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How an inspired moment led to a creative new path after retirement

<p>Seventy-year-old Bruce Blomfield is an inspirational character who decided to pursue his passion for yoga when he retired. Here 54-year-old yoga instructor, Tracy Adshead, interviews Bruce about his story and why he thinks that yoga offers something for everyone.</p> <p><strong>Tracy:</strong> How did it all start?</p> <p><strong>Bruce:</strong> When I decided to retire in 2014, I joined a yoga group on a trip to Nepal, where we assisted with resource development in a remote village and also practiced yoga with the spectacular Himalayas as a backdrop. Our yoga teacher on the trip was very enthusiastic about the success she was having with her chair yoga classes for seniors in her Australian hometown. This got me thinking – maybe this was something I could work toward as a retirement pursuit and offer as a service to other seniors in my community.</p> <p><strong>Tracy: </strong>As someone over 60 were there any particular challenges to completing the teacher training?</p> <p><strong>Bruce:</strong> I had a ‘mid-life crisis’ about 20 years ago and changed career direction, this entailed quite a bit of academic study which I thrived on. However, when I launched into the academic content of the yoga teacher training, along with the physical and emotional challenges, the brain took some ‘serious encouragement’ to take up the challenge; bit of a wake-up call. My brain believed it had been pensioned off!</p> <p>Anything worthwhile requires effort and the teacher-training programme certainly endorsed this! Squatting on the floor for long periods with my old bones was interesting and it quickly forced my brain and body out of retirement mode. Physical, mental/academic and emotional challenges meant I had to dig deep but the rewards have been enriching in every way – new friendships, a renewed personal commitment and confidence.</p> <p>What I experienced was an ongoing ‘tension’ between challenging myself with new mental, emotional and physical tasks whilst at the same time needing to offer myself, and my body forgiveness, along with a lot of self-love, when some parts were out of reach!</p> <p><strong>Tracy: </strong>Have your experiences of teaching or practicing yoga changed your view of ageing at all?</p> <p><strong>Bruce:</strong> I took up yoga about 14 years ago largely due to injuries from a 30+ year farming career – including a hip replacement. As I age and my yoga journey progresses, I gain great confidence and solace from the physical and mental benefits that yoga provides me with. Yoga offers something for everyone – there is no need to vegetate due to restricted mobility, or some form of physical incapacitation. I believe now that ageing does require you to maintain a certain non-judgemental demeanour about yourself as you stumble through.</p> <p><strong>Tracy:</strong> What advice would you offer anyone approaching retirement about pursuing a new venture?</p> <p><strong>Bruce:</strong> Probably for the first time in your life you can really ‘go with the flow’ – if you have a passion for something - give it a shot. Whether it works or not the experience is a huge growth curve – you learn so much about yourself. Maintain self-love it will bring you contentment, as I mentioned - anything worthwhile requires effort! Take a deep breath and give it a go.</p> <p><strong>Tracy:</strong> What are you up to when you're not teaching yoga?</p> <p><strong>Bruce:</strong> My wife and I have three children and six grandchildren who are a big part of our lives. We like to travel each year and spend time with friends. I also read, swim and have a gym routine which I practice on a regular basis. And of course now I’m very involved in my community teaching Chair Yoga at our local retirement village. I’m not sure who motivates who – but we have a blast during these classes!</p> <p><em>Images: Getty</em></p>

Retirement Life

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How my past shapes who I am today

<p><em><strong>Margaret Cunningham, 61, is “semi-retired” from her role in digital communications. She is a hobby writer who particularly enjoys writing articles with a reflective viewpoint. A lifelong passion of health and fitness means she is known in her community as “that lady who runs”.</strong></em></p> <p>When I first started In Hindsight I never considered the unravelling effect the series would have on my own life. The first eight chapters are glimpses of my life as an adult – moments of hindsight discovered through my adult experiences. To delve back any further seemed rather pointless. It never occurred to me I would need to fossick back into “the past”. But our past, even though it is no longer real, does influence who we are today. It cannot be ignored because it most definitely has impact on the present. Our reactions and emotions, our relationships with others and, more importantly, the relationship we have with ourselves are all shaped from the tendrils of our past.</p> <p>Circumstances can sometimes be a determining influence on relationships. They were for me. Sadly, I’ve never been “in love”.  And I do feel poorer because of this. The fizz-pop flutters in the stomach, the sweet murmurs that caress each breath, and when nothing else matters – you love your love, as much as love itself, has eluded me. What a wonderful precursor, albeit brief in the context of love, to herald in loves journey. So just as I was about to write an article on relationships and staying true to yourself things started to unravel, and I invited the past to visit my present.</p> <p>The truth is, I have always struggled with intimate relationships. I find them quite claustrophobic. Panic, discontentment, low self-esteem and guilt have always resided with me in my relationships. This is my norm, so it doesn’t feel abnormal. I have survived 61 years like this. But writing this series has caught me out. Is ‘surviving’ being true to myself?  And so, the unravelling began.</p> <p>Understanding the past and dwelling on the past are not the same. Understanding is liberating. Dwelling is debilitating. If you deny or ignore the importance the past has on the present you will always dwell there, especially in the areas of self-esteem, communication and conflict. My parents truly did their best for us. Always a warm bed, three meals a day and they worked hard. What I have ignored though is that there were some significant events that have deeply affected me. It astounds me to think I never considered the influence these events and moments would have on any future relationships.<br /> <br /> Understanding is truly liberating. In understanding there is no blame, no excuses and no regrets. It’s accepting and acknowledging that certain positive or negative events in the past did occur and have contributed to who you are today. Once you connect your past with the present, the intensity or control the past has on your life drops away. It is much easier to change the negative aspects of your behavior when you understand them. <br /> Sometimes you must undo the past to heal the present. In one of my previous articles, <strong><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><a href="https://www.oversixty.com.au/lifestyle/relationships/2016/11/margaret-cunningham-on-what-makes-a-marriage-last/">Love in three minutes</a></span></strong> I wrote of the great paradox between love and commitment and explained that while commitment has everything to do with togetherness, love is about letting one another other go. One a journey of togetherness, the doing part, the other a journey of self, the being part. Thinking my past didn’t matter, or telling myself my past isn’t who I am now, set the scene for decades of ignorance towards my own journey of self. It has affected every relationship I have experienced. Your past does shape who you are and it is an important part of your life story.</p> <p>The shackles of guilt, discontentment, confusion and low self-esteem no longer govern my present and future. But the past is as much my story, as is my story of today. I love my parents, and the events that have shaped me, more than ever. And I am beginning to love me, the journey of self, the being part, of which I think I shall always be a perpetual student. William P Young, author of the bestselling novel, The Shack, says, “…the world has no meaning apart from relationships. Some are messier, some are seasonal, others different, a few are easy, but every one of them are important.”</p> <p>We alone are responsible for having the relationship we want. And I believe the relationship you have with yourself to be the most important.</p> <p>If you are struggling with relationship issues, don’t settle for “that’s just how I am, I can’t do anything about it”, take a trip down memory lane. Dig deep and understand the experiences that have shaped you... the good and bad. Joy and fulfillment can only be experienced in the present – don’t let the past deny you of this.</p> <p><strong><em>Read Margaret’s past articles <a href="http://www.oversixty.com.au/lifestyle/family-pets/2016/09/margaret-cunningham-on-the-harm-of-parents-fighting-on-children/"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">here</span></a>, <a href="http://www.oversixty.com.au/health/mind/2017/01/margaret-cunningham-on-time-to-do-nothing/"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">here</span></a>, and <a href="https://www.oversixty.com.au/health/mind/2016/12/margaret-cunningham-on-fear/"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">here</span></a>. </em></strong></p>

