My Book Blog

This blog has moved

2010-04-28T21:14:00.001+10:00

This blog is now located at http://bookblog.dellabarkley.id.au/.
You will be automatically redirected in 30 seconds, or you may click here.

For feed subscribers, please update your feed subscriptions to
http://bookblog.dellabarkley.id.au/feeds/posts/default.

Education - and the ageing

2008-05-30T23:59:00.000+10:00

Got an email the other day, routed via my old turningsixty blog, inviting me to comment on a post titled "hey-grandma", on the subject of 'elders' in classrooms.

It has generated a very lively discussion, 39 comments so far - I did go and have a look, even drafted a response, but then, silly me, hit submit without first having copied and saved, and it went wrong and the draft got lost. I didn't bother to type it out again.

Quite a few of my 'elderblogger' mates have jumped in to have a say - elderblogger supremo Ronni Bennett from Time Goes By weighs in with her usual clarity on the subject of all things 'elder'. Additional comment and further discussion on Ronni's own site make for interesting reading.

Poor Ann Austria, if, as she later claims, she just wanted to be controversial, she certainly got the response she wanted.

Communication

2008-05-30T08:22:00.000+10:00

It's fairly common to hear people complaining about having to wait - on the phone waiting for customer service, for banks and telecoms, power and water - insurance companies are notoriously bad, and computer/internet support - watch a movie while you wait!

I was working in an accounting office in Adelaide, many years ago when the fax machine was in it's infancy. One of the partners had an urgent need to get some paperwork across to Hong Kong, about eight pages, with charts and diagrams for a meeting that was taking place over there while we worked on the figures in our office.

Because I was the computer 'guru', it was assumed that I had a better knowledge of all things technical (not true, actually, any machine not computer related can still defeat me!) so I was the one entrusted to send these pages using the new fax. All went well, and the pages were slowly (slowly) feeding their way into the machine. Too slowly, as it turned out, because the next minute I have the boss over my shoulder...

"What's up? whats the holdup? hasn't that report gone yet?"

"umm.. it's on it's way, see, 6 of the pages have gone, there's only 2 left, and, lets see..", me, checking the dials and screens to check the progress ".. and so far it's only taken 7 minutes."

"oh.. well then, I'll ring and tell them they should have it.."

"thanks!"

And then I thought, 7 minutes to send vital information to a meeting being held on the other side of the world. The complexity of the report was such that it could never have been presented over the phone; internet video conferences with blackboard presentations were still a thing of techo's dreams... snail mail would have taken at least days.. and here we were complaining about the speed of the fax.

So many of the things we do today have been changed by technology, we can do our banking on the telephone, or online, we can pay our bills and register our cars, we can put books on hold at the Library online - we can talk to anybody, face-to-face via video, anywhere in the world.. we can shop and track the status of deliveries without leaving the house... the list is endless.

How on earth can we complain about having to wait a few minutes on the phone - when the alternative often meant a long-winded trip into town, or weeks wait for a technician to come to the house, when it's something that can be fixed over a few minutes ?

Della
[putting my soapbox back under the desk]

non verbal communication

2008-05-30T07:00:00.000+10:00

My daughter's career has pretty much just happened, taking her along with it on the way. She did have plans, at one time, of becoming a marine biologist; years spent diving in the waters of the North Island of New Zealand with her father had given her a love of the sea and the creatures. Her room was always covered in the most fearsome of shark pictures.

Deciding after two years at University that this was not a practical career choice, she quit studies and continued to work at the part-time job which had been mostly supporting her while she studied. She worked in a hamburger shop on a busy main road in North Adelaide. It was your real old-style hamburger shop. Open All Hours. White tee-shirted cooks working in the heat behind the counter, big old drinks fridge and a couple of slot-machine games against the wall.

Carlena worked the night shift, starting at around 8p.m. and working through till the breakfast rush was over. She worked there for years, was badly underpaid on the cash-in-hand award - but she did get on with the bloke who owned the shop, and the other workers; a strong bond developed between them, and I believe that friendship still holds today. The boss was a gambler, betting on the horse races, and he would often arrive and distribute betting tickets to his staff - little windfalls they were happy to get from time to time.

She graduated from this job when she took up an offer to work in the kitchen in the local Greek Club. I don't think she really enjoyed that, and when the opportunity came to move, she took it and moved to a very upmarket restaurant in a posh area in North Adelaide. This job came about in a strange way; her father happened to be visiting us from New Zealand, and while he was there he met up with an old friend who happened to be the chef at this posh restaurant.

And so Carlena's career in cooking began. It wasn't long before she was promoted from kitchen duties and learned to do the never-ending preparation required, even getting to cook occasionally. When a new chef took over, Carlena knew so much, and was so good at managing that he quickly recognised this and took her under his wing. Over the next few years, whenever he changed jobs, he took Carlena with him, with her learning more and more as they went. Eventually there came a time that he moved on, and she was offered her first job as Head Chef. She stayed, in fact she stayed for another seven years, and this was an even posher restaurant, in an even poshier location.

Problem was, she knew she was worth more than she was being paid, but she worried that if she raised the point with the owners, they might remind her that she wasn't actually qualified, and that she was getting the benefit of them 'letting' her get the experience. But she decided that she would do the unthinking, and ask for a raise. She asked the female boss, who said she would ask the man, and that he would come back to her with an answer.

Later that day, she rings me (I'm living up in Queensland by now), just to talk through the situation and to tell me that she is very very nervous about having to carry this through.

