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ASCCA (Australian Seniors Computer Club Association) very kindly assist us with answering some of your more tricky technical queries. They are a very useful point of contact for those wishing to embark on computer courses for the first time, brush up on their knowledge or meet people in their local area that have a shared interest in computers.
You can contact ASCCA via their website www.ascca.org.au and find out what is available in your area.
The Australian Seniors Computer Club Association (ASCCA) will be holding their 12th Annual Conference at the Powerhouse Museum in Sydney on 8/9 September 2010.
Presentations by some of the leading experts in the field of computing, health, genealogy, travel and more are complimented by interesting trade stands and the opportunity to meet and connect with other senior computer users.
For more information or to register for this conference, click YOURLifeChoices link to ASCCA.
Well done to all those who entered the ASCCA Creative Writing Competition. AboutSeniors was delighted to again have been part of the judging process and continues to be amazed at the quality of writing which just gets better and better.
Congratulations to Jan Lepherd, who was awarded First and Champion Writer.
The category winners of the ASCCA Creative Writing Competition 2009 are:
Section 1: “Someone Who Inspired Me” - Prose
First Place - Francisca Fisher - U3A Nepean Blue Mountains - By George ... ask George
Second Place - David Evans - U3A Nepean Blue Mountains - Twenty – Twenty
Third Place - Margaret Standaloft - Computer Pals for Seniors Kensington Inc. - Katharine
Special Mention - Barry Stephenson - Endeavour Computer Club - The Wisdom of Bill
Section 1: “Someone Who Inspired Me” - Poetry
First Place - Peter Mackinlay - AUSOM Inc. Melbourne - Ode to Faine
Second Place - David Evans - U3A Nepean Blue Mountains - A Voice in the Tanglewood
Third Place - Peg Mortimer - Berri Seniors Citizans Computer Club - My Dad
Special Mention - Pamela Taig - Computer Pals for Seniors Epping - Father John Fowles from Thurgoona - A MAN WHO INSPIRED ME
Section 2: “Caring” - Prose
First Place - Jan Lepherd - Carrington Computer Club for Seniors - Unconditional Love
Second Place - Joan Lewis - Computer Pals for Seniors - East Lake Macquarie Brian
Third Place - Barry Stephenson - Endeavour Computer Club - A Dutch Treat
Special Mention - George Conyngham - U3A Nepean Blue Mountains - The Lolly
Section 2: “Caring” - Poetry
First Place - Robyn Nance - U3A Nepean Blue Mountains - Caring & Sharing
Second Place - Marion Haynes - Westlakes Seniors Computer Club - The Train of Life
Third Place - David Evans - U3A Nepean Blue Mountains - Couples in the Park
Special Mention - Christine Behl - U3A Nepean Blue Mountains - My Pop
Section 3: “A Special Place” - Prose
First Place - John Clarke - U3A Nepean Blue Mountains - Ada’s Place
Second Place - Joan Stott - Computer Pals for Seniors - Ku-ring-gai - I Babble on the Pebbles
Third Place - Connie Vallis - Computer Pals for Seniors - The Hills - The Cottage
Special Mention - Peg Mortimer - Berri Senior Citizens Computer Club - My Sewing Room
Special Mention - Lynton Bradford - Anglican Retirement Village Computer Club - Castle Hill - The Fig Tree
Special Mention - Iris Meek - Launceston Computer Group - The Kitchen Table
Section 3: “A Special Place” - Prose
First Place - Meri Forest - Peel Seniornet Association Inc. - A Poem in the Small Hours
Second Place - Anne Parker - U3A Bundaberg - Mt. Ravenswood Station
Third Place - Pamela Taig - Computer Pals for Seniors Epping Inc. - My Favourite Place
Special Mention - Isabel Pauza - Illawarra Computer Enthusiasts - Friends Beneath the Morning Sun
Congratulations again to all winners and YOURLifeChoices hope you enjoy reading the entries as much as we did!
ASCCA Creative Writing Competition 2009 – Winning Entries
Section 1: “Someone Who Inspired Me” - Prose
The Brief: Write about an inspirational person in your life; a parent, teacher, co-worker or friend or anyone who influenced your actions and thoughts.
“You don’t have to be a ‘person of influence’ to be influential. In fact, the most influential people in my life are probably not even aware of the things they’ve taught me.” --Scott Adams.
First Place - Francisca Fisher - U3A Nepean Blue Mountains
© “By George ... ask George”
Our Grandfather was a big, boisterous, slow talking and moving giant of a man with a great sense of humour and a loud belly laugh to match. He had blue twinkling eyes, bushy grey hair and eyebrows, and, a big handlebar moustache. He and Gran’ma seemed an odd pair because she was tiny, quietly spoken and genteel. Although we did notice that underneath her gentle demeanour lay an iron will that could not be brokered.
We children adored our Grandfather and he adored us. Life to him was a game; a game of story telling, of learning, of enjoyment, of fun and laughter. ‘Living life to the full’ was his motto, and for him this was the only way to go. He would laugh until his face was red and his eyes moist whenever we did or said something that amused him. Although, on some occasions, when we didn’t quite live up to his expectations, his eyes would lose their sparkle and we knew he was disappointed with us. This would sadden us more than a sharp rebuke or even a smack would have done.
Most of our spare time was spent at his and Gran’ma’s small farm on the outskirts of Lithgow. Our home was only a few kilometres away so we were able to visit our Grandparents after school and at weekends. School holidays were the best - we could sleep over then; sometimes we stayed for a whole week; we were always welcome. This is where we learned about the ‘little things’, about all that really matters in life.
Grandfather was there to watch us play ‘chasies’ round the house paddock. He would lift us up to see the bird’s nest and eggs in a small tree near the fence. He would allow us to climb the fruit trees and eat our fill and to pick flowers for our mother in his garden. We would help him to collect eggs from the hen house and look at the clucky hen and her chicks, which lived under the hedge. We watched him milk the two fat cows in the shed and we fed the pigs with turnips and pumpkin. He led the ponies, as we rode them up and down the lane.
At these times we children would pose all sorts of questions to him. ‘Why was the sky blue? Why was the sun hot? Who made the grass green, what colour was the water in the creek and why were there so many flies and mosquitoes to annoy us? And personal questions we asked too; how old are you? Have you always lived here? Were you ever a little boy? Why do you smoke a pipe? He would answer most of these questions in his own slow, easy manner. But sometimes he would say:
“By George, how clever of you to think up such a question, my grandchildren are so smart. By George…we will have to… ask George that one.”
And, next time we saw him, he would tell us a story to show us the answer, or give us a book to look the answer up. After some time we children began to wonder who George was. If we asked Grandfather he would tap the side of his nose with his index finger and then say mysteriously:
“Ahah, that’s for me to know and you to find out” and then he would have a good belly laugh.
No matter how often we asked him he would not tell us who George was. We children often discussed this mysterious person together; could George be his own name, maybe Grandfather needed time to think up answers to our questions. Did he have a brother or a friend called George who knew even more than he did? Was it Gran’ma who told him what to say? Eventually we asked our Gran’ma, but no, she didn’t know who George was and our father and mother didn’t know either.
As we got older and our questions became more mature and intelligent, Grandfather would often rely on the saying ‘By George… we must Ask George’. Then, the next time we met, he would ask us if we had thought about or found the answer to our question, and if we hadn’t, he would, in great detail, discuss the question and produce a book with the answer. With his eyes twinkling he would twirl the ends of his moustache and pretend he was the smartest Grandfather ever.
As we grew up, my siblings and I married and had our own families. Grandfather was no longer with us. How we wish our children could have known this wonderful man. He taught us all so much. He taught us to have respect for creation, each other and the animal world. He taught us how to love life, how to laugh and enjoy ourselves. He taught us patience by sometimes making us wait for the answers to our questions. He taught us how to look up answers in books. He taught us that he too, needed help sometimes to find the answers to the questions we were asking. But most of all he taught us that life is for living and loving and giving.
How we wish we had his strength of character, his patience, his resilience, his ready laugh and his sparkling, mischievous blue eyes. Above all we wish we had his ‘George’. We never did find out who George really was but…
By George… we would… Ask George… a thing or two today, if only we could.
Second Place - David Evans - U3A Nepean Blue Mountains
© Twenty – Twenty
It was the Variety Club Bash and in the Channel 9 car Angry Anderson was living up to his name. “I’m getting fed up with you, Ched,” he said.
His companion, Ched Towns, a regular guest on the Today show, was unruffled. “Why, mate, what did I do?”
“Nothing!” snapped Angry. “Absolutely nothing! I’ve had to do all the driving.” He pulled over to the side of the road and stopped. “It’s about time you took a turn.”
So Ched climbed behind the wheel and they continued down that country road, both roaring with laughter, as Angry shouted instructions.
“Left hand down a bit! Slow down, there’s a bend coming up! You’re going to hit a tree—quick, gimme the wheel!” And so it continued.
It was a hilarious—and precarious—drive because Ched was totally blind.
I first met Ched while training for the Nepean Triathlon. My wife Lynne and I had taken our tandem out on the course and, when we stopped to make an adjustment, we were passed by another tandem ridden by a slim, fit woman and a big man whose feet were resting on the frame rather than the pedals. They pulled over to chat and it was the start of a friendship that saw me running with Ched every Sunday morning for the next two years.
The man was inspirational—nothing ever defeated him.
As a runner he was tireless and our regular thirty kilometres passed quickly as he joked and told stories about his exploits, and those of his wide circle of friends. A former grade footballer with Penrith Panthers, Ched earned the nickname of The Moth because he always tried to train on the brightest part of the ground. He hadn’t yet realised that he was losing his sight.
When he discovered the truth he became angry and pugnacious, and it was a year or two before he came to terms with what was happening to him. Eventually, with his wife Judy’s help, he accepted the disability but determined that his life would be successful in spite of it.