Mind

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A humorous poem about ageing

<p><em><strong>Lynn Fowler can’t remember a time she didn’t write. As a Christian minister, much of her writing has been Christian non-fiction and poetry. She’s recently ventured into fiction and released her first general market novel.</strong></em></p> <p style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Growing old (dis)gracefully</span><br /> <br /> Youth says age<br /> should be discreet<br /> soft and gentle<br /> and ever so sweet<br /> <br /> should dress in a manner<br /> that befits our days<br /> featuring mostly<br /> dark blues and greys<br /> <br /> should potter in garden<br /> or else in the house<br /> and when out in public<br /> be quiet as a mouse<br /> <br /> and never, never<br /> make a fuss<br /> “today” is all about<br /> them, not us.<br /> <br /> Well, I've news for you, Darling,<br /> and none of it's good:<br /> and don't answer back<br /> 'cause I'm not in the mood.<br /> <br /> I intend to keep being<br /> sassy and loud<br /> I don't need to be<br /> approved by the crowd.<br /> <br /> I intend to keep speaking<br /> my mind when I care<br /> I intend to keep fighting<br /> for what's right and fair.<br /> <br /> I intend to keep dancing<br /> to music that's cool:<br /> I couldn't care less<br /> who thinks me a fool.<br /> <br /> I plan to keep talking<br /> to strangers on trains<br /> and jumping in puddles<br /> whenever it rains<br /> <br /> and to keep running<br /> through grass that is long<br /> and flying a kite<br /> and singing a song;<br /> <br /> swinging on branches<br /> playing in sand<br /> and spending some days<br /> without anything planned.<br /> <br /> I plan to keep traveling<br /> and seeing new places<br /> experiencing life<br /> with all kinds of races.<br /> <br /> I want to ride rapids<br /> and fly a balloon -<br /> give me half a chance<br /> and I'll fly to the moon.<br /> <br /> I want to keep learning,<br /> expanding my mind,<br /> I've experienced much<br /> but there's much more to find.<br /> <br /> I might learn to juggle<br /> or speak Cantonese,<br /> but whatever I do<br /> will be just what I please.<br /> <br /> I'm going to keep wearing<br /> purple and green<br /> I don't care if those colors<br /> should never be seen<br /> <br /> with bright red and yellow<br /> and orange and blue -<br /> I might throw a splash<br /> of magenta in, too.<br /> <br /> I'll make no apology<br /> for what I say:<br /> my “use by date”<br /> is still far, far away.<br /> <br /> So don't let me hear you<br /> “Oh Grandma!”-ing me:<br /> I've waited a lifetime<br /> to become this free.</p> <p><em>Lynn’s short general writing can be found <strong><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><a href="https://niume.com/profile/50152#!/posts">here</a></span></strong> and her books <strong><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><a href="http://birdcatcherbooks.com/">here</a></span></strong>.</em></p> <p><em>*Picture is a stock image and not of Lynn Fowler. </em></p> <p><strong><em>Do you have a story to share? Share your story with the Over60 community <span style="text-decoration: underline;"><a href="http://www.oversixty.com.au/community/contributor/community-contributor/">today</a></span>. </em></strong></p>

Retirement Life

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What I learnt from my late-night emergency visit to hospital