So I tell her not to worry, when the time comes for the meeting, I will send her one of my angels; to sit on her shoulder and give her strength. We both believe in Angels, mine go way back to the early childhood days in my Catholic upbringing.

Come the day for the confrontation, Carlena is working in the kitchen, the phone rings and it's the boss... it's time...

later that night...

She's on the phone again, "Mum, mum, it's me - I've just got to tell you... ".

"hang on, hang on, just let me wake up properly, do you know what time it is?"

"yes, but I had to ring, the strangest thing happened, and I had to ring as soon as I got home, sorry"

"oh, okay, tell me .. what?"

"Well, you know how you said you would send me an Angel, for the meeting with the boss?"

"yes, I remember.."

"Well, the phone rang, and it was Peter, and he said 'come up now Carlena, and we'll have that chat', so of course straight away I got nerves, and the next minute, would you believe it, the radio we always have on in the kitchen started playing the most amazing song - do you know the one I mean? about the angel in the morning? it was that one! and we all freaked out, because I'd told the others I work with about it, and they knew and heard the song too! wow, mum, that was SO special - thank you."

Poppa

2008-05-29T08:02:00.001+10:00

My friend and housemate Noel graduated at age 55, about 4 years ago, with a degree in Social Science, after 4 and a half years of part time study. He too has used this degree to make his way into a very compatible job.

We went to the graduation ceremony, with Noel properly attired in cap and gown, amongst quite a large crowd of other graduates and their families. Noel's daughter, her husband, and her very young son came with us. Treena and I got to go and sit down near the front of the stadium shaped hall, as her husband agreed to keep the youngster up at the top at the back, just in case.

All went well as they filed one by one past the University Chancellor.He shook hands and had a little chat, and a photo was taken. As they walked off the crowd clapped politely, with each individuals little support group giving cheers and whistles.

Then came Noel's turn, and as he walked across the stage, came this little voice from way up the back, clear as a bell..

"Poppa! Poppa! hellooo.. Poppa?"

The crowd loved it, and Noel got the loudest clapping from everybody. When I later had his graduation certificate framed, I had them engrave the name "Poppa" together with the date on the frame.

Miscellany 29/5/08

2008-05-29T07:40:00.001+10:00

response posts to forum:

Notes on Quotation Marks
Top Idea! thanks Mardi, and Hans...

I know about style sheets from the Editing & Proofreading course, and how publishers have their own versions... but I hadn't thought about it at a personal level.

Now I can see from your idea that it would be an invaluable tool, each time a decision has to be made re style, adding it to a personalised style sheet, I reckon you'd quickly get into the habit of using it consistently, saving, as you say, much time proofing and back-tracking.

The course I took had a text book called Style Manual [ISBN 0-7016-3648-3 (pbk) or 0-7016-3647-5], apparently THE style manual for all things Author, Editor & Printers in Australia. They say about quotation marks:

"The question of whether to use single or double quotes is often debated. In Australia and the United Kingdom both types are widely used; in North America double quotes are the norm.

[communication]
[Tricia]
I got to use my first computer (personal computer) around 1964. I knew nothing about computers then, it was a 'toy' my then boss had picked up in Singapore - and I used to think I was a pioneer. Reading some of the responses to this post make me realise I was very a johnny-come-lately ::smiles::But it's about the stocktake that I have come in to make a comment.

A lot of my work over the years has been with commercial systems, big business and small business. And the computer stock system versus the manual stock system was always my biggest challenge.

It got so that when/if I encountered resistance from the staff in a warehouse, or responsible for keeping track of inventory, my radar would kick in and instinct would tell me we were going to find discrepencies. Sad but true, in far too many cases. Proving the computer calculated figures were correct was quite a task.. and didn't always make me the most popular fish in the pond.

Education (or lack thereof)

2008-05-27T10:59:00.001+10:00

I grew up thinking I was stupid (and ugly, but that's another story..)

My clever sister Roberta, who was 2 years ahead of me, always came top in her class. No competition, she was just the best. On the other hand, no matter how hard I tried, I hardly ever came top - not never - but there was a girl in my class called Barbara, and she was our top student. We competed, of course, Barbara and I, and there were a few times I was best. We were also friends, we were both very sporting types, and tall. We were a considerable force in the netball team and at school sports events.

But it was my sister's achievements that dogged my school years. I recall she scored well in the 90's in the Scholarship exam, when all I could manage was an 86... One very painful lesson I learned came about because of my need to be top, I cheated, changed a mark on a test.. and was caught.. I'd have been about 10 at the time, and the experience was so painful, that I have made it a lesson to live by, when I am tempted to cut that corner, tell that lie, embellish or fudge, I can quickly take myself back to that embarrassing day, and think twice. That doesn't make me a more moral person, just being afraid of punishment and disgrace tends to keep me honest.

However, neither of us (my sister or I) were able to carry on with High School studies. She left at 14 to go nursing, and I, thanks to the learning I was forced to do during my time with the nuns in Brisbane, went to work as a shorthand/typist at age 15, in the office of a local real estate agency.

A lot of my life's experiences revolve around my being 'black', not an easy thing to be in North Queensland in those days. The man who owned the real estate business was called Eric Kloske, I remember this very clearly, because my getting the job was a direct result of his largesse. It was a very courageous act of his to hire a black girl to work in his office. He was the first of a handful of men who have given me this sort of chance.