Ched became a local legend, but his exploits would never be limited by parochial, or even national boundaries.
He competed in many Australian triathlons, usually with Judy on the front of their tandem and was a regular marathon runner. Eventually he and Judy went to Hawaii to compete in the Ironman—a 4.2 kilometre swim, 186 kilometre bike race, followed by a full 42.2 kilometre marathon—most of it on lava fields that looked like a lunar landscape baking under the fierce, tropical sun. Added to that, race-day produced high winds that turned the event into a nightmare. Like many others they were unable to complete the cycle leg and withdrew, but nobody thought of it as a failure.
Ched’s next challenge was the Seoul Olympic Games. He wanted to compete but his triathlon ability was no help for he was unable to qualify as runner, swimmer, or cyclist.
Undeterred, he took up a new sport—javelin. He found a coach and spent a couple of years learning to be a spear chucker. A big man (he joked about being five feet thirteen-and-a-half) he discovered a natural talent for the event and threw an Australian record. Seoul was one of the big events of his life and he finished fourth—just out of the medals.
The Ched I knew was a family man and his love and pride in Judy, Kane and Carly was evident in his conversation. Nor did he let his blindness stop him doing the normal things we all do around the home: I was fascinated one day to watch him lay a perfectly straight brick wall using only touch.
A masseur at Penrith’s Governor Philip Hospital he used to run the five kilometres each way to work as part of his training regimen but he didn’t like people to know he was blind and insisted on wearing normal clothes. Judy worried about him and tried to sneak bright, colourful t-shirts into his running gear to make him more visible but she said he usually caught her at it. He preferred to be inconspicuous. Ched never had a serious accident on those runs but there were a couple of odd stories he liked to tell.
On one occasion he ran into a horse being ridden by a young girl. He apologised but, “How could I tell her I hadn’t seen something as big as a horse?“ he said.
On another occasion he was running home across open ground near the Panthers’ complex when he crashed into a chain-wire fence. It hadn’t been there when he went to work in the morning so he assumed, correctly, that work had just begun on a new construction. Undeterred he climbed the four metre high fence and was about to continue on his way when a bystander said, “Why didn’t you just walk around it?” He’d run into it a couple of metres from one end.
Sponsored by Channel 9 Ched paddled a canoe across Torres Strait, walked the Kokoda Track and rode a mountain bike across the Simpson Desert. He also set a world record for free fall by a blind parachutist—he jumped solo from 13,500 feet. There was nothing he wouldn’t try and he rarely failed to complete what he started.
Ched died in January 2000. After learning to climb in New Zealand he flew to the Himalayas where he continued training in an attempt to be the first blind man to conquer Mount Everest. Tragically, he succumbed to altitude sickness. Had it been otherwise, I believe he would have succeeded.
When I visited Judy after his death I noticed that the personalised number plate on the family car was TWENTY-20. It was appropriate. This blind man could see further than anybody else I ever met.
Third Place - Margaret Standaloft - Computer Pals for Seniors Kensington Inc.
© Katharine
I was born in an era when most females went to work until they married and started a family and then they retired from the workforce to look after their husbands and Children. Right from an early age I decided that housework wasn’t for me but, what was the alternative, and then I saw “Adam’s Rib” with Spencer Tracey and Katharine Hepburn and there and then I decided that I would be a career woman and rise to the top.
Katharine Hepburn was an attorney in the movie and pitted herself against her husband, Spencer Tracey in a court battle between a husband and a wife. I didn’t fancy taking up law, the closest to that would be the Police Force but unfortunately women had to be over 5ft 6inch tall and I missed that measurement by 3 inches.
Katharine Hepburn became my ideal and whenever one of her movies was showing I went along to see it. She was the epitome of an independent woman and that’s what I wanted to be.
By the time I left school I had decided on a career in banking and joined the local branch of the Commercial Banking Company of Sydney as a junior. I was quite happy to put in my year as a junior but when the next junior arrived it was a male and I was told to teach him the job, but that I would still be making the morning and afternoon tea. I thought long and hard and decided that Katharine wouldn’t do that and flatly refused, saying it was the junior’s job and it didn’t matter whether the junior was male or female, they made the tea – and I actually got away with it.
With Katharine as my guide I then decided to ask if I could learn the tellers’ job; but shock, horror that was considered a man’s job. In those days we opened on Saturday morning and our particular branch only rostered on half the staff so I persuaded the teller who worked to teach me, and when it got very busy near closing time I went into the teller’s box and took deposits.
Then the bank decided to mechanise their ledger department and I was sent away to learn the ledger machines. This I felt was more like it and I thought Katharine would be proud of me.
The bank always held a Christmas party at their head office in George Street and once I was 18 I decided to attend. I was standing talking to a group of people that I knew from branches surrounding our own when a very distinguished looking man of about 50 joined the circle and started talking to us about our positions.
When he came to me I proudly spoke up and said that I was going to be the first woman bank manager. He didn’t actually laugh in my face but he said that he doubted very much if that would ever come to pass. I later learned that the gentleman was on his way to the top and indeed some years later he was assistant General Manager.
Some time past and I went overseas for two years, worked 6 months in the bank’s West End Branch, as well as Harrods, the BBC,Philips Electrical and Butlins Holiday Camps and Hotels.
I still held Katharine high in my estimation and in each of the positions I held I learnt as much as I could so that I would have a store of knowledge when I became a bank manager. On my return to Australia the bank placed me in their Travel Department issuing traveller’s cheques and letters of credit.
Then in 1968 women in certain positions attained equal pay and mine was one of those. The human resources department now told me that I could be sent anywhere in the bank and I said I would be willing if I got promoted - I knew that Katharine would have said the very same thing.
In 1970 I was sent back out into the branches to retrain in general banking and once that was completed I was sent as overseas clerk to one of the inner city branches, then out to suburban branches first as a security clerk then as accountant.
When I first went out into general banking I asked myself what Katharine would do to help her along, and decided on an Accountancy Course which I completed by correspondence. The bank had several woman accountants by this time but no women branch managers although some had achieved manager status in departments.
Human Resources offered me a job in time and motion but I knew that would bore me to death - and besides I wanted to be a branch manager. They tried to prove to me that their offer was the one I was best suited for and they sent me to do an intelligence test. Here they came un stuck because I was better suited to executive management.
Much to mine and Katharine’s delight I was made manager of the administration side of the money market, a position I held until our merger with the National Bank and the transfer of the main money market to Melbourne.
Now the bank sent me to various branches to relieve and to make reports on senior accountants that they had, had adverse reports about; a job I didn’t relish, but I hoped it would lead to branch management and sure enough I was made an assistant manager in a large city branch.
Now I was well on the way to emulating my heroine Katharine.
I had bought a house, I had a job I enjoyed and I could travel. I was sure I would be a suburban branch manager next, but that was not to be. Human Resources asked me to open an area operations centre to cater for the 32 branches within the city; and so the rest of my banking career I was managing a two tiered operation with over 60 staff .
Katharine had led me a long way from junior to senior management and never once was I sorry about my decision to make her my inspiration.
Special Mention - Barry Stephenson - Endeavour Computer Club
© The Wisdom of Bill
At age fifteen I started work in the assembly section of a large engineering factory. The factory produced sheep shearing machinery for various farm machinery distributors.
For the first time in my life I was really out of my element, acutely missing the company of all those boys I had known so well during my school days.
I recollect my amazement at how most of two hundred men seemed to suddenly disappear at lunchtime, leaving me to sit alone on a bench and nibble my sandwiches. Much later I discovered that there was a well patronised pub across the road as well as a cafeteria on the factory premises.
After a few weeks in the assembly section I was befriended by an older man named Bill. Bill was a bachelor in his fifties, who lived in a rented room in Marrickville, he had a Friar Tuck hairstyle, a prominent nose and walked with a limp, a legacy from polio. This man was to become my friend, mentor and role model and in one softly spoken sentence, he unwittingly taught me something I have never forgotten. It happened like this.
One morning there was a rush to get some shearing machines assembled for urgent delivery, well the assembly section wasn’t known as the “ Rushin Embassy” for nothing, Bill and I were working together as fast as we could ,when, to help speed things along we were joined by Paddy, the section leader.
I already knew that Paddy’s conversation regularly revolved around the problems his wife caused him and on this day his anguish over his wife’s antics was particularly heart rending. I couldn’t help feeling really sorry for the guy.
At lunch time I mentioned to Bill that Paddy seemed to have a serious problem with his wife, “Ah” said Bill, “ Always remember that there are two sides to every story, don’t condemn the woman until you’ve heard what she has to say about Paddy”. Bill obviously understood Paddy better than I did.
Over ensuing weeks Bill repeated the advice occasionally, particularly when reading excerpts from his daily paper. So nowadays, whenever I hear someone ranting about some apparent injustice, I think, “Ah, but there are two sides to every story “ and I think of Bill in his faded blue bib and brace overalls, sitting on a box eating his lunch.
I regret to say that two years later, the effects of drought caused a downturn in the demand for shearing machines, the factory workforce was drastically reduced, Bill, being a bachelor with no dependants was one of the first to be retrenched.
We kept in touch by letter for a while, but one day a letter was returned to me marked “no longer at this address” and Bill was gone from my life for ever.
Section 1: “Someone Who Inspired Me” – Poetry
First Place - Peter Mackinlay - AUSOM Inc. Melbourne
© Ode to Faine - (JON FAINE OF ABC RADIO 774 MELBOURNE)
Dear Mister Faine, you like to sustain a programme most fervently punny
But occasionally folk, sometimes chick, sometimes bloke, complain this is not at all funny.
Don’t listen to them, full of bile, full of phlegm. Don’t let them get under your skin!