<p><em><strong>Rosie Hersch, 68, is a retired pharmacist, whose hobbies include studying, cooking and theatre. Her biggest passion is travel and like the song says, “I've been everywhere man (well almost).”</strong></em></p> <p>We’ve all had that déjà vu feeling and this was my latest. There I was one early evening in January watching a WWII film, the award-winning <em>The Pianist</em>. The Germans were firing at the resistance fighters in the Warsaw ghetto and the resistance fighters were valiantly holding the fort with weapons that had been smuggled into the ghetto that were really no match for the Nazi fire power. People were being shot at close range, blood was spurting everywhere when suddenly I noticed a trickle down my face. Soon that became a pouring torrent gushing from my nose. I yelled to my husband Peter to get me a cloth with ice, struggling to speak as blood was also pouring down the back of my throat. With the background noise of grenade blasts and machine gun firing coming from the television for a split second I was in another place, a surreal world and a thought flashed through my mind that this was not happening. The blood did not stop streaming from my face and 15 minutes later Peter knew he had to call an ambulance. I have heard many stories of ambulances not coming for hours but my guys arrived within seven minutes. They took one look at this blood soaked woman and said, “Right you are going to Cabrini Hospital,” which is fortunately only two kilometres from home.</p> <p>I have never been in an ambulance so the ride to the hospital felt like a dream. The bleeding had become so much more intense that when we arrived at emergency the ambos demanded I be seen straight away. I never did get to thank these guys. They were so professional, sympathetically reassuring and respectful, not to mention very handsome.</p> <p>A lovely looking young doctor, probably the same age as my youngest son-in-law and with very similar looks, came immediately to my aid. Though I was extremely stressed and anxious I still had the usual “Rosie inquisitive pharmacy trait” to ask 20 questions of the doctor. “Where did you study medicine?” was question number one. Of course my voice was rather muffled as I was holding a blood soaked gauze, squeezing the bridge of my nose as instructed and gagging on the blood sliding down the back of my throat.</p> <p>He told me he studied in Scotland. This intrigued me as he had no Scottish accent. “Just a minute,” I said, “Where is your accent?” “My hometown is in England,” he replied with a smile and a wink.</p> <p>While he was spraying local anaesthetic into my nostrils, using tongs to widen the opening so he could see where to cortarise the burst vessels a nurse tried in vain (pun intended) to get a blood sample from a vein on the top of my right hand. “Oh no,” she said “I have collapsed the vein and have to try somewhere else.” My hand blew up immediately into a bubbly bruise which will take weeks to correct itself.</p> <p>Meanwhile the local anaesthetic hit the back of my throat as if it was not bad enough drowning in blood I now had this acrid foul taste in my mouth. Doc was then coming at me with a silver nitrate stick to burn and fuse the broken capilleries. Meanwhile nurse ratchet was poking the inside of my right elbow as if I was a pin cushion. Doc Drew saw what a mess she was making so when she had drawn only some blood he said, “That will be enough”, to which she replied, “but you wanted for more other samples?” He thankfully said, looking into my eyes, “That will do nurse.” Thank God, I thought.</p> <p>So Dr Drew instilled the silver nitrate stick. Not only did it not stop the bleeding, I had a stinging feeling from my eye tooth right up my cheek and the blood was now all over the white hospital gown and the doctor. This procedure had to be done twice more before the bleeding stopped. I had lost a considerable amount of blood. And if that wasn’t enough the doctor then said I need to insert an IV drip needle into the other inside elbow because if bleeding reoccurs we can quickly connect a drip containing adrenaline to cause vasoconstriction. Gratefully he was not going to leave that procedure to the nurse. As he put the needle in I could feel blood trickling down my arm and felt him wipe it off. So there I now was a little calmer with a few pinholes in my body and having been changed twice out of blood stained hospital gowns.</p> <p>It was now 9.30 pm, and I was told I was being admitted to a ward overnight for observation. At 1.15am I was finally wheeled out of the bright lights of emergency, far away from the woman in the next cubicle who had been vomiting and dry retching all night and a couple of children distressed and crying. Their suffering made me quite upset. We arrived at 1 North to be greeted by this very tall skinny black guy and in the dark the whites of his eyes glowed. Again as he took my obs I queried him on where he had come from. He was well spoken and quite amazing looking and said Sudan.</p> <p>I tried to sleep but of course there were the usual disturbances from other patients in this four bed ward. Then there were the bright lights in the hallway, the distant sounds of patient buzzers going off intermittently, the nurses taking our obs, and of course those wonderfully comfortable hospital beds where one slips and slides on crisp white sheets, and lumpy pillows.</p> <p>The next morning 7am came and the joint was jumping. First off the rank a new set of obs taken, followed by the water ladies bringing fresh jugs and glasses, followed by the cleaners, followed by the lady wheeling in a computer on a stand taking meal orders, followed by someone delivering newspapers, followed by a man making up the beds, followed by the delivery of brekki, then someone else with the coffee made in the corridor on an actual espresso machine that she wheeled along on another stand (it was great coffee by the way). This was followed shortly after by another woman wanting my morning tea order and finally a woman handing out cards for those seeking the wisdom and comfort of a religious person, in my case a visit from a Rabbi or some other learned orthodox person. It was only 8.30am. Then there was the constant stream of physiotherapists, doctors and specialists visiting the ward including my physician and haematologist and later a gorgeous ENT specialist giving me instruction on what to do in the event of another occurrence. No wonder hospitals like Cabrini are the most expensive in this country.</p> <p>While waiting for Peter to pick me up at my discharged time of 2pm I pondered the fact of how lucky I am that I can afford private insurance and the silver service of this hospital. Sure beats a public hospital and I realised two things from this experience, firstly how life can change in a split second and secondly how lucky I am to have such a caring supportive husband and family, the fabric of a most fortunate a life.</p> <p><em><strong>Do you have a story to share? Share your story with the Over60 community <a href="http://www.oversixty.com.au/community/contributor/community-contributor/"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">today</span></a>. </strong></em></p>

Caring

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If you had 30 minutes, what would you save from your house?