I have been very lucky over the years to have been given a chance to prove myself, and fortunate to have been blessed with the ability to use these chances to advantage. (many more stories about this to tell, but not here, yet.)

And so it was that I was 28 years old, when I realised I was not stupid. I had carried on with my 'office work' with a few departures along the way, like when travelling around Australia in my mid-teens, and in the early years in New Zealand, I took whatever work was available. But one day I realised that I didn't want to be a factory hand all my life, and I took a little time off and brushed up my typing skills, and got my first job in an accountant's office. It was a small office, and it didn't take me long to move into the position of office manager when it became available. (This was boss-sent-from-god No.2).

From that point on, I have been an avid student - learning accounting by correspondence, computer studies, business and management courses, I even got accepted into and successfully completed an under-graduate course in ecommerce at a well-known university.

My lack of formal education/qualifications has always been more of a problem for me than it has for the people who have employed me. I started out in the call centre where I now work, part-time on the phones, to allow me time to study, but then I was chosen to work in the training department, where I spent 2 and a half years training new staff.

So, I can honestly say that lack of an education has not hampered my career, I've had a very good one, working at something I have always enjoyed.. but I sometimes can't help wondering - what might I have been if I'd had better opportunities when I was young?

Miscellany 27/5/08

2008-05-27T09:48:00.002+10:00

course post replies.

June - Smother Love
June, I believe Asbergers is better known as autism - and having known closely a family that had 2 children afflicted with it, I can hear your friend's pain in your story. I am not too sure about her coping methods though, but then I don't suppose people are selected for their ability to cope when they are given these very hard trials.

When I was younger I used to think I had to try and 'help' others with their issues, now with age and I hope wisdom I have learned that most of the time, they just need to talk, and the mmms and aahs you were supplying would have been just what she needed, so don't beat yourself up...

It's a common practice in counselling (my Noel does counselling and often discusses various methodology with me) - being a good listener, those little noises of sympathy and concern are totally appropriate responses when somebody just needs to 'go on'.

June[2]Thanks June... and ditto to all of your words, I too am pleased to have found this group of people, and the course, I've looked at other U3A courses before, but this is the first time I've taken the plunge.

I don't remember where I first heard the term, but I have come to realise that looking at things as 'a bump in the road' really helps.

And looking back now I can see that's exactly how the dramas and traumas of life can be described. For those of us lucky enough to have survived them, of course."What doesn't kill us, makes us stronger?"

Story - my sister Dessie

2008-05-25T09:05:00.000+10:00

I must have been about six years old when my oldest sister Desma got married. I can remember her being around, and then not being around, but I have no recall of a wedding, not surprisingly I suppose. Her first son Neville was born early in the marriage, followed quickly by two more boys (both of these boys died very young, although again I have no detailed memory of these events - this is family history). Dessie was to have another 5 children, 2 girls and another 3 boys, and all before she was 30.

Dessie was my favourite sister, and as I grew up I was to spend a lot of time with her and her family. I was just at the right age to be helpful, with all those kids, and had the privilege to name her first girl, Theresa, and become her godmother. It was Dessie who taught me to drive, in her big old Holden station wagon.

One of the problems Dessie had, was that her husband was an alcoholic, and violent with it. Countless times she would arrive at our house, battered and bruised, with a carload of crying children. She was a worker, doing laundry and cleaning houses, anything she could do with the kids in tow, unless I was available to look after them while she worked. I didn't find out until many years later that Dessie wasn't a blood sister at all, she was the daughter of one of my mother's sisters, and came to live with us at age seven, after her own mother had committed suicide.

Eventually, she had had enough, and decided to run away. I was 17 at the time, and thought it was a great adventure. We packed up the kids in the middle of the night and set out for Brisbane, about 1400kms away. We had driven nearly half-way, and were just outside of Rockhampton, when we turned a corner on the highway and saw a vehicle ahead of us in a ditch. It was obviously in trouble as the headlights were still on and shining brightly up into the sky.

We stopped, of course, and climbed down to see if anybody was in the car. Now, what I didn't know, was that we were not running away alone. Dessie had formed a relationship with a man called Peter, a younger man, nearly 5 years younger, an American, as it turned out, and he was the reason she had decided to pack up the kids and run away, with him.

Of all the amazing coincidences, it was him in the upturned car, and it was us that were first on the scene. Looking back, we must have been following him, but I hadn't noticed this, or even known about it, I guess I was too busy with the kids, or just easily fooled.

When the ambulance came and took him back to Rockhampton and the hospital, we all went with him. He wasn't seriously hurt, but they did keep him in overnight, and Des and I spent the night in the car in the car park, with the kids tucked up in the back of the station wagon. Next day we resumed our trip, this time with Peter in the driving seat, and continued our trip to Brisbane.

Over the next years, Des and Pete went from strength to strength, they were prepared to turn their hand to anything, Pete worked on the wharves, he was in fact a seaman, and Des did a variety of jobs, including driving a taxi in Brisbane until the night she was attacked and beaten up. They started and ran a range of businesses, cafes and take-away shops, once a bookshop, and tried their hand at different types of manufacturing.

They moved several times, back up to Cairns, down to Brisbane again, until they eventually settled in a manufacturing company making canvas products, sails and awnings for boats and caravans. This was a huge success, and they had a fantastic lifestyle, holiday home on Stradbroke Island, huge big boat that Pete loved to take out fishing with the kids and their friends.