“The sun...” (cry some) “shines out of your bum!” but how the hell does it get in?
Your radio fans, both womans and mans, believe you are without blemish
So stay as you are, our shining bright star, and bugger those folk who are phlegmish.
For three-and-a-half hours, employ your word powers, and our ears continue to pun-ish,
And bring us delight, each morn (not at night), with quips not off-colour or Hunnish.
Your co-hosts and guests, with their nous and their jests, really are quite awesome;
Messieurs Wright and Moon on PCs end too soon, and David Whiting is positively aw-some.
Terry Lane takes the pith (sometimes hit, sometimes myth), Ms Singer I can take or forgo,
But I must prudently state (say?), that Gabriel Gaté (Gatay?) is not always my piece of gateau.
Be glad, Mister Faine, that during your reign, your listeners both old and quite youngish
Are balanced of mind and far too refined to give you a serve, sharp of tongue-ish.
We like to enjoy (each birl and each goy), good humour and wits that astonish;
Not for us the nerd that hangs on each word, awaiting their chance to admonish.
Now I am not fain to on your parade rain, nor your fame to unduly embellish,
But am pleased to relate that each thirty-past-eight, I tune in with absolute relish.
For our popular host I propose a toast — “get a life” — to those who are shrewish!
But gee what a thrill that you’re Jon and not Bill, for who likes a bill that is due-ish?
Second Place - David Evans - U3A Nepean Blue Mountains
© A Voice in the Tanglewood
His speech was slow, so very slow:
riddles and answers.
He would ask his question then pause,
and look at me for so long that I wondered
whether to offer an opinion of my own.
When he was ready he would squint one eye,
smile in his confidential way,
then himself provide the answer
and wait for some acknowledgement,
as though his words contained wisdom.
Often they did.
“Not many people come this way,” he said,
waving a hand toward the tangled bloodwoods.
“They’re just not interested any more.”
He shook his head sadly for the uninterested ones
who, not seeing what he saw, were unaware of their loss.
“Look at this!” There was excitement in his voice,
the quiet excitement of a secret shared,
as he pointed out a Huon pine
growing in Queensland’s sandy coastal soil.
“It shouldn’t be here, but it is,” he said.
“A miracle.”
His world was a world of miracles, of wonders, of nature,
that in centuries past he would have peopled with spirits
and fuelled with magic.
He understood the seasons and could predict their strength
by the behaviour of the birds;
he knew the weather signs in the trees and the earth;
the glittering winter stars that warned of morning frost
were his confidants.
He was one with the land
and his aging, ageless face grew puzzled
at the difficulty experienced by visitors to his world
in perceiving what was obvious to him.
“I’m a voice in the tanglewood,” he said,
“but everybody’s looking the other way.”
Third Place - Peg Mortimer - Berri Seniors Citizans Computer Club
© My Dad
When I was young and very small
I saw my Dad as ten foot tall.
Hadn’t he been a soldier brave
And fought the whole wide world to save?
If I had bad dreams in the night
He’d come right in and hold me tight,
And when I had splinters or hurt my knee
He’d fix things up and comfort me.
When to my ‘teens at length I grew
I was surprised how little Dad knew.
He didn’t understand at all
About life’s problems, large or small.
He was such a muddler, and always late.
All his opinions were out of date.
On religion and politics discussion ranged
And though I was right he just wouldn’t change.
Then later I married and grandchildren three
Soon happily clustered around his knee
And I smiled to myself as I heard him tell
The tales of old that I knew so well.
And I knew that his wisdom far surpassed
Anything I had believed in the past.
He was grey-haired by then and stooped from a fall,
But to me once again Dad stood ten foot tall.
Special Mention - Pamela Taig - Computer Pals for Seniors Epping
© Father John Fowles from Thurgoona - A MAN WHO INSPIRED ME
Father John Fowles CCS
Is the Parish Priest of Thurgoona.
For children, distressed, in East Timor,
He needs money now, if not sooner
His fund raising schemes are ambitious.
His parishioners, Tom, Dick and Kevin,
Ran Fetes to raise a new church,
Ran two raffles, called ‘Highway to Heaven’.
Having provided his parish with buildings,
Now was the time to raise more.
That’s when he conceived his new notion
To raise funds for kids in East Timor.
He elevated his eyes and looked to the skies.
‘What we must build now is an aircraft.’
When he told his parishioners his crafty ambition,
They responded, ‘Good Lord, Father, you’re daft.’
A Fly-a-thon was the name he gave to his scheme.
But there’s one thing a Fly-a-thon needs.
The plane, his scheme so obviously lacked.
Father John began saying his beads.
An anonymous gift unexpected
Was delivered in March 2004,
A Jabiru J400 airplane kit
Had been delivered to his front door.
In the garage with several parishioners,
Each Monday, you’d find Father John
Pondering plans spread over the floor,
Creating the plane for his Fly-a-thon.
After constructing a mammoth church complex
Building a plane’d be a walk in the park.
He soon became sorry for Noah,
And his problems while building the Ark.
After surmounting each problem,
The plane is now ready to fly.
Awaiting her final inspection,
She’s ready to take to the sky.
“Angel Wings” is the plane’s appellation,
An appropriate name, Father John.
I pray your venture’s successful,
And will raise money for your Fly-a-thon
ASCCA Creative Writing Competition 2009 – Winning Entries
Section 2: “Caring” - Prose
The Brief: Do you see an old couple walking down the road holding hands and smile for the next hour, or does the look of trust in a child’s eyes reward you for your care? Have you ever appreciated the gentle touch or “secret” moment that carers share with the people for whom they care? Write about caring for people.
First Place - Jan Lepherd - Carrington Computer Club for Seniors
© Unconditional Love
I walk through the entry to the Nursing Home and look around for the little lady I have been visiting for some 18 months.
Each week we sit together and I take her back to the days when she was young – a teenager, a bride, a young mother, her cooking expertise, and I can see her memory slowly forming the pictures in her mind of happier days when the whole world was there for her to take in her hands and use. But now she holds my hand and touches my face. If the weather is pleasant we can go for a short walk outdoors to look at and feel the texture of leaves on shrubs and touch the petals of flowers.
Now she is deteriorating, and the memories of youth have faded. She welcomes me with a smile but does not remember my name and as we sit together, she reaches for my hand, gazes at me continually and tells me she loves me, but cannot say anything else. She nurses a doll and constantly touches and cuddles it in her arms, the mothering instinct still being there, unbeknown to her. She cannot walk now; we cannot go outdoors to the beautiful garden, so I draw her eyes to the colours outside and speak of what I see.
Touch is so important to her. All humans need the touch of fellow travellers through this life
and she is no exception. To brush the hair back from her forehead, to gently touch her face when she becomes distressed – probably with a fleeting elusive flash of memory that is gone before she can comprehend what it was – to simply hold hands and look into each other’s face and be close for a short time, all add up to answering the need to be lovingly touched, hugged, and reassured that where she now is in her stage of life, is right for her.
When time comes for me to leave, she becomes upset, and holds both my hands and raises them to her lips. This simple loving gesture is so touching, and makes it hard to leave her, but by my directing her eyes back to her ‘baby’, I gently free my hands so she can pick up the doll from her lap and cradle it in her arms. This brings her comfort. I know that by the time I reach the door she will have forgotten I was ever there; but that is not important.
The time together and the beautiful moving gesture to me, creates a feeling that is indescribable. No matter how old, no matter what state of health we are in, no matter if we cannot communicate by speech, a sincere smile and touch means so much to my friend.
I drive home, dwelling on these things and on the special moment of love given to me. I had gone just to be with her for a while, but she, with her debilitating illness and state of detachment from this world, has given me so much more in return. How blessed I am.
Second Place - Joan Lewis - Computer Pals for Seniors - East Lake Macquarie
© Brian
Mary stood back from the school gate in the shade of a gum tree. She was aware of the young mothers chatting all around her as they waited for their children. They were stylishly dressed and able to afford far more than Mary could on her old-age pension. Mary knew her thick pale legs, a filigree of blue and red veins, were far better concealed under her calf-length black skirt.
She wondered how Brian must feel having to be reared by his old grandmother. Her thoughts were interrupted by a sea of young faces, mostly red from the heat of the February afternoon.
Brian stood out. At least to Mary he did with his red hair. He was tall for his age, which made him look thinner than most of the others. So much like his dad, she thought and felt thankful that he had his father’s gentle manner and not his mother’s flippancy.
Brian slipped his little clammy hand into Mary’s as they crossed the road and began their short walk home.
“My new shoes hurt a bit today, Nanna,” he confided, “but I didn’t cry, ‘cause I’m a big boy now I’m going to school.” Mary gave his hand a squeeze as she agreed he was.
“I just remembered,” Brian said, stopping abruptly and thrusting his hand into his new school case. “We have a note from our teacher because there’s a meeting for mothers at the school on Tuesday. I asked if our Nannas could come instead and she said you could. Will you please come, Nanna?”
He handed her the crumpled slip of paper and she straightened it out to read the time and venue. She dreaded the thought of sitting, so conspicuously old, with all the young mothers. Brian would probably notice it too and feel embarrassed in his own little way. She thought that hopefully by Tuesday she would have found an excuse to decline, but that night as she tucked the blankets around Brian’s little freckled face he reminded her of the note.
“You will come to school, won’t you, Nanna?”
How could she resist those bright blue eyes so full of enthusiasm? “Of course I will, darling,” she found herself saying.
When Brian had fallen asleep, Mary sat alone in her quiet little kitchen and poured herself a cup of tea. She thought of Brian when he had first come to stay with her. His little port held all his possessions and he was so timid – a normal reaction for a three-year-old when the mother he relied on had just walked out and left him. When his father had arrived home from work Brian had been crying alone in his room. Mary remembered the night when Brian’s cries woke her and he said he had dreamed she had left him too. She assured him that would never happen and cuddled him till he slept peacefully.
