ISSUE 1 SEPTEMBER 2014
Your hand: what does it reveal? Travel Hand-held lasers QR codes: what they can bring to your life Fiction, Faction, Poetry www.55magazine.com Interviews, images and ideas
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The inaugural issue of the 55 magazine.
What Does Your Hand Reveal? see page 4
QR Codes . see page 10
Front cover photography and design by Lynda Bennett
Hand-held Lasers see page 12
55 is a free literary magazine. All contributors are 55 years and over.
Raven Stones. see page 14
55 is designed and published by LyndaBennett Publishing Eltham Victoria Australia email: 55magazine@ gmail.com
Thirteen Paths see page 16
Find out more at our blog 55magazine.wordpress. com Contributors Check out the contributors page at the back of this magazine for more information
Love Imperfect see page 18
Musings from the editor, Lynda Bennett Alacrium. see page 22
Fish ‘n Ships see page 24
Shanghai see page 26
Winter Wonder see page 28
Poetry Swimming in the Dark see page 32
The 55 team is proud and excited to bring to fruition the first issue of a magazine filled with any and all sorts of stories and images. Not enough pages this time for all the wonderful writers and artists out there, who have had their 55th birthday! This magazine will always be full of positive, interesting stories and images. In this issue, I am the main contributor, but in future issues, I hope to show Victoria, and the world, how creative and inventive people over 55 can be. Have you ever wondered what the benefits of writing stories might be? Click on the image below, and let The School of Life entertain you.
Lonely as a Cloud see page 33
Photo Pick NMIT SPRING LESSONS see page 34
Visit the 55 blog to view this video and have a laugh http://55magazine.wordpress.com
“What does your hand reveal?”
What Does Your Hand Reveal?
By Lynda Bennett
Palmistry How we observe each other Western Science Palmistry has been
around for thousands of years. Western science is only recently discovering and testing some of these claims. Here I must add a disclaimer, stating that while I am fascinated by the concept of palmistry, I remain an avowed but curious fence-sitter. I encourage you to read with an open mind, and find your own truth. Some so-called palm readers are no more than effective observers of human behaviour. Some of these have gone to extra lengths to learn some of the western science information, giving them an air of authority.
Which hand is ‘read’?
Ideally ‘both’ is the answer. It is generally agreed that the left hand shows what you were born with, while the right hand shows how life has affected you, your current situation, and some guidance for the future. There are four main categories of assessment – Shape of hand, Lines, Mounts, and Finger shape.
The shape of the palm Earth hands are wide, with square palms and fingers. The skin is
often thickened, rough or ruddy. The length of the palm is usually equal to the length of the fingers. Meaning: People with Earth hands are usually very practical and level-headed. They can be quite conservative, and prefer to be outdoors.
is usually longer than the length of the fingers. Meaning: People with fire hands are energetic. They need variety. They are often fiercely individual and make great leaders.
Air hands have square or rectangular palms, with long fingers. They often have protruding knuckles or dry skin. The length of the palm is usually equal to the length of the fingers. Meaning: Air hands are often intellectual, curious and full of ideas. They can be prone to worry. They are great communicators, but may not express their own feelings enough.
The heart line is all about love, romance , and your emotional life
Water hands have a short, sometimes oval palm, with long flexible fingers. Their palm is usually wider than it is long, with fingers equal to the height of the palm. Meaning: People with water hands are mostly motivated by feelings, are always looking for peace, and are extremely artistic. Fire hands have a square or rectangular palm, with flushed or pink skin. The length of the palm
The main palm lines.
The head line shows your intellect and wisdom The fate line can be read in conjunction with the life line to shed light on the future. Don’t worry if you can’t find yours, as it is often difficult to see. It is suggested that if your fate line starts at the base of your palm, you will often find yourself in the public eye! The life line is the line of destiny. It does not necessarily say when your time is up. It’s shape and length describe your character and vitality. Some important times in your life may be evident. The lines are considered in terms of shape, length, position and depth. The tiny lines around them will also influence the interpretation by an experienced “reader”.
Feature
ar t
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Head Li
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Fa te
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3 ways to learn from our hands Palmistry
Fingers
Mounts
They are assessed by shape, length, and smoothness. The fingernail shape and colour are part of a detailed consultation. Palm readers will look at the colour and texture of your skin, just as you would.
Mounts are the fleshy pads on the hand, each assigned a different are of your character. Each mount correlates to a astrological planetary influence The Mount of Venus is below the thumb. It relates to passion. The Mount of Jupiter is below the index finger. It relates to wealth. The Mount of Saturn is below the middle finger. It relates to duty and honour. The Mount of the Sun is below the ring finger. It relates to artistry and fame. The Mount of Mercury is below the little finger. It relates to communication. Mars The Lower Mount of Mars, or Positive Mount of Mars is below the mount of Jupiter. The Upper Mount of Mars or Negative Mount of Mars is below the mounts of the Sun and Mercury. The Plain of Mars is is the flat area in the center of the palm beneath the Mount of Saturn. All of the Martian features relate to physical energy, activity, anger, and conflict. The Mount of the Moon is on the lower part of the palm below the lower plain of Mars. It relates to the emotions. The Mount of the Earth is the fleshy bulge on the back side of the hand that is created when the thumb and index finger are pushed against each other. It relates to practical and earthly matters.