Over these years, I had lost touch with them, my own move to New Zealand meant that I only saw them briefly on my few visits home. When I finally returned to the Gold coast, one of the first things I did was to resume my close friendship with them, but sadly this was not to be for nearly long enough. Des had been battling cancer for nearly 7 years, and the treatments had weakened her heart. Peter was a rock, he must have always been, to run off with a woman with 6 kids - and they had remained a very caring loving couple.

But more was to come, Peter was diagnosed with an inoperable cancer himself, and was dead within 4 months, he was sixty years old. Nobody had expected that it would be Des burying Peter, but that is what happened. Des survived another 12 months, and died at the age of 65, she was buried one year to the date of Peter's funeral.

Dialogue

2008-05-21T09:12:00.000+10:00

It was a stifling hot night. All during the day we kids had taken turns to stand briefly under the lukewarm shower, hoping for just a few minutes relief from the dry burning heat which seemed to radiate from somewhere inside us and threaten to set our very bodies on fire. The one small ceiling fan turned slowly above us, almost as if the movement itself was slowed by the smothering heat. Arguments broke out frequently as the children competed with the adults to position themselves where the faintest air flow could be felt.

"I've got an idea", said Nellie. Nellie was an older lady who lived with us and helped mother around the house. She had travelled a lot and always had a solution to any problem. She went on, "I've seen them do this up in Darwin, but we'll have to get hold of some ice."

"Ice?" replies my mother, "Where on earth are we going to get ice at this time of night?"

"From the ice works down in the town, you know they are working in there all night, making the ice blocks ready for the delivery vans to start their early morning runs." Nellie went on, "I'm sure they'd let us have a few blocks if we went and knocked on the door."

She was right, of course, Nellie was always right. In those early years, the ice man was still a common sight. Many of the houses in the town didn't yet have the new gas or electric refrigerators, and relied on the huge blocks of ice that were delivered daily to keep the food safes cold. We lived up a small lane, too small for the ice man's van to deliver directly to our door, and I can remember we had a small hand cart that we would use to bring the ice blocks up the steep little lane to the house.

A short time later, the men having been cajoled into making the trip to collect the ice, Nellie showed us her plan, which was to set the ice blocks in a metal tub immediately under the turning fan, the air being pushed downward, collecting the cooler air around the ice blocks and distributing it across the room.

Needless to say, this lasted only as long as the ice blocks did, but it was a great relief, and I have used this same plan many times over the years, discovering that the newer pedestal fans do an excellent job, especially if you place the ice block between yourself and the fan.

American Father - Mt Isa

2008-05-20T09:29:00.000+10:00

[reply to Hans]

[Hans - original]
In the time we were in Mount Isa, we had a few very anxious times with severe illnesses, but we survived them, somehow. There are a number of books written about ‘The Isa” and I think that I read all of them, the writing invariably spans some of our time there.

At one time there were over 50 different Nationalities represented in the workforce with a large contingent of Finns and 2 Icelanders. Talking about Ice; Mount Isa has a hot and dry Desert Climate, yet it was there that I finally sold our Ice Skates which we had since we were living in Sydney earlier and had dance ice-skating lessons, incongruous! Guess the purchaser was leaving the district for a cooler climate.

Despite the very large proportion of single men, there was no violent crime and it wasn’t unusual for the kids to walk unescorted to an outdoor cinema at night. The outdoor cinema was free and run by the Miming Company. You would take your own chairs and sit at the back or spread a blanket and lie down on the sandy ground with your head on purposely sited logs. The Movies were of a 16 mm. variety and often were the same as the new releases in the Cinema’s of the cities on the East Coast. At the time we also had a good view, while at the ‘cinema’ of the first Satellite, Sputnik, a little moving light point. - add original too]

[me]

Hi Hans,I was born in Townsville, in 1945, so the Mt Isa of the 50's and 60's was just like a part of our big backyard. Rumour has it that my mother was living in Mt Isa when she met the man who was to become the father of my older sister and myself.

Apparently she worked in some sort of cafeteria where they served American servicemen, here in the protection of Northern Australia, from Townsville to Darwin during the war.

I wonder if those Mt Isa books you have read would throw any more light?My father was black, an American serviceman, but in those days they weren't allowed in the fighting regiments, so he, we believe, was with an engineering and supply division. I remember, as a small child, we didn't go without much in the way of fresh fruit and vegies!Good story, brought back lots of memories for me, thankyouDella

[Hans]

Hi Della,Thanks for your interest. Most the books about Mt Isa hardly touch the time during the war, except to state that the Mt.Isa-Camooweal-Darwin road was build mainly by the Yanks, Engineering Division. Most the books focussed on the mine from the original discovery and subsequent development of the Town.

There is still an area in Mt Isa known as the BSD, which is the abbreviation for ‘Base Supply Depot’ (not that many people knew that) left over from the Yanks. There was a large dining area/cafeteria there and heaps of single men quarters (ex US service personnel barracks), also many female personnel, for the Dining room as well for Housekeeping duties. I did know a couple of them.

I came to Mt Isa in 1954, and if I can source any record of the US engineering service personnel in Mt Isa, I’ll let you know, but don’t expect it tomorrow! I also suspect that to source any record from the time you maybe interested in one should look under the generalized Heading of Northern Territory (WW2) Supply Strategy. This may include some details of the Mt Isa-Darwin road construction by the US Engineering Division Regards, Hans

[me]

Thank YOU... wow... this is more detail than I had even known before. Looks like the mother/father story could be exactly what happened. We have tried over the years to do research, not for a while though, so there could well be more information available now.