Tuesday came very quickly for Mary. She pulled her grey hair back into a bun, because she had worn it that way for years. She found two dresses which were reasonably fashionable and settled for the striped one. The vertical stripes would help to slim down her matronly figure. She had no trouble deciding on shoes and bag as she only had the black ones. She looked at her reflection in the mirror, sighed and took a lace handkerchief from the sachet on her dressing table, tipped a few drops of perfume in the corner and picked up her handbag.
The children were still enjoying the lunch-break when Mary arrived, puffing from overweight and exhaustion after walking in the heat of the day. She decided to slip in the back gate of the playground to avoid a grand entrance with all the others at the front.
The playground was teeming with a moving mass of coloured uniforms. The girls in their little check dresses were huddled in groups, some playing games, others happily chasing each other. The boys, in spite of the heat, were showing their prowess on the horizontal bars or shooting with imaginary guns. Above the shrieks of laughter and conversations, Mary heard Brian’s excited voice and saw him running down the path toward her.
“Nanna, Nanna.” By now Mary knew her attempt to arrive inconspicuously was thwarted. Brian was closely followed by three little friends whom he quickly introduced.
“These are my mates, Nanna. This one is Andrew,” Brian said as he grasped the arm of a strongly-built boy who was much shorter than Brian. “And this is Joshua,” he continued. “We just call him Josh, so you can too.” Josh had smiling blue eyes and he nodded approval of Mary being permitted to use this short version. Finally Peter was introduced and stared at her through black-rimmed glasses. All four gathered around Mary as though she represented royalty and Brian explained, “They want me to share you with them today because their mothers are working and can’t come.”
Mary glowed with pride as the four escorted her into the classroom which had been set aside for the meeting. Each boy had a drawing pinned to the board and they all excitedly talked together, proudly indicating which ones were theirs.
Mary was enthusiastic in her praise of each one and when the bell summoned them back to their teacher Mary turned to find a seat in the roomful of mothers.
As the boys walked from the room Andrew turned to Joshua and Mary heard him ask, “Isn’t Brian lucky to have a Nanna who comes to see his drawings at school?” Joshua agreed, “Yeah! I’ll say. I wish my Nan would come.” Not to be left out Peter put in his say, “Me too.”
Brian looked back at Mary and with his head held high he beamed a smile which said so much. Mary fought back the tears that threatened to brim over her red-rimmed eyes. She would not trade this moment for anything in the world.
Third Place - Barry Stephenson - Endeavour Computer Club
© A Dutch Treat
By the end of the war in 1945, Sydneysider Dorothy Em had seen her fair share of ups and downs, she was well attuned to the plight of others.
Dorothy was married in 1925 aged 20, a few years later her first born child was stillborn. Then came the “Great Depression”, during which two healthy daughters were born. The struggle to survive on bread and dripping, rare employment and government sustenance coupons was a depreciating experience and was never forgotten. But better days dawned eventually, the future looked promising and a third child arrived in the late 1930’s.
At about this time her husband’s health detiorated, he was to spend several years in and out of hospital, he had Reynards disease and other problems.
With no income earner, the family was now dependent on meagre sickness benefits, plus whatever Dorothy could earn with her sewing machine. She was again having to scrimp and scrape to survive.
In the near vicinity, a church known as the Church of the New Jerusalem had recently been inaugurated, some of it’s parishoners became aware of Dorothy’s problems and offered her whatever assistance they could reasonably provide. Dorothy saw this as a very generous gesture and in time decided to become a member of that little known church.
During the war her husband’s health improved, being unskilled his earnings were modest, however family life resumed some normality and the fourth of her eventual five children was born.
Months after wars end, the afforementioned church received a letter from the minister of a similar congregation in Holland, basically it explained that the surviving members of his congregation were near starvation, could food parcels possibly be sent, a list of names and addresses was attached.
After choosing a name and address at random Dorothy responded promptly, into a strong cardboard box she packed tinned food, powdered milk, cocoa, rolled oats,dried fruit and anything edible that might survive in a ship crossing the equator. The weight of everything was carefully considered, due to shipping costs. A letter giving details of her address and family situation was included in the parcel before it was wrapped in calico and stitched tightly together.
Many weeks later an air letter arrived bearing Dutch stamps and written in good english. The sender, Annie, firstly expressed her gratitude for the food parcel, then gave details of her husband, two young sons and the trials of surviving in war torn Holland, these details brought tears to the eyes of her benefactor’s family.
Predictably, food parcels were then despatced at regular intervals, as were the letters from Holland. In one early parcel a small jar of peanut butter was included, the response from Annie was full of superlatives for this wonderfull delicacy, because the existence of such delightful treats were all but forgotten.
Realising that simple luxuries could do much to lift the morale, the next food parcel contained two cakes of Cashmere Bouquet soap and two pairs of stockings. The letter that came in response was pure ecstacy, the squeals of delight should have been heard from The Hague to Hobart.
Food parcels continued to be sent for years, letters and photos were exchanged, with the correspondence continuing till the end of Dorothy’s life.
Though Annie was never to meet the woman who had cared about her in her time of great distress, she did eventually manage to visit Australia to meet Dorothy’s children.
Annie is 94 now but still sends Xmas and birthday cards to all of the children. She is a treasured friend, getting to meet her was a real Dutch Treat.
Special Mention - George Conyngham - U3A Nepean Blue Mountains
© The Lolly
He came running across the playground towards me. I couldn’t think why. Did I look like someone he knew or did he intend to help me in some way. This I thought was most unlikely. So I composed myself and stood ready for the bump of the speeding juvenile who knew not where he was going. My mistake!
I admit it freely. I discovered later, that he was carrying out his duty in respect to a stranger in the playground. It still is called courtesy. Somebody had thought it advisable that the pupils should take care of visitors before they got killed, although a custom not often thought of nowadays. He had been chosen. Scruffy Billy - I thought.
The wildly travelling locomotive skidded to a halt perfectly in front of me. A face half- smiling and half wary looked up at me. Now I’m very tall, so it was some look up. A youngish hesitant voice said:
“ Would ya like a lolly. I’m supposed to look after anyone strange who comes into the playground.”
Did I really look strange? What could I say; ‘No thank you.’, well I couldn’t. Especially since he already had one hand in his pocket. Before I could really say anything, out it came, his hand that is. I could tell by the look in his eyes that he was offering me a wonderful gift. His treasure…
The hand came forward, opened . What a sight - tiny little, pill like, dust covered, pink and black discs, more than likely stuck together by who knows what. I was about to decline gracefully when I looked into his eyes. Now there are lots and lots of human beings who not only dislike children, but hate them. I’m a border line case. At least I thought I was, but when I began to see that certain look begin to change, I crumbled, no I didn’t, I cared, and cared and cared. What to do?
“Thank you, young man.” I said. Actually it took nearly all my manhood to stop from blubbering. Taking one, I think it was one, I said:
“You won’t mind if I don’t eat it right away; what would the principal think if I arrived sucking one of those beauties. Hmm?” Then I opened my coat and put it very carefully, into my best shirt’s pocket. Just for him.
It was worth it. Glee! Joy! Call it what you will. He nearly burst! And I cared.
You might think that I was influenced, yes I was but, I was changed. It so happened, unbeknown to me, that this pupil Scruffy Billy, was the trouble for which I had been called to this school to discuss. He didn’t know and neither did I. I cared, it’s my job to care, his teacher had cared and so did the Principal. Maybe it’s their job to care.
I just hope that you care too!
After all! All Carers are very valuable people.
Section 2: “Caring” - Poetry
First Place - Robyn Nance - U3A Nepean Blue Mountains -
© Caring & Sharing
It’s been 45 years since we were wed
And received official approval to share a bed!
In our youthful innocence we were unaware
Of all the things we would eventually share.
How proud we were of our first ‘new home’
It was really there the first seeds of lasting love were sewn,
Despite a few setbacks we were young and free
Till lo and behold, baby Chris made three.
Loving and sharing filled our days and nights
With Chris’ every achievement a major highlight,
With so much love, we still wanted more
And with our little Julie, we became four.
With space a problem we moved to Winston Hills
(Just how did we mange to pay the bills?)
Onwards and upwards we did strive
With Andy, our son, making a ‘complete’ five.
Queensland became our ‘promised land’
With both of us in much demand,
So much so it became apparent
We would need our own business for so much talent!
Sharing the load we were a magic team
Those years working together seem like a dream
From promotions and marketing to even Mackay
It’s hard to imagine how time did fly.
So much happened, I can’t even begin
Europe, England and back again
Though most of it now just a golden haze
The memories we shared for the rest of our days.
Remember the farm and the fun times there?
Just a few more marvellous memories to share,
How excited we were to be back in Sydney town
And let’s face it; life has been more up than down.
Perhaps a few brief moments when we thought life wasn’t fair
But we never lost sight that each other was there
I would never have missed each experience with you
And I know that the love I felt, you felt too.
When you lost life’s battle, early this year
And the family grieved and shed many a tear,
I clung to the memory of why I loved you so much
It’s because of 45 years of each loving touch.
Second Place - Marion Haynes - Westlakes Seniors Computer Club
© The Train of Life
My Love, you have travelled on the train of life
And stopped at many stations,
Until at last, a final stop,
You have reached your destination.
Pain can no longer trouble you
Nor aggravation rile.
And I now picture on your face
An ever present smile.
“There are many rooms, in my Father’s House”
Is the promise from above.
And He will take you in His arms
And surround you with His Love.
Third Place - David Evans - U3A Nepean Blue Mountains
© Couples in the Park
Strolling in the park, he and she –
Aging, overweight, their bodies long past beauty;
Yet they dress with care and with colour,
Each for the other,
With affection.