<p><em><strong><img width="120" height="139" src="https://oversixtydev.blob.core.windows.net/media/34951/ray-kay-thomas_120x139.jpg" alt="Ray &amp; Kay Thomas" style="float: left;"/>Ray Thomas left his family farm in South Australia when he was in his 20s and moved to New Zealand. He has always loved writing short stories and watching sport. He married an amazing woman 16 years ago and they both retired three years ago. They love family life, travelling, spending time in their large garden and fostering young children.</strong></em> </p> <p>In recent years, for whatever reason, there seems to be an increasing number of natural disasters throughout the world. Disasters such as flooding, tornadoes, hurricanes, earthquakes, tsunamis, and volcanoes suddenly erupting, to name but a few of the disasters experienced in various overseas countries, particularly North America and Europe.</p> <p>Fortunately, here in New Zealand we rarely have to face the possibility of leaving our homes at short notice, so the full impact of how we would respond to such an emergency has never been seriously thought about or discussed, certainly between my wife and me.</p> <p>Yes, we have had earthquakes, and whilst they have been devastating with loss of life and damage to buildings and the country’s infrastructure, this type of disaster is a little different, as no one knew when they were about to happen and did not have “30 minutes…”</p> <p>Recently our papers and television have been dominated with the unusually high, record temperatures in many towns and cities of our neighbours “across the ditch”. Whilst we sympathised with them and tried to imagine what it must be like trying to survive in temperatures daily between 40-45 degrees, what was to follow, was far worse, namely bushfires.</p> <p>Having spent my younger years in rural Australia, even at a young age, we were taught and instructed about fire safety, so that during the hotter, dryer months of the year, we automatically knew what to do, but more importantly, what not to do.</p> <p>My father was the local rural fire chief, and in my early teenage years I went with him on numerous local fires and helped where I could. The farmland was always flat and almost totally devoid of trees, and caused very little damage apart from fencing and in a few instances some sheep were lost. At no stage were houses or lives threatened so nobody was ever faced with “if they had 30 minutes…” to evacuate.</p> <p>Twice I have returned to Aussie and visited family after devastating bushfires. One was in Victoria and the other where a number of fires took hold in various parts of my home state of South Australia, in the same day.</p> <p>What struck me the most was the absolute and total destruction of everything in the path of the bushfire. The loss of homes, sheds, business properties, all forms of livestock, from domesticated farm animals to native animals that lived in the bush. Beyond that however was the dreadful loss of human life.</p> <p>How those people must have felt and reacted when told by authorities they had 30 minutes to pack their belongings and evacuate?</p> <p>Several years later, when I returned to some of those areas that had been totally devastated, it was like entering a new world. Trees, shrubs, bushes and vegetation in general had regenerated and were lush and green. Some trees still bore the black scaring, as if to remind us what they had experienced but survived. The animals, both big and small had also returned, because not only was the bush home to humans, it was also home to them as well. New homes had been built among the ruins, a new start and a new life for everything and everybody.</p> <p>I really had to look hard to find maybe an old rusty, burnt-out water tank or farm implement that showed signs that a fire had once caused so much death and destruction.</p> <p>Last year, there were fires again in my home state, only these were a little different and much more personal, as they got within 5kms of our family farm I spent my first 17 years on. Many former neighbours and friends still live in the same district, and most of them lost everything, their houses, farms, machinery and livestock.</p> <p>How did they react when told they had 30 minutes to evacuate?</p> <p>A small town, about 10kms where we once shopped, was the centre of the local district, where most of us played various kinds of sport, completely burnt out including the local lawn bowling club, where both of my parents were local and district champions for a number of years, total and absolute devastation.</p> <p>This brings me back to the dreadful fires in eastern Australia.</p> <p>We were shown, the emotional, heart-warming sight of people returning to the burnt-out shells of their former homes. They had returned, but to what and what did the future hold for these people, most of whom were elderly, and how will they cope both emotionally and physically?</p> <p>Recently we had the fires in North Island. Starting to get a little close for comfort now and starting to make us think about what we would do if we had just 30 minutes to leave.</p> <p>Now, we have the bushfires overlooking the city of Christchurch, and burning in some of the most affluent parts of the city, and adjacent parks and beautiful surrounding hilly countryside.</p> <p>We live about 50 minutes away from the city on a rural, lifestyle block, but can clearly see the smoke and haze from our property.</p> <p>Late last night, we were advised that an elderly, family couple had to be evacuated at short notice. They are both very frail and not in good health. They hurriedly packed their bags, and waited for other family members to pick them up and take them to safety. In the short time they had before leaving, what was important to them, and what did they pack?</p> <p>At this stage it is not known if they will have a home to return to.</p> <p>This brings me to the point of this story, which my wife and I discussed last night after hearing about her sister and her husband.</p> <p>We are surrounded by farm land which at this time of year is typically brown and dry, and given the correct conditions would easily carry a fire. Yes, in many instances we have green, irrigated paddocks scattered around the district but would that guarantee us safety, in the event of a disastrous fire?</p> <p>How would we react and what would WE do if emergency authorities informed us we had 30 minutes to pack up and evacuate our home?</p> <p>I would like to think we would try to stay calm and not panic, but I think that would be difficult, due to the situation we were faced with.</p> <p>In this situation, I would imagine those people deeply religious/spiritual would certainly pray and grab Bibles and other objects of religious importance to them, first of all.</p> <p>Knowing my wife, I’m certain she would be praying and then grab her Bible from her bedside cabinet, and then a photo of her late husband which sits on top of that, right beside her. From there, as we discussed, she would grab our passports and all important business papers, before hurriedly gathering as many clothes as possible.</p> <p>What would I do if I had 30 minutes?</p> <p>Trying to remain calm would be extremely difficult for me personally, but firstly I would try to grab my computer, watch and wallet. Then I would go outside and try to rescue our very spoilt cat, before rushing inside and gathering up as many clothes as possible, and then with time and room permitting would attempt to save precious photos and photo albums.</p> <p>Where we would go, I have no idea, as it would depend on the direction of the wind.</p> <p>We have a close support network of both family and friends, so I’m sure we would be ok, certainly in the short term.</p> <p>If our property was destroyed, and we lost everything, I’m not sure how we would cope, but I sense my wife would be able to deal with the situation better than me.</p> <p>Providing we still had each other that would be the most important. Certainly our lives would never be the same, and we would never forget the time when we had 30 minutes.</p> <p>If you had 30 minutes to grab what’s most important to you, what would you save? Share your thoughts in the comments below. </p> <p><em>Do you have a story to share? Share your story with the Over60 community <a href="http://www.oversixty.com.au/community/contributor/community-contributor/" target="_blank"><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><strong>here</strong></span></a>.</em></p>