I know the whole 'American serviceman/left behind babies' thing has been the subject of scrutiny all around the world, one lady sent me a video of a program about it made in England.

If you do come across anything else it would certainly be appreciated.

Friends

2008-05-20T09:26:00.001+10:00

Loss of friends has been a winding thread through my whole life. At age 21 I moved away from home and across to New Zealand, losing contact with everybody, even some family. For the next 16 years, I met or saw nobody who had been in my life previously.

Then I moved to South Australia, and lost all the friends I had made while in New Zealand. My new husband's family lived in South Australia, and the next years were spent mostly among them and their extended families. When we separated, it was a bit acrimonious, and it was impossible for me to maintain any sort of relationship with any of them. We had also socialised a lot with his work colleagues, so again I found myself almost 'friendless'.

Moving once more, this time back to Queensland, lost me the few friends I had made of my own in Adelaide, except the one, who has visited and we still keep in contact, but it's not the same as having somebody to hang out with...

Last month, one of the women I had known in New Zealand, came for a visit, her daughter now lives in Queensland, and she was able to spend a few days with me - hadn't seen her in 20 years, but we used to be very close. It was surprising how the years fell away.

Humour - Funny How

2008-05-20T09:15:00.000+10:00

Isn't it funny (no pun intended) how all the ideas that flow through your head while reading the topic and Mardi's handy hints disappear the moment you open the page and start to write about them? So, let me practice my 'free-writing' for a few minutes and see what comes out.

Thoughts: What passed for humour in my family growing up, was more of what I think they would call today 'sledging'. My mother had a very caustic tongue, a sharp wit, and a biting sense of humour. This of course rubbed off on all of us, and our household contained much laughter and attempts at one-up-manship. (Sadly, I think this groundwork may have contributed more than a little towards some of my marriage breakups, but that's another story).

I believe this is true of many Aussie households. International opinion sees us as larrikan and laconic; certainly this was the nature of Aussie humour as I remember it as a child. We were great readers also in the house, and the reading choice was not selective.

My step-father was a barber, the original kind who had his shop in one corner of the local pool-hall. On weekends we kids got to go with mum to do the cleaning in the shop. Mostly the pool hall was closed so we got to wander around and inspect these mysterious rooms, it was the first time I had seen a man's latrine, and that fascinated me for quite a while. (I was a small child then, remember..)

We also got to see an assortment of magazines that we would not normally have in the house. One of my favourites was the Australasian Post - remember that one? - One of the features I most loved was the tall-story telling, supposedly true stories which were often way over the top in believability.

But, back to humour...

I remember one thing that stuck with my poor mother. We were talking about other members of the family, and where they might be then, when somebody asks:

"I wonder whatever happened to old Auntie Nellie? We haven't seen her for a while - I wonder if she's still alive?"

To which my mother promptly answers, "Yes, that's right - I've got an address for her somewhere - why don't we write and ask her?"

Needless to say, forever after, when the occasion arose, somebody would be sure to ask her:"Why don't you just write to old so-and-so, and ask them if they are dead yet?"

halfway through Autobiography course

2008-05-18T05:59:00.003+10:00

Well, we are in week 4 of the 8 week course, and I can say that my first impressions have held good. This is an excellent way to get started on writing.

I am having some problems keeping to the required 10 minutes a day writing 'on topic' - but mostly because once I get started I don't stop, so the 10 minutes drifts into an hour or more.

And then, on the days I am working (still 3 days a week), sometimes I don't even turn on the computer when I get home, then I get days behind. So establishing a writing routine hasn't happened for me (yet).

On the other hand, I really am enjoying reading what the others in the course have to say. Mixed bunch of about 12 people, sharing their own memories - many of which jog further memories for myself.

I've been juggling around the way this blog works - I started using 'labels' on each post, to separate out what is just journal, and what is 'book' material. Then I realised that some of my replies to posts in the course forum also contained information that would be handy for the book. So I added another label, miscellany, which will hold a copy of those replies.

Then there are random thoughts, not necessarily course related, but still needing to be included, so that's another label. So, let's see, now I have 5 labels:

'Journal'
'booknote'
'U3Acoursework'
'miscellany
and 'randomthought'

Some posts have a combination of categories, but I think in the long run I am going to be happy to have this sorting ability. For the purpose of the blog I need to investigate getting the sidebar link to show a list of topics. Not that it matters, but I've seen mention of doing it in the help groups, so I'll do some more reading in there.

miscellany 17/5/08

2008-05-17T04:09:00.000+10:00

21 day marriage / Helping Hands / Couldn't Be Better / Three Weddings / Where We Lived

[1] 21 Day Mariage
Hi Paul... I know about Singapore and their regulations. I was amazed to see signs in the public toilets, "$500 fine for not flushing" and "Chewing gum not allowed in public"...

And even at midnight, there were crews working in the city on footpath repairs, on their knees with a little trowel and a bucket of sand, lifting and straightening paving bricks.

We went to the zoo, and it was very very hot, so I bought a pair of shorts from the kiosk, and went into a toilet to change. Imagine my shock when a whole bunch of blokes came in (I was in a small cubicle), and I was stuck in there until they left, I'd gone into the male toilets by mistake!

[2] Hands
Hi June... yes, we must... I was always impressed by the number of older users joining up to the internet even 10 years ago, and these days of course it becomes nothing unusual. I spent a year or so blogging as 'turningsixty.com.au' and so met many other 'elderbloggers'.