In their minds—as a melody is remembered,
An orchestra imagined in the silence—
They perceive themselves
Not as time and weariness have tarnished them,
But as they were so many decades past
And will remain: their psyches fresh and young –
The husks alone have grown grotesque.
v
When the laughter dances in your eyes
The watcher on the bench can almost fail
to notice the staggering gait
Your twisted limbs have forced on you.
You hold your companion’s hand,
Not for support but with love,
And looking at him you do not see
The broken paving stone
That sends you sprawling to the ground.
As the young man stands beside you
Offering no assistance,
The watcher frowns, offended.
“Help her!” his thoughts become
A silent, outraged shout.
But you regain your feet unaided
And resume your conversation undisturbed.
Nothing strange has happened:
You fell, you rose,
And confidently go upon your way.
Special Mention - Christine Behl - U3A Nepean Blue Mountains
© My Pop
The screen door slams behind me
And I know, without looking, he’ll be there
His tall frame stooped,
His gnarled hands
Conducting an emphasis to his words.
My mother, busy at the stove,
Nods in reply as he expounds his views
On pollies, papers,
Family history.
He is garrulous in her company.
He murmurs a gruff greeting
As I throw down my bag and rush out to play.
Watching as I go
He smiles fondly,
Then returns to the news of the day.
Later I see him heading home,
His brown felt hat pushed back on his head.
Quickly I skip up
To say hello
And he reaches down to take my hand.
In quiet company we stroll
Along the street until we reach the lane
Where he gives my head
A loving pat
And raises his hand in mute farewell…
...Until tomorrow.
ASCCA Creative Writing Competition 2009 – Winning Entries
Section 3: “A Special Place” – Prose
Brief: We all have a special place in our memory – a place we can “visit” when we have some time to enjoy our thoughts.
Describe this place and the way you felt when you were there.
First Place - John Clarke - U3A Nepean Blue Mountains
© Ada’s Place
My family often visited a much-loved aunt at her tiny property situated on a bend of the Lachlan River, near Hillston.
Aunt Ada was a self-supporting, going concern in times before saving the planet became an issue. I think she was a greenie without being aware of it. On washing day, waste water flowed down a brick channel and watered a small orchard. I don’t suppose Sunlight Soap scum did much harm to the fruit trees.
She raised poultry, including turkeys, much in demand at Christmas, at a time when a chook in every pot wasn’t as common as today. I remember a hot Christmas Eve when we all helped her dress last minute orders, in a cloud of flying feathers.
Uncle Bill, her other half, kept up a steady supply of fish, some harvested from a possibly illegal fish trap, although I’m not sure of their status on one’s own property.
A Southern Cross windmill pumped household water into a corrugated iron tank on top of a tank stand, a common sight out in the bush. There was a loquat tree, a type of small yellow plum from China, growing beside the tank stand. They were popular in those days because of their tolerance for dry conditions. Nearly every garden seemed to have one. These days they tend to attract fruit fly, not an important issue to small boys.
Ada was one of those kindly, generous, laughter-loving women of the west. She grew up as part of a large farming family and as a young girl had many duties in homestead and paddock. We always looked forward to our visits. She wasn’t rich but her hospitality was legendary.
Our young eyes never registered her work-hardened hands or weather beaten features. It was only when we were older that we became aware of the love and encouragement she had given us so abundantly. I felt honoured to help carry her to her final resting place. Whenever I think of my aunt, I am reminded of our attempt to catch a possum who thought he had a greater claim on her loquat tree than anyone else round the place.
The following piece attempts to capture the evening we tried to remove old possum from the loquat tree.
The Loquat Tree
The loquat tree stands laden and serene, yellow fat fruit shuttered by leaves of tropical green, that nocturnal eyes for many nights have seen.
“That possum comes the same time every year,” says Ada, as we through the moonlight peer.
Possums are alright in their place but we must act before he feeds his face, (as if the tree belongs to us who can’t even lay claim to the air we breathe).
Old possum, striped by moon shafts, ignores our upturned eyes and clasps the moon-fruit in marsupial paws.
With broomstick in hand I climb onto the tank-stand, lured on by boyhood loquat-lust.
Yet all the while I’m glad that possum’s there, thinking to myself, “plenty of fruit to share.”
Still, winter’s jam jars are waiting to be filled, so I must make the broomstick blow while Ada holds the sugar bag to catch our foe.
Below us water glints with lunar beams, in starry breathless air and I am lost to all but what we share, the warm still night and the river’s cosmic stream.
Urgent voices hiss me back – “quick John, before he spoils more fruit, don’t crouch there like some gormless young galoot!”
Reluctantly I make a mighty swipe and possum, loquats, leaves swirl down in flight.
“He’s in the bag!” but faster than her hands can close it, old possum’s climbing safe and free, looking disdainfully down from windmill’s height, as Ada’s laughter fills the velvet night.
Second Place - Joan Stott - Computer Pals for Seniors - Ku-ring-gai
© I Babble on the Pebbles
I close my eyes. They ache. Then I smile as I remember a little girl many years ago and a question she often asked.
“Are you asleep, Aunty?”
“No dear, just resting my eyes,” was the usual reply.
This brings back happy memories of the special place where I spent some of my school holidays, the quiet picturesque English village as yet untouched by busloads of enthusiastic tourists. There were just the villagers and a few evacuees like my Aunt and Uncle who had been bombed out of their homes in the towns and a few visitors like me.
I can see the trio, walking down the hill. No, I would be running on ahead, over the bridge and round the corner.
“Boo!” I would cry, jumping out from behind a tree as they caught up to me.
I would skip happily along the pavement, past the Cotswold stone cottages towards the village store where Uncle bought his morning paper. I see a lady’s bicycle with a wicker basket on the front, parked in the gutter, its pedal pressed hard against the kerb. Aunty would go shopping, probably for some more knitting wool while Uncle and I walked across the village green towards the river and the wooden bench where he sat to read his paper.
I always picture it in springtime when the warmth of the sun has brought new life after the cold, cheerless English winter. Fluffy clouds drift across a pale blue sky and the air is clean and fresh with the fragrance of the spring flowers, the sticky buds are showing on the horse-chestnut trees, the daffodils and crocuses are growing haphazardly on the village green and the brightness of the new growth on the willow trees stretch down towards the water.
A family of ducklings waddle along the path after their mother as she leads them into the River for a swim.
My mother used to call the river her ‘babbling brook’ and would often recite, just as she did in school some years before, “The Brook, by Alfred LORD Tennyson,” with the emphasis on LORD. But she was right, the shallow, clear water does babble over the bed of pretty coloured pebbles as it flows idly through the village under two or was it three narrow hump-backed foot- bridges.
It was a special place and still is in my memory, a place where I felt safe and secure and free. I was on holiday with my special Aunt and Uncle, safe from the bombing in my home town, Coventry and shielded from the dark news of the war. I was free from the regimentation of my boarding school, free from walking in crocodile formation, church twice on Sundays and being woken up by the sound of a bell. This was bliss and I had a friend called Cecily who lived on a farm on the outskirts of the village. What a delight for a city girl.
We had the model village to explore too where the quaint stone cottages barely reached our waists. It was an exact working copy of the main village, even to the waterwheel at the end of the village where the wooden blades scooped up the water and spilt it over the other side like a waterfall and where there was an even smaller model of the model village itself. The church bell rang every day calling the model villagers to church and the organ played inside the church. We ran down the miniature roads, we followed the miniature river and we stood on the miniature bridge and were queens of all we surveyed.
Twenty five years later I introduced my young sons to my special place on their first visit to England. They ran down the miniature roads and followed the miniature river and stood on the miniature bridge and I took their photo.
Only this time we were tourists, visiting tourist’s sights, many of which were new and I brought home some souvenirs, place mats and tea towels.
But the village was still special, for tourist’s sights may come but my mother’s babbling brook goes on for ever.
“Are you awake, Joan, or just resting your eyes?” My husband’s voice brings me back to the present. “You were smiling.”
“I was miles away,” I answer, “I was wandering around - Bourton on the Water.
Third Place - Connie Vallis - Computer Pals for Seniors - The Hills
© The Cottage
So many places are special to me. Like our comfy old family dwelling which we staunchly built more than fifty years ago. As the saying goes, there is no place like home. This morning I awoke in the same old bedroom in the same old house, and I cuddled and kissed the same loveable, sexy, caring old husband. Everything is special here – everything unique. Every day is a bonus too.
But when I was a kid, there were other special places too. Like a visit to Sydney’s ‘Luna Park’, for a birthday treat. Or in the warm summer months, a ferry trip across the harbour for a picnic and swim at picturesque Manly. Or in the winter months, a steam train ride to the blue mountains where, if we were lucky we’d get to play in the snow.
And as a teenager there were special places too. One I recall being the local dance hall, where each Wednesday and Friday nights, my friends and I would flitter, flirt and jitterbug the night away. Then on Saturday night it was off to the flicks. No Televisions or Computers back in those days.
Inevitably, however, at another unforgettable place, I fell head over heels in love with my Keith. And on May 31st, 1952, we married. The hotel we shared on that first night was clean, cheap, and somewhat shabby. But to us it was enchanting – a truly special place.
Then along came our four kids. And another special place became the delightful coastal camping area at North Narrabeen in Sydney, where each boxing day for many years, we’d pitch a large tent to be enjoyed for the next four weeks.
All special places – such fun to recall. Each tucked away safely in my crowded old mind.
But now that I am older I have discovered yet another. One entirely different from those gone by. Unlike ‘Luna Park’, here there are no merry – go – rounds, no huge slippery dips, no haunted houses, and no dance floor on which to trip the light fantastic. (Heaven forbid with my total knee replacements).