Insurance

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How not to get published

<p><em><strong>Jenny England lives on the Northern Beaches of Sydney, enjoying a very relaxed lifestyle in retirement with her long-time partner and spoilt cat. Over the years she has worked as a community worker, part-time journalist for a local paper, as well as publishing countless articles in a variety of magazines and a number of sci-fi children’s stories.</strong></em></p> <p>I often wake up with a great idea. One great idea that was to change the course of my life for many years occurred to me one morning in 1986. I was, at the time, a predominantly stay-at-home mum with two young children. Nurturing a passion for woodwork I had been designing and making wooden toys, at first for my own children and then to sell, as a means of making a little extra household cash and to subsidise my hobby.</p> <p>During the preceding few years there had been a substantial resurgence of interest in all things handmade. I was not having much difficulty selling my wooden toys but what I noticed while I was getting it all together, was a general lack of information on marketing and selling handmade products.</p> <p>So, on this particular morning in 1986, my great idea was to write a series of articles, based on my experience, on craft marketing for a new craft magazine. I eagerly contacted the editor and to my surprise he didn’t want the articles – he wanted a book!<br /> “A book,” I exclaimed, “you want a book?” </p> <p>I had never written a book before but he reassured me it would not be difficult. It was no more than writing the articles and putting them all together – in around 40,000 words.<br /> I duly signed a contract and set about writing the book. Not too difficult, the editor had said. Well, it was difficult, particularly with two young children and I wrote, edited and re-edited until I was starting to go a little crazy. However, about six months later, with some illustrations from my aunt, it was done.</p> <p>The day it was published, I was presented with one copy of Craft for Cash and the sobering news that the publishers had gone into liquidation. Heavens above, I thought, what does that mean? I soon found out that all 3,000 copies were at the printers, their bill unpaid. To make matters worse, the craft magazine was sold, along will all the copies of my book to another publisher. The only saving grace was that the copyright immediately reverted back to me but there was to be no royalties. Bummer!</p> <p>Chapter Two of this sad saga began about a year later when I was contacted another publisher interested in re-publishing the book. <br /> “No”, I said emphatically, during the first phone call, “Never again!”</p> <p>After a number of phone calls, I was convinced to have a meeting with them, against my better judgement. The meeting must have been successful because, I left, not just with a contract to re-write my first book, but also with a contract to compile a book of wooden toy plans.</p> <p>So, once again, the work began and in six months or so, the craft marketing book, now called The Art of Selling Craft in Australia, now adorned with my own illustrations, was complete.</p> <p>Everything went smoothly for a year or so and I watched The Art of Selling Craft selling like crazy while I put together my wooden toy book. The photography was planned for the following day, when I got a phone call from the editor telling me that it had been cancelled and that they had gone into liquidation. Not again! I couldn’t believe it: royalties were owed and my wooden toy book, cancelled. I sat for a moment and reflected on all the work I had put in. Never again!</p> <p>Eventually the publishing company was sold and The Art of Selling Craft was back on bookshelves all around the country. I started receiving royalties and PLR and ELR payments which continued for another 20 years. And, in spite of all these setbacks I went on to have a few more great ideas and write for a number of magazines with lots of success.</p> <p><em><strong>Do you have a story to share? Share your story with the Over60 community <a href="http://www.oversixty.com.au/community/contributor/community-contributor/" target="_blank">here</a>. </strong></em></p>

Books

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Delving into my proud heritage

<p class="Standard"><em><strong>Robyn Lee is in her 70s and lives with two lovable but naughty cats. She has published a book on seniors behaving badly, entitled Old Age and Villainy, and considers herself an expert on the subject. </strong></em> </p> <p class="Standard"><span>My maternal Maori ancestors were a murderous lot; kidnapping and slavery with a fair sprinkling of plunder, pillage and cannibalistic feasts being among the skeletons rattling around in the family closet. In fact, my grandmother used to tell us that the pakeha (white man) was called long pig because he tasted like pork. I asked her once how she knew… and she just laughed. I’ve since had my suspicions about her!</span></p> <p class="Standard"><span>On the other hand, my paternal Irish antecedents were law-abiding ship builders from Dublin, rather tame by comparison. Although, with Ireland’s tumultuous past, there are probably some dubious stories to be unearthed, if one decided to do some digging.</span></p> <p class="Standard"><span>My family can trace our Maori ancestry back to the 16th century, long after the time of the legendary Great Migration (supposedly circa 300 BC), when enormous sea-going canoes containing intrepid warriors and their families left their homeland of Hawaiki and, using the stars and sun as their guides, set forth into the unknown South Pacific. They ended up settling in Raratonga (Cook Islands), Fiji and Aotearoa, Land of the Long White Cloud, comprising the three islands known today as New Zealand (so named by Dutch explorer Abel Tasman).</span></p> <p class="Standard"><span>The newcomers didn’t have Aotearoa to themselves though and the original inhabitants, the peace-loving Moriori, were no match for the fearsome Maori who gradually killed them off. The occupants of the canoes settled in different parts of the country and the various tribes took their name from the canoe in which they arrived. My family are descended from Te Arawa (The Shark) canoe. They settled in the geothermal area of Whakarewarewa, just outside of Rotorua, now a flourishing tourist destination due to its rich history, bubbling mud pools and steaming geysers, the most famous of which is Pohutu.</span></p> <p class="Standard"><span>My ancestry is the result of the 1825 kidnapping of prisoners, including four sisters, during a raid on Nuhaka on the eastern area of the North Island where they lived, by Pomare, a chief from Northland. The four sisters were renowned for their singing and named “The Songbirds” due to their beautiful voices. They were treated well by their kidnappers and allowed to stay together as entertainers. After Pomare died in 1986, there is no record of who their next protector was, however, they were released from bondage, most likely for a price paid by their family. The eldest sister, Riripeti, married a Captain Johnson and moved with him back near to her childhood home where they had three daughters, the youngest of whom was my great-grandmother, Huhana (Susan).</span></p> <p class="Standard"><span>Susan was the first registered guide at Whakarewarewa and my grandmother, Hannah, and her sisters also became guides when they were old enough. My great-aunt, Tina, the youngest girl of a large brood of children became rather well known in the 20s as the female lead in a silent movie titled “Rewi’s Last Stand”. Ellen, an older sister became a guide of note at Whakarewarewa.</span></p> <p class="Standard"><span>My grandmother, Hannah, married a charming Australian photographer/artist/writer, to whom she’d fallen pregnant with my mother at the age of 19, and moved to Auckland with him. Unbeknownst to her, he’d also impregnated another woman at the same time. It was probably fortunate that my grandmother imparted the news of her joyous event first. They eventually had six children, four girls and two boys. My mother, Roma, and her younger brother, Cedrick, are the only survivors. Ironically, my grandfather survived Gallipoli only to be killed in a work accident seven years later. My grandmother never remarried.</span></p> <p class="Standard"><span>I have lovely memories of Whakarewarewa, staying with Aunty Ellen, playing with the Maori kids from the village and watching the braver ones diving off the Te Hokowhitu a Tu Memorial Bridge (for the Fallen of the Maori Battalion in the various conflicts) for pennies thrown by tourists. I was threatened with dire punishment if I was caught doing the same! However, I wasn’t brave enough.  We’d roam through the tracks around the mud pools and explore the bush, having a great time. Sadly, today, our old playground is off-limits and visitors can only walk along the paths if accompanied by one of the guides. The rest is roped off to prevent anyone falling into the boiling pools and becoming long pig.</span></p> <p class="Standard"><span>We had a family reunion in 1973 which was held on the marae and it was wonderful to catch up with cousins whom I hadn’t seen for almost 20 years. Unfortunately, Aunty Ellen, had passed on a couple of weeks earlier so the ceremonial welcoming also included a memorial service and lament. After, there was an enormous hangi feast with a lot of catching up with cousins, aunties and uncles. It was a wonderful three days and a great opportunity for my two young daughters to meet more of their Maori whanau (family).</span></p> <p class="Standard"><span>I have a large extended family and our Maori heritage has always played a big part in my, and my cousins’, upbringing. We were taught to be proud of our ancestry and we have passed what we know on to our children, for them to pass on to their own children.</span></p> <p class="Standard"><span>Sadly, age catches up with us all and my mother and my uncle are now the only surviving Elders of their generation. Being 97, my mother doesn’t travel to Rotorua any more but on previous visits she was always accorded the full traditional ceremonial welcome as befitted an honoured Elder.</span></p> <p class="Standard"><span>We have a very rich history and of necessity, this is just a very brief outline. If I wrote any more, it would be a book!</span></p> <p class="Standard"><strong><em>Do you have a story to share? Share your story with the Over60 community <a href="http://www.oversixty.com.au/community/contributor/community-contributor/" target="_blank"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">here</span></a>.</em> </strong></p>

