains fiercely loyal to family and friends in her own way. After the deaths of Lou and Helen, Mallory is watched over by her father’s three friends, Riker (another hardcore NYPD detective), Charles Butler (a brilliant, wealthy psychologist who has the misfortune of having fallen in love with Mallory), and Dr. Slope, the NYC coroner. Mallory is not undamaged from her years of survival on the streets, but is indomitable in beating her father's friends at poker, trapping murderers and bad guys and succeeding at any other activity she decides is important.

Since I liked this novel so much I decided to itemize what I liked best. One day perhaps I’ll write a novel of my own with all of these elements. This novel has:

• An admirably strong female character repeatedly outsmarting, outwitting and out manipulating the men surrounding her, several of whom continue to love her despite herself.
• A noble quest—in this case a road trip across America down legendary Route 66 in search of two holy grails: finding a serial killer and finding Mallory’s roots (“Find me.”)
• A complex plot that never unfairly deceives the reader. I read it again to make sure; the only misdirection that happens is when various supporting characters, and the reader, jump to conclusions unsupported by logic.
• Excellent characterization, not only of Mallory herself but of her surrounding friends and foes, and even of the killer whose motivation and peculiar behavior ultimately become clear.

One character in the book, a psychiatrist who seems to know more about a child killer than he is telling, has this reaction on tangling with Mallory:

“…here before him was the living illustration of someone larger than life; her sense of presence did not recognize the boundaries of her body. Her eyes were cold, and so was her stance, arms folded against him….face set with grim suspicion, and this was merely what she allowed him to see…he could sense the tight control that checked her desire for expedient mayhem; she dwelt forever in that moment before the taut string snaps. He knew how truly dangerous she was, and she gave him hope…In this new century he had regained his faith in gods and monsters—and she was both.”

Oh, that I could pen a novel this good! Read it. And tell me what makes a great novel in your mind. Comments welcome.

Bitches Get Stuff Done

Are you wondering what exactly Tina Fey said on Saturday Night Live the other night that made so many women shout, "right on!"? She was doing a commentary on the "News Update" segment and she said this:

Maybe what bothers me most if that people say that Hillary is a bitch...yeah, she is. So am I...You know what, bitches get stuff done...bitch is the new black!

So many times at work and elsewhere I've observed a core group of people working on various projects who communicate proactively, retain a sense of humor, collaborate on fresh approaches to long-standing problems, include other people and keep them informed, help each other accomplish things, find common ground, facilitate and resolve conflict, and think ahead, warning each other of upcoming potholes in the road. And the members of this core group, with very few exceptions, are women.

Many of these women are not shy about being assertive and striving to persuade others to their viewpoints. They sometimes even raise their voices a tad; they have high standards, and sometimes they interrupt to get a word in edgewise.

Some people call them (us) bitches. If that's what a bitch is I'm fine with being one, and voting for one as well.

Bitches get stuff done.

Here I Go A Caucusing

Super Tuesday for primaries and caucuses is coming up this week on February 5. Colorado is one of the twenty-four states participating, early enough to make a difference in deciding who will be the Republican and Democratic candidates this fall.

I have been quite fascinated recently with the campaigns and have watched several of the debates. I’ve decided to attend my precinct’s caucus Tuesday night although I’ve never been to one and am having to research what the heck a caucus is and how it works. At first I felt I was incredibly ignorant and out of the loop not to have a better understanding of this process. After all, I’ve lived in Colorado for the last 30 years. But there were always primaries in Indiana and also in Colorado it turns out until a switch in 2003 to caucuses for presidential elections, apparently to save the $2 million each primary costs.

Since I’ve voted in primaries in the past, I am registered as a Democrat, but in order to participate in Tuesday’s caucus I had to decide who I favor to be the Democratic candidate. Although I have great admiration for Barack Obama and the fresh excitement and passion he has brought to the campaign especially for the youth of our country, I have decided that Hillary Clinton is the best choice to be our next president.

My choice is not based on the fact the she is a woman and would be our first female president, although it will be thrilling to see that happen in my lifetime. Instead, I believe she is the best candidate for the job. My choice is based on her 35 years of experience in public service, including the past 7 years as a New York Senator and distinguished member of the Senate Armed Services Committee, as well as her successful effort to pass the Children’s Health Insurance Program. She learned a great deal from her previous effort as First Lady to bring about reform in health care and will apply this knowledge when she is president. She is committed to ending the war as soon as practical but fully understands the complications including the danger not only to our troops but to the 100,000 civilians and Iraqi citizens who have helped us during the Iraqi War.

Barack Obama has great promise. But he has been a Senator for only three years. Although he believes he will bring a fresh approach to Washington and the White House, finding ways to work with Congress to get things done is easier with past experience to draw on, and Hillary has the experience to hit the ground running. She already knows the challenges she’ll be facing and has clear and detailed plans for how to address these challenges. It will be a great historic moment when she is sworn into office and I really want to see it happen. I logged onto her website today and made a donation; I also signed up to make phone calls on her behalf and have already done a few today, something I have never before done in my life. It’s not easy making these “cold calls” but I hope my small part makes a difference.

Super Tuesday should be a very interesting day.

Women in Technology

As I ponder my existence as a woman in the high tech industry, it is encouraging to see a few signs of progress. A guy I work with says that his college-age daughter, after a full circle exploration of everything from aerodynamics to veterinary medicine, has decided to become a software developer, and is very excited about it, doing quite well in her C++ class so far. In our conversation, I mentioned the fact that Frances Allen (check out her ideas on mentoring, networking and problem solving here) had in 2006 become the very first woman to win the Turing Award since its inception in 1966. See her picture at right - doesn't she look like she'd be interesting to know?

I learned about her by reading a blog entry by Joyce Carpenter of ComputerWorld, entitled “They took anyone…even women” - a quote from the late John Backus describing the formation of the IBM team that created Fortran.

It is still a challenge being a woman in high tech. I often notice even in this day and age, especially when I am traveling on business, that I am the only woman in the conference room, or one of very few. My approach to resolving problems is a different than many (although not all) of my male co-workers, and I know this can perplex them. I am more collaborative, more interested in sharing information, perhaps more willing to listen to both sides of an issue before taking a strong stand. (It would be interesting to see if my co-workers really agree with these self-observations – you never know how you are really coming across). Is this because I am female, or just my personality?

My father was always urging me in my teens and early career days to be tougher, stronger, more assertive. And over the years, I have done this in order to survive. What has been the cost? Do people still share their true thoughts with me as much, or do they hold back to avoid what to them feels like an argument (and to me feels like a spirited discussion)? These days, do I talk too much and listen too little? Food for thought.