It’s not built from canvas like our great big tent, but of painted weatherboards and a red tin roof. Yet in modern day jargon, it is absolutely cool.
Want to know more? Well let me explain. This special place I now fondly enjoy is known to most as simply ‘The Cottage’, but is actually the venue of a fantastic club. My local branch of ‘Computer Pals for Seniors’.
From outside it appears significantly unimportant. Yet as I walk through the door, I am instantly impressed, impishly likening myself to the fictitious ‘Dr Who’, as with much anticipation, he enters his ancient telephone box – come spaceship - to be transported to another planet, another world.
As once inside this little old cottage, I too am transported. Not to another planet, but definitely to another world, a healthy, intriguing, stimulating world filled with mateship, warmth and hospitality.
Essentially it is an increasingly talented, captivating world, so jam packed with computer technology it constantly obliges my ever inquisitive mind. Here I am never bored, never alone. It satisfies my needs, and hopefully the needs of others.
Here is where I don various caps, predominantly as a trainer of one-on-one basics. It is a special place to teach, a special place to learn. A unique place to mingle and make friends! A place completely manned by generous volunteers - office staff, trainers, advance course presenters, creators of teaching manuals, technicians, caterings, cleaners, and even gardeners. The list goes on and on.
In this extra special place there are many rooms, two containing projectors, screens, and several up to date, state of the art desk top computers, twenty two in all. Eighteen are dual booted with XP and Vista. Six more computers are located elsewhere. Also available are two lap tops. During any one basic training session, at least thirty students can be comfortably accommodated. Several advanced courses are presented as well, with a session enrolment of around fifteen students.
Computer Care and Maintenance, Internet, Advanced internet, EBay, Power Point, Advanced Microsoft Word, Publisher, Digital Camera, Microsoft Story Book, Digital Video editing are just some of the twenty nine courses now on offer. I have personally attended around fifteen of these.
During each visit to my special place ‘The Cottage’ or ‘Computer Pals for Seniors’, I am many times richly rewarded, especially as I observe my students’ trepidations slowly but surely begin to dissipate, as eventually they come to grips with the bewildering, and ever advancing world of computer technology.
Student Liz is a recent example. As is often the case, her kids had offered her some minimal help in becoming acquainted with her computer, eventually leaving her to fumble and bumble her way around alone.
‘They’re so impatient’, she’d said with concern, as we sat together for her very first lesson. ‘Both so hard to follow, each unable to understand why I find their instructions so difficult to grasp. ’
Ah...yes ...been down that path.
But recently Liz arrived at my special place, extremely thrilled and bursting with pride - delightedly displaying her latest achievement. A colourful invitation for her daughter’s twenty first birthday, one she had beautifully designed and created on her now companionable PC, using many of the skills she’d recently acquired.
And then there’s Bill, another keen student, initially nervous and absolutely apprehensive. Now best friends with his home computer, and having mastered the programme, ‘Microsoft Word’, he is busy creating the story of his life. No mean feat for a man in his eighties.
Like I said – this is one special place.
So come on all you seniors out there. Live for today – not for yesterday. The world abounds with bits and bobs, things to do, and special places. Just follow that yellow brick road – they’re easy to find.
Special Mention - Peg Mortimer - Berri Senior Citizens Computer Club
© My Sewing Room
My special place would have to be my sewing room, although it has to make-do as a spare bedroom when my sister comes to stay. There is a bed in one corner with a bedside table and a reading lamp but apart from that it is a veritable gold mine of fascinating bits and pieces all waiting to be used for trimming or tacking, lengthening or shortening; some have been waiting for years!
Those small lengths of elastic that “might come in handy” have probably lost their elasticity but they might – just might – be useful to tie up something – so we won’t throw them out. There is that pretty piece of shot silk – pinkish-mauve that I unroll and ponder over. What can I make with that? I’ll think about it. Meanwhile roll it up again carefully.
Those slacks now; why did I buy slacks that were too long for me? A horrid job, shortening slacks, and anyway I really don’t like the colour much –pale pink. Oh no, I’ll just put them aside to give away. Now there is my special basket full of zips which no-one uses now, and bias binding, every colour of the rainbow plus a few extras. Well they might be handy too – one day – for something.
Here are the laces, all neatly kept together. Edging lace, insertion lace, frilly lace and the stretch lace I bought to fix some undies. Then I changed my mind and bought new ones. However, I’m sure it will come in handy one day. Wind it up again. Gracious me, there are those bras. I have to alter. Too tight across my back. I’ll have to use the sewing machine to do that job. Next week – yes, next week I’ll make a special effort.
A box of bright cotton sewing reels catches my eye. Many colours, but of course when you want a particular match you usually have to buy another one. Still, they do come in handy – did I say that before? Tins of pins, some with heads on them, safety pins too and needles with big and small eyes. Oh yes – scissors – several pairs, curved or straight and “pinking shears” – one must have a pair of them.
Now to my embroidery basket with the magnifying thingamy that I wore around my neck when I worked that wretched cross-stitch years ago. Never again! But a magnifying glass is always a good thing to have in the cupboard. It can stay. Here are my embroidery threads and that pretty oval d’oyley I once worked. All done except for crocheting around the edge. I must find my crochet hooks, finish that off and give it to my friend Amy for her birthday. She likes quaint old things and that will surely fit the bill.
Talking of which, at the top of the cupboard, put away gently, are some very old garments, There is the long christening robe first worn by great-Uncle Will in the late eighteen-hundreds and by numerous babies since. There are hand made baby clothes, small gowns and tiny bibs and bonnets, heirloom items folded between tissue paper.
My little wedding dress too – little because the waist measures eighteen inches around. It is made of marquisette, a material used as centre curtaining. At WW11’s end when I married my soldier boy I had no coupons which were needed for dress material. However my Aunt’s wedding dress had an elegant train edged with nine-inch wide fine lace and she most generously cut it off for me to use on my wedding dress, so it really did look dainty – and still does.
On a lower shelf are ancient knitting books with complicated patterns for just about everything from baby clothes to gloves, caps, bed-socks and bed jackets. There is even a pattern for knee-warmers. Perhaps I should try that one! Gardening books too. Now they don’t date. Gardening advice is always good if you can find what you are looking for, especially how to deal with bugs and things. Here is a tip on “white fly” – what to do and so on. I’ve never come across a white fly but if I do I’ll just look it up in the book. There is a lot more useful information too, so the books go back, all neatly stacked up.
Then I come across that beautiful length of embroidered broderie anglaise destined to become a summer dress for my little daughter. Well, she’s married now with three lovely sons so no use for that – well, not yet – but there might be a grand-daughter one day!
I put it back, folded with care. It could come in handy.
Special Mention - Lynton Bradford - Anglican Retirement Village Computer Club - Castle Hill
© The Fig Tree
At night it was pitch dark, no electric lights, no neighbours nearby, just the faint, distant sounds of waves crashing endlessly on the rocky shore and on starry nights the black shadow of a huge Fig Tree blotted out half the sky.
These were among my savoured memories of this special place. It had no modern amenities, no electricity, running water, sewerage, telephone, transport of any kind or any of the conveniences which a young boy would expect in the late 1930s. Why then do I retain such fond memories of this home, when the other places were so much more comfortable?
The name “Charlton” was rarely used; letters were addressed simply as “Boat Harbour, Gerringong, NSW”. It was the only house in this depression between the rolling green hills, leading down to Boat Harbour and the nearest houses were almost a kilometre away, perched on the ridges of the hills surrounding this valley.
I lived with my great aunt Grace Watkins, after whom my mother was named. “Charlton” was her family home, built and added to by her father Frederick, as his family of 13 grew. It had never been the subject of any council approvals. In fact there were no councils in the area when this home was started around the mid 1800s. Frederick built many fine structures during his life as a builder in the area, including the Catholic Church, but this house was certainly no fine example of a builder’s skill. There were confusing and varied styles of construction in this wood and corrugated iron house.
The oldest room was the bathroom, but in my time it was never used as such. It was of split slab construction, which had shrunk over the previous 80 years, so that there was now a clear view of the back yard through the gaps. With the lack of privacy and the breezes through the wall, it was the last place to consider taking a bath. We opted for the kitchen, where there was the fuel stove to warm the room and a round galvanised iron tub requiring many trips to the spring some 100 metres away to fill to a depth of about two inches. Two baths a week were considered more than ample considering the effort required.
I spent many happy hours exploring the rocks around the bay close to the house. We considered it our little harbour as few other people came down to it in those days. You could always catch a fish or two to save the long walk to the shops.
My friend Stewart and his sister lived about three kilometres away across the fields and we had many adventures together. We “helped” round up the cows for milking, rode on horses and generally had a great time. I suspect his father may not have considered our help particularly useful.
It was a hard but rewarding life at Boat Harbour. The chores included collecting wood for the big fire places, fowls to feed, eggs to collect and walking up to the town for milk and supplies.
A large mantel radio used a car battery which had to be taken to the local garage about two kilometres away for charging. It was my job to drag it uphill in my billy cart with many stops on the way, then collecting it the next day. Consequently the radio was only used to listen to the news once or twice a week.
The lounge room was heavily curtained and so dark you could not read even in broad daylight. There was an organ with pump pedals which was the only real luxury in the house.
The beds had mattresses of duck feathers, so deep you sank almost from view, a huge mosquito net draped from the steel and brass canopy over the bed head. Each room had its china wash basin and water jug, and of course a potty under the bed.
The dunny pan needed emptying about once a month. A deep hole was dug in the vegetable garden and, to avoid digging it up again there was a plan of rotation. Of course the dunny paper was cut up newspapers or magazines. With luck you could read up on stories by assembling the cut sections while contemplating. However more often than not, essential parts of stories were not to be found.
The original dunny was very fragile after 90 years and was tied to a large peppercorn tree with fencing wire. Unfortunately the peppercorn blew down in a gale and took the dunny with it, so a new one was built.