I've saved the website, moved it to a new address, you are welcome to have a look if you'd like:
http://www.dellabarkley.id.au/tsblog/index.html

If you check out the sidelink to 'Other Bloggers I enjoy' - some fascinating people, both here in Oz and around the world -
I especially like 'Thoroughly Modern Millie', who at 82 years old is still happily blogging away.

When I encounter 'new' older users in my work, I often spend a few minutes encouraging them to find and join a local computer club to help them get started and find things to do.

One lady I spoke to yesterday was telling me, when I was helping her get to her email online, "I'm in my seventies dear, but I do use the internet for all my banking..."
Hey, if she can do her banking, she can do anything! We had a good win, when I first looked she had mail backed up from February, and when I went back later to check, it was all gone, so she got there...

[3] Couldn't be better
Hi Tricia.. good story, very funny, thank you...

I work in a 5 storey building with about 800 other people. There are 3 lifts in the building and we all work for the same company so we are really one big happy family.

I am a smoker, so I am in and out of the lifts for breaks, as well as arriving and leaving, and there is a standard greeting that always goes something like this:

"Hi, how are you?"
"I'm fine thanks.. you?"
"yep, I'm good.."

"Hi, how are you?"
"I'm fine thanks.. you?"
"yep, I'm good.."

Multiply this by as many people as you see in the lift, waiting for the lift, standing around having a smoke, back in the lift etc., and you get the picture.

I was telling this to partner Noel, and he didn't really understand what I meant until we went to one of the Xmas parties... over a thousand people... how many "Hi, how are you's" can you fit into one night?

Bill, I tried out your 'couldn't be better' this week, and explained it to a few people... we all had a good laugh, and it's starting to take on!

[4] Three Weddings
Hi June.. you remind me..

My daughter-in-law (I love her dearly, but she can be a bit blonde, at times) decided on a beach wedding, a natural here on the Gold Coast.. but she also wanted the traditional long white dress and fancy bridesmaid's outfits.

The walk from the carpark to the little rocky spot she'd picked out was quite a distance, and the sand was deep. It was a very windy day, long veil blowing across the face, similarly long train dragging through the heavy sand, guests in heels stumbling along, not quite the spectacle I think she had imagined

[5] Where we lived
Hi Hans,

I was born in Townsville, in 1945, so the Mt Isa of the 50's and 60's was just like a part of our big backyard. Rumour has it that my mother was living in Mt Isa when she met the man who was to become the father of my older sister and myself.

Apparently she worked in some sort of cafeteria where they served American servicemen, here in the protection of Northern Australia, from Townsville to Darwin during the war.

I wonder if those Mt Isa books you have read would throw any more light?

My father was black, an American serviceman, but in those days they weren't allowed in the fighting regiments, so he, we believe, was with an engineering and supply division. I remember, as a small child, we didn't go without much in the way of fresh fruit and vegies!

Good story, brought back lots of memories for me,
thankyou

[6] PRINTING, SAVING AND ADDING NOTES
Hi Mardi.. thank you (again)..

I'd like to add just a little thing to this, hope you don't mind?

Yellow Post-It Notes (or whatever colour you prefer, of course).. are a good place to write those quick little thoughts that come AFTER you've finished writing and printing and filing away.

They can be stuck onto the page, or into the plastic sleeve, if you are using plastic sleeves, and then can later be added and embellished when doing the re-writes. They can also be moved around the pages easily, to see where best the new bits can be added.

I keep blocks of Post-It notes all around the house, in strategic places, places where I am likely to be thinking, like the kitchen windowsill, or beside my TV chair, even beside my computer at work.

[7] Fear
Thanks for sharing Tricia. I know some of those symptoms.. and about dis-ease..

Bill, I recently suffered a prolonged bout of tinnutus, something I'd had once before, a long time ago. They say you cannot get rid of it, but that's not true. It went away then, and this time I had to resort to some Chinese medicine and acupuncture to get rid of it.

But, what I wanted to add was about the side affects of drugs. I know, from research and my own experience, that this bout of tinnutus was caused by a reaction to my starting to take a 'wonder' drug that was supposed to be a magic cure for arthritis related pain. What I found after extensive research into non-advertised side affects, guess what? Tinnutus!

When I was at the ear specialist, I asked the doctor if they had noticed any increase in this ailment, and he said, yes, a lot... I guess the advertising for this particular concoction must be working really well?

thanks to both again

[8] Blogging
Well June, I must say you do surprise me... I really thought you must be an experienced blogger!

The things you write, and the way you write them, your responses to others, all show you are an interested and caring reader, you would make an excellent blogger.

If you have the time to visit and read some of the other bloggers I have on the turningsixty sidebar (links) you will see what I mean...

And you don't have to have a blog to participate in blog-land either, a good way to start and get in the hang of it is to comment if you read something that touches you.

Some bloggers get into a sort-of competition, how many visits, how many comments, all that - but I never even added a counter to my blog, I didn't care to know, even then I think I was writing just because I could. Did have a few regulars though, it's an exciting way to get to meet new people with shared interests.

Thankyou too for the kind words.

Unexpected Surprise

2008-05-17T04:02:00.000+10:00

I miss my daughter quite a lot. I guess it's because since the day she was born she had been the one constant in my life. After husband No. 2 left, and I moved to Australia with husband No. 3, my son stayed behind in New Zealand, but Carlena came with us.