Family & Pets

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Why training an assistance puppy is so rewarding

<p><em><strong>Pip Jacobson was born and raised as a dairy farmer’s daughter on the remote King Island, in Bass Strait, and now resides with her husband in Queensland's sunshine. Having had farm and rescue dogs all her life, she fell upon a SmartPup fundraising event and became involved with the non-profit organisation in March 2016.  </strong></em> </p> <p>"Ugh, these better be tossed," I thought as I hoiked up my knickers with the long-handled BBQ tongs, unable to bend with my newly fractured hip screaming blasphemy as I barely lifted my left foot from the floor. "Amazing how ingenious one can become," was my second thought as the tongs did their magic and my dressing progressed. Just three days prior I'd raced through the kitchen yelling at my foster pup to "LEAVE IT! LEAVE IT! " as an aggressive brown snake made its mad mission to corner her in the smallest area of the garden.</p> <p>Christmas 2016 proved to be our quietest one yet. Not that it was planned that way – in fact we were expecting a very special guest called Shine – who was coming with the intention of displaying a few manners to my little foster pup Chilli who was being over-friendly, and needing to learn the etiquette of “meeting other dogs”. Actually, Chilli took on a roll much bigger than was expected of her by caring for my needs instead!!    </p> <p><img width="419" height="559" src="https://oversixtydev.blob.core.windows.net/media/34203/tired-baby_419x559.jpg" alt="Tired Baby" style="display: block; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"/>                                                                                        </p> <p>Both Chilli, and Shine are SmartPups – assistance dogs for children. As it turned out Chilli finished her training with an added bonus... learning to keep her feet away from a wheelchair's wheels, and crutches! She graduated with flying colours.</p> <p>Chilli arrived in March 2016 as a wee soft nine-week-old cute Labrador – the kind of canine I'd never owned... not that I would ever own Chilli as a foster. It had taken me 12 months to decide whether I was cut out to help socialise and home-train these special puppies, knowing that there would be a doomsday when she went off to her forever family – her new owner being an autistic child, or one that suffered from diabetes or seizures. Chilli quickly proved her nose 'knows'; such a 'snifter' she focused on getting as much knowledge as she could from her nasal sensory gift, she was destined to become a seizure response assistance dog. I am proud to say that only this week she was placed in her new home as exactly that!</p> <p>My overnight stay in hospital was, at least, enlightening. As I lay in the Observation Ward willing my mind away from left hip howling, a very thoughtful young 'lady' hurling obscenities and abuse in 360 degrees proved to be both scary, and entertaining! Knowing that I couldn't exactly run if I had to, I was relieved to realise that she had six burly security guards around her and her cries of "I don't feel safe! I don't feel safe" resonated very clearly in my ears.</p> <p>"I'm with you, babe!" And I hadn't even sampled ice, I merely had a hip in fragments. This sent an urgent message to my bladder so I hailed a passing nurse (no call bell on my bedframe) and suggested help to get me to the Ladies. "Too busy," she breathlessly panted as she reefed aside my privacy curtain, and flung in a commode chair. Tentatively I eventually managed to board this thing, but failed to realise that the potty had slipped backwards, it too trying to escape tidal waves of shouting. So there I was with a left hip hollering and a right foot reeking of urine with a huge puddle between me and safety. An avalanche of abuse quickly swept me back to my spot, hurty hip ignored and dripping foot dripping while I vainly tried to throw fleeing tissues into the offending pee-pool. Release the next morning didn't come soon enough.</p> <p><img width="381" height="510" src="https://oversixtydev.blob.core.windows.net/media/34205/img_0771_381x510.jpg" alt="IMG_0771 (1)" style="display: block; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"/></p> <p>Chilli wasn't home when I arrived back from hospital. She was back at the training centre and I was mortified. Knowing that I only had six weeks left before she was to be placed with her forever family, I pleaded with the trainers, stating that my recovery would be twice as quick if I had this special dog with me. Yes, they agreed and sent her back, along with a wheelchair and the command "WATCH IT". Chilli learned very quickly to keep her toes away from those huge wheels, and not only did she walk sedately beside me, she walked slowly and gently next to me once I mastered the crutches – without ever having been taught. She had her one year birthday two weeks after my fall. She had mastered her seizure detection work plus wheelchair experience!</p> <p>Chilli and I attended the regular Saturday training session in the New Year – me of course, skiting that a dedicated foster parent takes all kinds of spills to accompany the thrills for this SmartPup training! The Foster Families Saturday get togethers had become the highlight of our week – we encouraged our puppies to be calm and not distracted by other dogs, skateboards, balls, prams, motorbikes, runners; anything that may cause an assistant dog tethered to a child to break their focus from their "work".  We'd sit and gossip and the puppies learned to sit and be patient. Then we would have puppy-play time – these amazing dogs earned their play time where we encouraged them to run free and be themselves, playing and sharing toys, bones and water bowls. The joys to see a pack of ten or so dogs tumbling and frolicking after being so well behaved was our laughter-fix for the week.</p> <p><img width="387" height="518" src="https://oversixtydev.blob.core.windows.net/media/34206/1_387x518.jpg" alt="1 (165)" style="display: block; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"/></p> <p>My decision to commit to fostering a SmartPup took 12 months, my yo-yo-ing as to whether I could hand back a puppy that I'd seen grow and develop, and of course love to bits. Last Monday I handed her lead to her brilliant trainer – we were at the airport, and my time with Chilli was on its tail end. My tears were pushed to the depths as I knew Chilli would pick up on my feelings. Her trainer took one last loo-stop before boarding and I could see Chilli, sitting next to me, search for her trainers return… I knew then, that this little pocket rocket Labrador had placed her trust in her trainer and I was content knowing that Chilli would board that flight feeling safe and secure. My time with my beautiful puppy/toddler/newly graduated Assistance Dog was done.</p> <p>There is a beautiful child suffering seizures who now has Chilli's dedication. How wonderful is that?</p> <p>P.S I received news recently that Chilli alerted her new family to an oncoming seizure that their young boy was about to have – so they took immediate action. She was placed only two weeks ago. My heart is humbled by this amazing dog. I just had to share that!</p> <p><em><strong>For more information about SmartPups Autism Assistance Dogs, please visit their <span style="text-decoration: underline;"><a href="http://www.smartpups.org.au/" target="_blank">website</a>.</span></strong></em></p>