I had a fox terrier called ‘Tinker’ and we went everywhere together, exploring the rocks and sea shore, also rabbit hunting, but never caught anything as I recall.
My last visit to “Charlton” was shortly before Gwen and I became engaged. The place was much the same and Grace Watkins appeared to be the same aged elderly woman I knew some 12 years earlier.
During this visit, Gwen and I walked some distance out to a headland overlooking the sea. A warm spring rain appeared from nowhere and having no shelter we slowly walked home arm in arm arriving back drenched to the skin.
We changed into clothes retrieved by Aunty Grace from an ancient, huge trunk. I think my trousers and braces probably belonged to my great grandfather.
Another day in this special place which will never be forgotten.
Unfortunately the home is gone now, burnt by squatters after Grace died. Gerringong is now an “in place“. Many houses fill Boat Harbour almost to the waters edge. The only remaining landmark is the great Moreton Bay Fig tree, now some 80 meters across, planted by great grandfather some time in the mid 1800s in the corner of the vegetable garden, no doubt nourished throughout its life by the buried “treasure” in the garden.
Special Mention - Iris Meek - Launceston Computer Group
© The Kitchen Table
Preamble: The year is 1944, WW2 is still in progress, rationing is widespread and life goes on around the kitchen table.
It is still dark when the chief rises from his bed to build the fire and fill the big kettles with water from the tank outside ready for morning use.
Now he sets a breadboard and a large teacup and saucer on me; cuts some thick slices of bread and toasts it in front of the now glowing embers, before dipping most of it in the steaming tea he has brewed so that he can savour it. He then heads to work on his bicycle.
Now the boss comes out from the bedroom, puts a saucepan on me and proceeds to make oatmeal porridge for everyone.
While this cooks she places a cloth on me and sets out china and cutlery, sugar and milk before calling the clan.
They rush to me to eat and drink while the boss cuts lunches at one end of me.
When all is quiet she sits down and rests her elbows on me while she has a soothing cuppa.
Now she takes away the cloth to shake the remains of the meal from it and sets a large tin dish down on me, which she fills with the used dishes and hot water to wash up.
When this task is completed Auntie brings out the baby, so a blanket and large fluffy towel on which is laid a baby bath are placed on top of me. Soon baby is bathed, powdered and dressed and popped into a pram.
Now they scrub me down with a hard brush and sandsoap and when dry, cover me with cooking ingredients ready to make cakes and pastries, which are rolled out on my surface.
Such lovely aromas are coming from the hot kitchen range, some for morning tea!
If it is bottling season I groan under the weight of the preserving pans and dishes and at other times they use me as a sewing bench.
Uncle has brought scrap pieces of material used to line rubber tyres and after it has had the stiffening material soaked out it is washed and dried.
Then a thick cloth is put on me ready for pressing with a flat iron, which has been heated on the “range” or hob. After this cloth is taken away they cut and sew pillowslips, cot sheets and handkerchiefs from the fabric which substitutes for the rationed materials.
Oh! They have packed the machine away and a fresh cloth is covering my nakedness.
Its afternoon tea time (Auntie calls it crib) and happy chattering people sit around me.
The task of shaking, washing up and drying begins all over again before the boss starts preparing vegetables, meat and puddings for dinner.
When they are placed in the various pots and pans, some go into the oven to bake.
Children come home from school with books to cover. Brown paper is spread over me and the books neatly covered with clagged corners to keep them neat.
Now the children can do the sums the teacher has set for homework, while quietly seated on the form between the back wall and me.
When they have finished the boss lays out an old sheet and the silverware from the dresser drawer and asks the children to clean the cutlery with Silvo. When this is done the dish of hot soapy water lands on me again and the traces of polish washed away.
Sometimes the churn is brought in and the children take turns on the handle to change the cream to butter. Then it is washed and patted down, weighed and shaped for use or sale.
When all this is cleaned away I am again dressed for dinner (or tea time as most of the people here refer to the meal).
Once again I am weighed down with cloth, food and china and surrounded by happy, hungry people who love to sit around me reviewing their day.
When all are sated, most go into the lounge (or front room) to relax and listen to the radio, while a few stay behind to clear me of cloth and food and start washing-up all over again.
Later a dish is placed on a towel and grubby little bodies sponged before bedtime.
When all is quiet, the chief brings out the mirror from the big dressing table and props it on top of me. Then he gets his razor and sharpens it on a strop before lathering up to shave.
Next the boss returns from hearing childrens’ prayers to clean up, make supper and by the light of the oil lamp has a quick read of the notices in the paper…hoping for good news of local men at war.
Supper over, washing up done and everything cleared away.
Ah me! Peace at last…..
Section 3: “A Special Place” – Poetry
First Place - Meri Forest - Peel Seniornet Association Inc.
© A Poem in the Small Hours
I grieve for the houses that are no more
My bare feet feel their wooden floors
The rain drums down on old tin rooves
or sweet warm air blows in their eaves
over, gutters filled with eucalypt leaves.
Kids with tangled hair we lay
Side by side with toes outspread
wild guildford grass for our bed
with childish giggles we ate their fruit
while things we invented or schemed
I think of the days when cubby houses and skipping ropes
full occupied all our hopes
I dream of days we climbed up trees
and slid down dunes on hand and knees
skirts tucked into bloomers, hair untied
we splashed through wavelets lacey wide
and shrieked like gulls in the breaker spray.
I pine for the early dancing days
Wild beating hearts and loves first kisses
my sweetheart calling me his Mrs.
of baby hugs then grown sons
and daughters with their own wee ones.
Sadly now all far away
I grieve for the Hearts that beat no more
I hear their laughter through the door
I lie upon the burning sand
and feel the grains slip through my hands
Soon they cry we will all be one
Water sand and burning sun.
Second Place - Anne Parker - U3A Bundaberg
© Mt. Ravenswood Station
Mt Ravenswood Station near Burdekin Dam
Where cattle are roaming over rocks and sand
They graze on dry grass day in and day out
And hope for the rain to end the drought
Young calves are born to scorching day heat
But mothers help nurture the young at their feet
Once muster is on two or three times a year
The yearlings are gone to places far and near
That’s the time Lynn is busy with pots big and small
Cooking new recipes to cater for all
“Old Al” is kept busy with engines on cue
There’s Honda and Lister to name but a few
And then there’s Kubota with diesel in lines
Hard working pistons playing havoc at times
There’s fan belts and spanners up on the wall
In a shed full of stuff all ready at call
Now Alan is happy like a pig in the mud
Continual inspections to nip in the bud
It only happens now and then when Coral comes to call
To check up on the little things keep Alan on the ball
And then there is Gavin right behind to check on everything
But Alan is a step in front to hear all motors sing
There’s a cattle station near Burdekin Dam
Where life is in waiting for the next rain to pour down
The cattle are hardy, the station hands tough
With the measure of rain not nearly enough
The pumps are all working moving water around
From bores way down deep to tanks on the ground
But once the rain comes bringing life to the grass
The scene is transformed to a peaceful place at last.
Third Place - Pamela Taig - Computer Pals for Seniors Epping Inc.
© My Favourite Place
My favourite place is anywhere
I can sit, with dreams
Of many daring story plots
And intriguing themes.
I love to sit and watch the clouds
As they go rolling by.
I wonder where they’re headed for,
And wish that they were I.
I prefer to sit and ponder plots,
In my special chair,
For story plans of mystery
With endings that are rare.
When I was a little child
I had a secret space
Where imagination ran amok
In my special hiding place.
A manhole in my bedroom floor
Concealed behind my bedroom door
Provided just the place to find
Childish adventures of the mind.
My mother never seemed to know
About my secret hidey-hole.
In solitude, I dreamed my dreams,
Acting out each thrilling role.
Sometimes I’d be Maid Marian,
Being brave as Robin Hood,
Unharmed by the Sheriff of Nottingham –
That was always understood.
The hope of finding buried treasure
Was always in my mind.
Surely pirates landed here,
Leaving gold and jewels behind.
Now I’ve grown mature and sage,
Advancing steadily to old age,
A smile still comes to light my face,
Recalling that Special Hiding Place..
Special Mention - Isabel Pauza - Illawarra Computer Enthusiasts
© Friends Beneath the Morning Sun
This is a poem about my little dog – her name is Sophie and she has a special place in my heart. She came into this world on 8 January 2002. She was a ‘rescue dog’ (from Yagoona RSPCA) – surrendered, damaged, terrified and after much treatment, she was about to be given ‘the final solution’ on the Wednesday of the last week in April 2005. By pure accident, she came into my life – I had never wanted a dog: you have to walk them; you have to pick up their pooh; they tie you down. My friend Pat (a vet) brought her from the Yagoona RSPCA for her last ‘outing’ – carrying her, since she could not walk – she had had a severed cruciate ligament which had not responded to treatment –amongst other things. She was terrified of males and shivered – violently – in their presence. During the previous winter I had had a ski accident – I too was suffering from ‘knee problems’. Alexander (my son, who deserves my special thanks), purchased the little dog for me. She may live for 1-3 months I was told; well, it is now August 2009. This is for Sophie – my best, most loyal, and unconditional ‘friend’ who has a very special place in my heart!
Friends Beneath the Morning Sun
Our Special Place
I wandered restlessly, on these bright and sunny days
I longed and wished for family - but all had gone their separate ways
To places afar with new-found friends ...
So far away at the world’s ends.
And then I saw a movement from the corner of my eye
And round the corner of the house ... beneath that sunny April sky
My friend, a vet, she had arrived and cradled in her arm
Was a furry little animal – not the kind that people harm!
But that small and shivering dog was a sight that made me weep
The big brown eyes, the small sweet face – this dog, I want to keep.