When he left 13 years later, she was still with me. Even after she started University, she still lived in the townhouse right next door to me. It was only when I eventually left Adelaide to come to the Gold Coast, that we were truly separated for the first time.

It was about the 2nd year I was here, and it was my birthday. The phone rang and it was Carlena, calling from Adelaide to sing me Happy Birthday. We got on to talking about our plans for the day, and she said that she was working, expecting a big crowd at the restaurant and would have a very busy day.

While we were talking there was a knock at the front door, and I went to answer still holding the phone and talking to her. Imagine my surprise to find it was her on the doorstep! She was talking to me on her mobile phone, and had rung me while she was in the taxi coming from the airport..

Actually, I didn't really recognise her at first, she had cut off all her hair, down to a tiny crewcut, and she had had a LOT of hair. She told me later, "I saw that look when you first opened the door, you didn't know it was me!"

She was right, I knew I knew the face, something familiar about it, but hey, I was supposed to be talking to her in Adelaide, so it didn't register - only for a split-second though..

But I should have known something was up, it was very early in the morning, and Noel had leapt up early and was vacuuming the house. Not something he would normally do - at all - but he knew she was coming, and he knew that if I had known, I would have cleaned...

Health

2008-05-14T03:43:00.000+10:00

I remember my mother as a very caring, loving person, ready with a quick hug and cuddle when she thought it was needed. She also had a very caustic tongue and a quick fiery temper, but that's for another story.

When we were ill, we were put to bed, with hot water bottles or poultices, temperatures taken and warm damp cloths on our head. We were fed warm sweet tea, and little fingers of vegemite toast, with the crusts cut off.

My own kids know this routine very well, and in fact I've had the benefits myself over the years when I have been ill and one or the other of the kids has been around. Sadly, my current 'significant other' was obviously not raised in this same type of environment, as he manages somehow to remain completely impervious to my hints for a bit of TLC (tender loving care) when I am not feeling well - or, as one friend recently suggested, 'He's a man, that's what they are like...'

I wonder if this is true? If it is, it explains a lot about why I have had such a disastrous history of marriage?
My expectations have been too high? hmm.. looks like I can skip back and do the next ten minutes on yesterday's topic..

Music

2008-05-09T03:59:00.000+10:00

We grew up with a piano in the house. My older sister Roberta had lessons, but she didn't need them. She could play by ear, we only had radio in those days, but she could hear a tune and then play it on the piano. Amazing. I couldn't play, and am actually tone-deaf, but I was given one year of guitar lessons, just to be fair, I reckon.

Mostly I don't sing in public, my style is a bit Tiny Tim, but I do recall one situation where I was required to stand in front of a class that was doing a management course, and sing something. I did my Tiny Tim version of 'I am a Little Teapot' - and honestly... those that didn't rush out of the room crying, were rolling around on the floor laughing. Mostly men, not many women got to do these sorts of management events in those days. I won that section, got a prize for the best performance (it was that sort of course).

But music has played a large part in my life, from bunking off school as a teenager, spending money and time in the local milk bars playing songs on the jukebox, to a recent project which has involved converting all of my life-long collection of vinyl records into digital media that I can play on my computer.

I was talking one day with my son about how strange it was that he has a lot of my favourite music in his own collection. Music dating back to my time as a young woman and mother. He called it, he said, "you know mum, I was there too!" Of course he was... he grew up with my music...

I am a great fan of Willie Nelson, I think if I was asked I would say that Country is my favourite music, but not exclusively. There is one song that he does, with a very special memory for me. I can remember when I was a child, my mother used to sing a lot, waltzing around the house singing and humming the latest hits. And one of her very favourites was 'Stardust'.

I was living in New Zealand back in 1978 when Willie Nelson released his album Stardust, mum was in her early seventies then, but I couldn't resist, I made a tape of the album and sent it to her for a mother's day gift (much more story here, mum and her mother's day expectations) - anyway I got a phone call from one very excited lady, she admonished me "you bad girl, you, sending me that, I have done nothing but dance around the house and sing all day!".

Later I was involved in the arrangements for her funeral, and I was allowed to choose the song Stardust as the music which played us out of the church after the funeral service. Not a dry eye, which is how funerals should be. Celebrate birth, dance at weddings, and cry at funerals.

Death

2008-05-06T04:31:00.000+10:00

miscellany/reply

Hi Paul,
I haven't done my 10 minutes (yet) on Death. The thoughts are there but it will take more than 10 minutes if in fact I do decide to write them down.

But, about packing-up, you remind me of something that has been important in my life. My very best friend died in 2000, after about 4 months of a terrible time in hospital following a brain aneurism which left her in a coma. She was 63 years old and lived alone. It fell to me and a couple of other close friends to pack up her unit. She had left to go to a meeting, and thought she would be home again in an hour or two. She never came home, she collapsed at the meeting and was taken to hospital to have emergency surgery. She never recovered and although she could move (partly) and speak, she never made any sense again.

The job of putting away her things, what an eye-opener, I never want to have to do that again. I have spent the years since, packing-up my own things, looking into drawers and cupboards, all those little hoarding places, with the thought in mind, 'others shouldn't have to do this..', so I am sorting and labelling, and will eventually leave things (if I am given the time) all parcelled and boxed with the name of the person I think will be most interested, like, kids school certificates and memento things labelled with each child's name.