Family & Pets

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The joys of living in a tiny home

<p><em><strong>Nerrida, proudly born in 1948, has principally worked in education and the building industry. Despite this, at 50 she completed a Masters in Horticulture. Currently she is dealing with an unexpected lifestyle change caused by divorce after a 43 year marriage.</strong></em></p> <p>I've just started to unpack after six weeks in London and Provence. Suitcase open on my bed and new scarf from Arles still on my neck. A favourite vintage scarf adorns my wall, clipped onto coat hangers.</p> <p>I have a mirrored wardrobe with drawers and just enough room to stand next to my bed. My room is tinier than the cabin on the barge I enjoyed on the Rhone and quarter the size of the room with futon on the floor of my son's London home. But at least it's my own room. A box on the top shelf holds my collection of over 100 silk scarves. It's a luxury I still have space to collect. This is the story of downsizing big time.</p> <p>More than four years ago I moved into a flat I bought off-the-plan in 2009. It was supposed to be an investment but fortunately the property was completed just as my 43-year marriage came to an abrupt end in 2012.</p> <p>My home is one of 15 on my floor, there are 30 levels and 500 apartments. About 10 per cent is owner occupied. It is 13 paces long and 6 paces wide, with a balcony adding 20 per cent onto the internal space.</p> <p>I have come to love where I live, but I would move to a 2-bedroom flat in this building if the court ever rule on my divorce property settlement. A four-year legal process is taking up a big chunk of my planned retirement years. I would like to create a support group for retirees in limbo, as divorce at this age comes with a substantial drop in standard of living and clear lateral thinking is needed.</p> <p>But I have a checklist of what my needs are, and this wee little home ticks those boxes.</p> <p>I have a son sleeping on the fold-out couch next to my bedroom. He's wonderful company and watches my calorie intake. Light floods in from full height windows and my bedroom has an opaque glass wall so it's never dark. One reverse cycle is all the climate control I need, and is rarely needed.</p> <p>There is only one shower, basin and toilet to clean. If it's urgent, there are spares in the gym and pool area. My only table is on the balcony. A fold-out-table and two chairs are used as needed. The kitchen, four paces long against one wall, is next to the "European laundry" a further pace along that wall. Kitchen and laundry basins are huge. Dishwasher, gas hotplates, oven and lots of drawers built in above and below. Big W and Woolworths are downstairs and supply my other needs.</p> <p>I thank Ikea for all the remaining shelves on that wall. They hold kitchen appliances, telly, linen, fish, shoes and son's wardrobe.</p> <p>I have a secure car space and a storage cage for seasonal wardrobes, books, bikes. There is even a friendly concierge to attend to the occasional visitor damage, disruption or lost key.</p> <p>Living like this could be very hard if the property was far from urban facilities. It's the location that makes my life so enjoyable every day. I am close to a busy train station, two tram lines, attractive Yarra walks, a good library, busy shopping strips, a cinema complex next door and a unique shopping mall downstairs in my own building. Rubbish goes down a chute, my friends come to swim in a huge indoor pool with spa and saunas, and my doctor, chemist, hairdresser, nail salon, newsagent, supermarket, baker and fruiterer are all downstairs and accessed by my private internal lift. This lift also takes me to my favourite restaurant and coffee shop with free newspapers, Chinese cafe and other food outlets.</p> <p>In summer my guests enjoy barbecues and tennis, and the cost of maintaining all this is shared by 500 other apartment owners, so it's great value.</p> <p>I no longer worry about stairs, cleaning takes just minutes, and I feel safe. I am now used to a bubbly international atmosphere in the lifts and public open spaces and love that other occupants are young, smart and friendly. It's a mystery to me why some people choose retirement homes when towers like mine offer so much more. But each to his own.</p> <p>It makes me sad that "middle suburbia" fight developments like mine. I say: "Come on in – the water's just fine.”</p> <p><em><strong>If you have a story to share please get in touch at <a href="mailto:melody@oversixty.com.au">melody@oversixty.com.au</a></strong></em></p> <p><strong>Related links: </strong></p> <p><em><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><strong><a href="/lifestyle/retirement-life/2016/05/3-questions-to-ask-before-coming-out-of-retirement/">3 questions to ask before coming out of retirement</a></strong></span></em></p> <p><em><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><strong><a href="/lifestyle/retirement-life/2016/08/tips-for-a-happy-and-healthy-retirement-on-a-budget/">Tips for a happy and healthy retirement on a budget</a></strong></span></em></p> <p><em><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><strong><a href="/lifestyle/retirement-life/2016/07/moving-from-spain-to-australia/">Why I moved from Spain to Australia</a></strong></span></em></p>