This little dog – she looked at me with such longing in her eyes
Her little body ached - with pain - as she tried to rise.
She’ll only live a month or two – she’s really sick you know
She cannot walk, she is in pain, has to be carried wherever you go.
So I bought her a basket, a soft cushion too
And each morning together off to work we would go.
Now four years have passed and we’re still best of friends
She can walk, she can run ... and can she defend!
We are so happy - we are so content
With the days, months and years that together we’ve spent.
There is only one cloud in that big bright blue sky
One thing that I think of in bed as I lie
And often my heart is so full of fear ...
What if ??? What will happen to Sophie – to the one who’s so dear ...
But then comes the morning ... a new day’s begun
And still we are together ... beneath the morning sun!
This week we received a news bulletin on behalf of Media Access Australia (MAA) and the Australian Seniors Computer Clubs Association (ASCCA) who, together, have launched a new manual with low-cost solutions to help Australian seniors with disabilities enjoy computers and the Internet.
The gradual onset of disabilities is a common part of ageing, and many seniors experience gradual loss of hearing, vision or mobility. Whilst seniors are the fastest-growing demographic on the Internet, going online can often provide challenges to seniors with disabilities.
There are specialist solutions, however these often tend to be expensive or complicated, and provide limited value to someone with a mild loss. The new manual, entitled, Accessibility features in Windows and Web browsers addresses the computer challenges many seniors encounter, by providing simple solutions in an easy-to-understand format.
The manual tailors instructions to different disability needs and clearly identifies which Windows and web browser tools are best suited to which disability. Links to additional resources such as free screen reading software are provided, and it details some of the new and significant accessibility features in the forthcoming Windows 7 operating system.
You can find out further details by visiting the ASCCA website
Media Access Australia (MAA) is a not-for-profit, public benevolent institution providing information about technological solutions to media access issues, and promoting increased usage of these solutions for people with disabilities.
Funding for the creation of the manual was provided by the Ian Potter Foundation.
Computer viruses are scary to us all. This issue, Tony Lenn of ASCCA answers YOURLifeChoices subscriber Bill H’s question about Trojan Horse Virus.
Q. Having trouble with a trojan horse virus called GENERAIC9.XLD. This virus keeps appearing every time I turn on my computer. I’ve run avg to get rid of it but it still keeps coming back. Being a senior I am completely at loss as to a solution. I am hoping your computer expert can help me out with the problem.
A. Fortunately I have not had Bill’s problem, but by doing a little web searching I found a number of ways to get rid of viruses, many of which required the download, registration and purchase of software. Also looking at a notice board I found the following text, which is reputed to work with AVG anti-virus software that Bill says he already has installed.
Answer by e.patterson Submitted on 4/6/2004:
You should not need to reformat. Firstly you should download AVG’s free antivirus. Its at grisoft. Next, if you have windows m.e it is quite easy to get rid of the trojan horses. Run AVG and it will heal ALMOST all the files. You will then be left with a file of the trojan (or several files depending on which it is) in your restore file. Make a note of the numbers that AVG comes up with these will be cpy files. Then you will need to unhide all hidden files. This will result in showing your restore file DO NOT DELETE THIS FILE. Next right click my computer, then right click properties and click the performance tab. At the bottom of that page, click the file system tab and on the next page click troubleshooting. Then on the final page find the disable restore file and check the box and click apply. You will then need to restart your computer. It might start in safe mode but usually M.E starts straight up. Before looking for the files by hand, open my computer then open c drive and right click on the restore file you will be presented with a chance to scan again with AVG. Do this and you will probably find the trojan has automatically been deleted, if not you will have to search for the files by hand and delete them. This sounds like a lot of work but it only takes about five mins from start to finish once you have AVG installed. I get trojans as regular as clockwork and find this is as easy a way as any to get rid of them again. For other malware I suggest ‘spybot’ search and destroy 1.2. This gets rid of spyware and also CWShredder for any other annoying little problems. All three can safely be run side by side and all are free for home users. Hope this helps some of you at least.
The website this information came from is: http://www.faqs.org/qa/qa-11503.html
Q. I wish to change from a computer running Windows 98 to one running Microsoft XP.
What would be transferable and how should it be done?
A. Unfortunately, you can’t go from Windows 98 to XP. You are going to need a new computer. It’s a good idea to get a computer set up with Windows Vista Premium. Most Windows 98 software will not work on Windows XP or Vista and remember all or some of your hardware may not work on XP or Vista.
This week in our technology section, Tony Lenn from the Australian Seniors Computer Clubs Association (ASCCA) answers Bob’s question about Outlook Express shutdown.
Q. Bob
I am having trouble with my Outlook Express connection. Over the last few weeks I am being instantly disconnected as soon as I click on the Outlook icon.
The Outlook window appears and then it disconnects. I am using Windows 98 and Optusnet as my ISP connections. Several phone calls to the Optusnet helpline has not solved the problem. And another problem – many e-mails have pictures attached but all that appears when opened is a red cross in a small box in the top left hand side inside the frame. Any suggestions please?
A. It sounds as if you are using dial up access to the internet. The first thing to check is the ‘options’ under the ‘tools’ menu. There is an option under ‘connections’ where Outlook Express hangs up after receiving messages. If there are no messages then Outlook will hang up soon after it is connected. The second problem may also be a setting in the options. There is an option in the Security tab to ‘block images and other external content in html e-mail’.
Hope this helps, Tony Lenn.
This week, the Australian Seniors Computer Clubs Association (ASCCA) answers your questions on the simplest and most complex computer issues: a flickering monitor and how to create a website.
Q. Heather
I have a problem with a new PC: the screen flickers and periodically goes blank. Hope you can help?
A. The problem could be with the monitor’s power supply or the video card in the PC. I suggest that you run the following tests so that you will be able to work out just which unit has the problem.
Test one: put the monitor onto another PC. If the problem is still there, I would suspect the power supply in the monitor has an intermittent fault.
Answer: Get the monitor fixed or get a new one. If your PC is new, it is likely that your monitor is still under warranty. Perhaps check that first!
Test two: if the problem goes away, the fault is most likely the video card in the PC. If this proves to be the problem, change the video card, it’s the cheapest fix.
Q. I am 60 years old and still working. I’d like to learn some details about website building, particularly ecommerce, autoresponders, inserting ‘email a friend feature’, customer databases, bulk emails, shopping cart etc. I am prepared to pay some money to learn these, if requested. I live in West Ryde, NSW.
A. Creating a website is a very satisfying project, whether for commercial purposes, for sharing your hobby or your family pictures on a site with a password.
There are a myriad ways to gain the skills required – from using a template from the web to building an interactive site for a club membership database or to sell products or services.
Some computer clubs for seniors have special interest groups for web-builders, but most clubs do not run courses in web design. Some clubs may hold irregular courses in basic html code, so it is worth asking the question. Go to the Australian Seniors Computer Clubs Association member clubs page at www.seniorcomputing.org/members.html to find clubs near you.
Getting together to solve problems in web-building can be very productive, because often a problem shared is a problem solved. But generally, formal web-building courses are run through TAFE (diplomas and certificates), WEA, CAE or other community colleges and mostly at weekends or evenings. Courses start from basic code editing to complex courses in e-commerce.
Generally a web-hosting service will offer its subscribers a range of code for auto-responders and counters, computer data bases and other features for e-commerce, and you should explore these when researching a suitable web host.
There are many excellent internet sites which provide source code for specific purposes, and tutorials which show you step-by-step how to do it. For example, simply type ‘Auto-responders + tutorials + source code’ into Google, and you will find plenty of leads. You can cut and paste examples into your own work.
There are also many easy to understand and friendly tutorials on html – or xhtml – and cascading style sheets – the building blocks of web design. Templates also abound on the internet. Many of these are available for free and you can also download open source web editors. Look for web editors and templates which provide accessible features and meet the international standards of the World Wide Web Consortium (W3C).
Local bookstores such as Dymocks or Angus & Robertson also carry a range of books on these topics.
I personally like the following sites:
www.webaim.org
www.sitepoint.com
www.oswd.org
www.useit.com
Whatever you do, make sure the design is flexible enough to be viewed in a range of font sizes and that colour contrast is adequate. This can easily be achieved by using cascading style sheets to underpin your design.
As you can see, there is no easy answer to learning web design. It is important to have a thorough understanding of the basics of xhtml (the update of html, which is not adequate for building dynamic databases) and cascading style sheets. Your other important resource is time and effort – time to research, experiment and test your designs and effort in self-learning.
Peter Stanhope, Training Officer at the Australian Seniors Computer Clubs Association (ASCCA) answers this tricky question about how best to fix a CD ROM.
Q. Dee
My CD Rom drive will not read the discs. I am running XP (came pre-installed on my 2002 machine). The problem started last year and after much chatting with the nice support people at HP, I still have the same problem. I have updated the registries, made sure that the CD drive was showing in the BIOS, reseated the IDE cables and probably more than I can remember at this point. Device manager is showing that the device is ‘working properly’; however, when I insert either data or music discs, the system doesn’t respond. The drive door opens though. Any suggestions would be appreciated.
A. By coincidence, I have had a similar problem to the one you describe. The drive would spin, the busy light would come on, but the CD drive could not read the disk. My problem turned out to be a faulty laser light, so the drive would not read the disk. Because computer technicians commonly charge $75–$100 per hour, I found it was cheaper to replace the drive than to have it repaired. Since you appear to have no problem opening up your computer and getting into the internals, you too will find it cheaper to replace your CD or DVD drive than to have it repaired.
You should be aware that it’s very difficult to buy a new CD drive these days, as they are no longer manufactured. DVD drives are backwards compatible with CDs and are just as cheap. I have seen new DVD drives as low as $22 in the markets, but shop prices are more like $32–$40.
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