Is this morbid? I suspect it might be, but I also suspect that if I don't do it, others might not bother, and there might be things thrown away that I know they would appreciate later (I wish I'd had more opportunity to collect things from my mother's keepsake boxes).

Why am I blogging my book?

2008-05-04T11:17:00.003+10:00

Why am I blogging my book?

Because I can and it's a fun way to keep a journal. (keeps my hand in with the tech stuff).

Motivation and time-management. (sort-of a commitment I don't want to get behind).

I can add to posts (by edit or comment).

Labels on posts makes a good filing system.

Can sort posts into times and categories, help to collate and cross-reference.

Sharing - although this is not a priority or even sought after at this stage, I might dig up some other people on the same path I can correspond with.

Eventually it could be a way for family to contribute, anyone who wants to read and comment may add their own memories or notes.

Sharing about my life - the good, the bad, and the ugly ?

2008-05-04T10:38:00.002+10:00

Interesting topic has come up in the autobiography class. How much should we share? We've touched briefly on it before, about sharing in the class, and autobiography integrity but the discussion now ranges further, as in how much and what should we write?

Some of the questions that have arisen:

Am I being egotistical?
Is what I have to say that important?
Can I do this .. let others see me with all layers stripped?

There are times and things in my life that are just not going to show me in the best light. I realised not too long ago that the clearest memories, the things that come firstly to mind, are the not-so-good memories, the moments of embarrassment, things I should have done and didn't, things I did do and shouldn't have. I have shame and guilt and regrets winding through the fabric of my life.. do I write of these?

If I do, it will be painful. I am a proud (in the meaning of vain) person, and can/will always have a justification for anything. I find it very hard to admit to being wrong, and the fear of failure has often dictated what was attempted. On the other hand, I fit into the category of 'high-achiever', dedicating myself to whatever task was in hand until I reached success and mastery. I have lived by a philosophy of my own: 'If at first you don't succeed - give up and try something else!'

In this way, I have enjoyed success in many areas of my life, things I have chosen to do, a wonderful career, success in sports, raised 2 beautiful kids, and gained the respect of friends and colleagues.

There was/is sadness too, and druthers too many too mention, but I will write the truth, throw light on the dark places... whether I publish it, of course, might be another story, I may well end up with a 'sealed section'.

Letter to Myself - Not

2008-05-03T03:40:00.000+10:00

It was probably lucky that I was taking the time to eat a sandwich while reading through the notes on this exercise. No way I could have typed as fast as the thoughts came flowing through my head. When we were studying and writing assignments, if stuck for something to write about, or not motivated to start, we used a technique we came to call "just type The.." which I guess is the same as just putting fingers to the keyboard and letting the sub conscious get on with it.

Now I have to try and catch some of those fleeting thoughts... practice some free-writing... The first things that come to mind are, as always, the bad bits. I have a real penchant for beating myself up, but then I think I also have reason. I was a bad child, I think I've said that somewhere before but that doesn't make it any less true.

I could start with the stealing of money, only pennies, at a time, but it got to be a habit. We were supposed to take this money to the nuns at the school, I don't remember why, but each Monday morning we were given a small sum to hand in. School fees maybe, or just to put in the collection for the poor starving black babies on the other side of the world. They were big on that...

Anyway, I devised this scheme that meant I got to spend the money on lollies and things like that. On the way to school I would find a place to hide my coins, often buried in the dirt beside a fence or under a tree. Then when we were asked who had money to hand in, I could say no, as I didn't have any money. Later I would retrieve the money and head off to the shop.

The strange thing was that I rarely spent the money just on myself, it was special to be the one who had money and could buy lollies to hand around to the other kids. I got caught, of course, often, I was after all only a small child and didn't see that adults always know about these things, but it didn't stop me lying about it and getting beaten for it by the nuns. This happened quite a bit, didn't really seem to matter if I had done anything wrong or not. I was a target and copped the ruler to the back of the legs and across the hands many more times than as a child I thought was deserved.

They were sadistic, those nuns, these beatings would often be carried out in front of the whole school. The school was a large Queenslander style building, on poles with a wide verandah that faced the school grounds. Every morning all the kids would assemble in the grounds, and if our name was called out we had to go up the stairs to the verandah, so that the punishment could be seen by all the other kids lined up in the grounds below.

I didn't know it then, but I do now - as a child and all through primary school, I suffered from Tourettes Syndrome. Today it is recognised as a symptom of nasty things that might be happening on the home front, but in those days it was seen as a cheeky child poking faces. Being strapped for it by the nuns didn't make it go away, and in fact I can still get up a bit of a twitch when I am tired or don't have my stress guards up.

I think I might stop there for now, this is only the first of the childhood/schooldays memories, and the rest don't really get any better... enough to add that I do realise now why I was that bad child, what was happening to me then, and the affect it had on the teenager I grew into.

reply
On a lighter note
On reflection, after this dip into writing the 'dark times', I thought perhaps I would just add a little light, for balance. Although many of my memories may be on the 'dark side', and yes there's more to come, my story, at the end, is a story of triumph.

I have achieved far beyond what could have reasonably been expected. I am still alive, for one thing, and I have never been to jail, well, only for one night, and that wasn't really my fault, more a case of my stupidity, but I was only sixteen at the time.

I have had a full and happy life, with loving children, a career in work I have enjoyed, and many friends. I have even had 3 happy marriages, sad that they turned out to be with the wrong men!

Interesting, Mardi, isn't it... that I felt I had to come back and add this... I'll have to explore that one a bit...

Della