Retirement Life

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I’m busier than ever in retirement and I love it!

<p><em><strong>Jan Murray, 76, recently retired but she’s not taking it as time to relax. Jan’s using retirement to complete all her unfinished projects and is currently studying a Bachelor of Complementary Medicine.</strong></em><span style="font-size: 10px;"> </span></p> <p><img width="178" height="154" src="https://oversixtydev.blob.core.windows.net/media/27667/jan-murray_178x154.jpg" alt="Jan Murray" style="float: left;"/>Retirement is your time to relax – really? Don’t think so!</p> <p>Retirement is my time to shine, to achieve what has been a niggling feeling in the back of my brain since I was a young girl.</p> <p>In 1951, I began working for a milliner on a Saturday for seven shillings to help out in our house after my mother died. I was now "head cook and bottle washer" for our family.</p> <p>Later at age 14, I trained as a beauty consultant with Cyclax (remember them?). I often wondered what those lovely ladies in Geelong thought about getting their beauty advice from a young girl, but it was good experience for life.</p> <p>My mother’s death was my motivation to succeed and to gain knowledge. Maybe I felt insecure? But it became a thirst to learn, I wanted to be like that saying, a “Jack of all trades, master of none!”</p> <p>I was 16 years old and already in nursing training when love came calling. I had four children in quick succession and at 29 years of age I began studying again, although mainly beauty and fashion type study, which helped supplement family income. I worked for a large cosmetic company as a district manager. My husband was a professional footballer, who later became injured. We moved a great deal during the 70's and my role was secondary at that time – family came first – I worked, but wished I was able to study.</p> <p>Always that niggling feeling… one day I will finish nursing, get a degree and become a graduate.</p> <p>Mother, grandmother, great-grandmother – what an achievement! The years passed quickly. I always supported myself best I could, as husbands came and went, the children grew and achieved their own goals. The children always supported me in my thirst for knowledge but I think they wonder, “Why doesn't she just slow down?”</p> <p>Luckily I am blessed with good health, but early in 2016, I knew something was changing in my body. I decided to retire from my nursing job of seven-plus years.</p> <p>“It's time to stop!” my body told me. But my mind said no.</p> <p>“My heavens! You are wanting to start university and you are 76 years of age! Do you think you will ever graduate?”</p> <p>“Do you think I can get HECS?” I asked. “I don't know,” was the answer, “I have never enquired, I suppose if you have a tax file number you can study using the fee-help system.”</p> <p>So the journey commenced. I thought to myself, if I am going to do this degree I had better get some study practise, so I looked on the internet and found some free courses on <span style="text-decoration: underline;"><strong><a href="https://www.open2study.com/" target="_blank">Open2Study</a>.</strong></span> These courses are supplied by various universities in Australia and cover many subjects. There are online lectures by leading professors of various universities and take a month to complete.</p> <p>I enrolled in Food and Nutrition, The Human Body as a Machine, Microbiology and Forensic Science, Common Diseases of Humans, and Anthropology (which was my favourite). Some, because of my medical background, were easy enough; some were challenging to say the least, but I like a challenge. On completion of the course you can print out a certificate (60 per cent is a pass). If you don't pass you can re-enrol.</p> <p>I was ready to take the next step so I enrolled in a Bachelor of Natural Medicine and will graduate in 2019. I wish to do research in food as medicine, anthropology and eating disorders of modern humans. Our ancestors didn't have laboratories, they had to figure things out using what was available from nature. Hopefully my research may provide a light bulb moment or two.</p> <p>Busy times ahead, so for those who told me, "Retirement is a time to relax,” I say, "Not for this girl, too much to find out!”</p> <p><em><strong>If you have a story to share please get in touch at <a href="mailto:melody@oversixty.com.au">melody@oversixty.com.au</a></strong></em></p> <p><strong>Related links: </strong></p> <p><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><strong><a href="http://www.oversixty.com.au/lifestyle/retirement-life/2016/08/tips-to-help-your-marriage-survive-retirement/"><em>Can your marriage survive retirement?</em></a></strong></span></p> <p><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><strong><a href="http://www.oversixty.com.au/lifestyle/retirement-life/2016/07/is-happiness-really-what-we-are-after-in-retirement/"><em>Is happiness really what we’re after in retirement?</em></a></strong></span></p> <p><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><strong><a href="http://www.oversixty.com.au/lifestyle/retirement-life/2016/08/tips-for-a-happy-and-healthy-retirement-on-a-budget/"><em>Tips for a happy and healthy retirement on a budget</em></a></strong></span></p> <p> </p>

Retirement Life