The main finger shapes are (from the left) pointy, spatulate, square and round The meaning of each finger: The index finger is usually considered the most important in a palm reading. It is sometimes called the “mirror” finger as it describes a person’s self-image. The middle finger, called the “wall” finger, represents your attitude towards authority and mental boundaries. The ring finger can only be long, it is never considered short. The little finger measures a person’s communication and financial skills. Your thumb is used as a measure of your willpower and self-control. The spaces between the fingers. An independent mind is signified when your little finger stands apart from the ring finger, with a great deal of space between them.
An art related life is shown when the ring finger sticks close to the middle finger. Your fate will also aid in your success. If the middle finger and the index finger stick close together, it shows that you will gain authority and rank through your own goals and aspirations. If they stand apart, then your position will come from other means. There are many other fine differences for each person. While generalities provide guidelines, we are all individuals.
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How we observe each other We all frequently observe hands, and make assessments without realising. We look at hands writing, lifting and carrying, touching, working, and eating. We notice the hands that serve us in shops, or that take care of us. Ordinary people make quite complex unconscious assessments of others, based on their hands.
We look at the colour, the texture, the age, pale or tanned skin, relaxed or tense shape. We notice marks. injuries, and cleanliness. We also look at hand shape fingernails, and finger length, and make decisions
that the owner of the hand may be strong or weak, a practical worker or intellectual, We assess approximate age, and maybe lifestyles. When we shake hands there are other layers of information to process.
We notice the strength of the handshake grip, and the roughness or smoothness of the texture. We notice a sweaty or dry palm.
What is the temperature of the hand - hot, warm or cold?
Is the shaking of hands a big movement, or a slight gesture?
We interpret health, activity, state of mind, attitude towards us, and even personality.
We literally ‘feel’ how we feel about each other when we take each other’s hands
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3 ways to learn from our hands Western medicine & science also have a history of assessing hands. A doctor or therapist sees your hands through the eyes of an ordinary person and as a skilled assessor. They know what your hand should say, and can determine how close you are to expectation. They also see steadiness of movement, trauma, muscle / tendon / bone or joint irregularities, colour, lumps and spots, and heat or cold. The shape of your hand, the fingers, and fingertips may alert a doctor to a broad range of health issues from genetic disorders to more common health problems. The profile of the areas known in palmistry as the mounts are also used by doctors to assess some diseases.
How to measure your fingers • Straighten your fingers and look at the palm of your hand • You will see creases at the base of your index and ring fingers • There may be more than one crease. Select the one nearest the palm. Choose a point on that crease midway across the base of the finger • Mark it with a pen • Measure from the mark to the tip of the finger. Click here To read more about the 2D 4D ratio and male/ female representation in politics 2D index finger
4D ring finger
While palmistry readers have long taken note of the relative length of fingers, so, now, is western scisnce. Of particular interest is the comparison of length between the 2nd and 4th fingers. What they have discovered is that the length of the 4th finger is influenced by the amount of the hormone testosterone that was circulating as the baby was growing in the womb, The ratio between the length of the 2nd (index) finger and the 4th (ring) finger is known as the 2D:4D Ratio. Measure the length of the 2nd finger, then divide it by the length of the 4th finger. The ratio will be HIGH if the 2nd (index) finger is about the same or longer. It is LOW if the 2nd finger is shorter than the ring finger. The greater the difference, the more it is given significance. The more testosterone, the longer the 4th, or ring, finger, and thus the lower the 2D:4D ratio. This measurement is still being studied, and is not a diagnostic tool. However, some studies have found that this ratio may help to explain some areas of health and wellbeing.
2D:4D Ratio is Length index finger divided by Length ring finger HIGH = >1 Index finger is about the same or longer LOW = < 1 Index finger is shorter than ring finger.
Fingerprints
Image by Metronomo
http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Fingerprint_of_the_right_little_finger_of_a_woman.gif
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Dermatoglyphics (from ancient Greek derma = "skin", glyph = "carving") is the scientific study of fingerprints and can be traced back to 1892 when one of the most original biologists of his time Sir Francis Galton, a cousin of Charles Darwin, published his now classic work on fingerprints. The study was later termed Dermatoglyphics by Dr. Harold Cummins, the father of American fingerprint analysis, even though the process of fingerprint identification had already been in use for several hundred years. All primates have ridged skin. It can also be found on the paws of certain mammals, and on the tails of some monkey species. In humans and animals, dermatoglyphs are present on fingers, palms, toes and soles. This helps shed light on a critical period of embryogenesis, between four weeks and five months, when the architecture of the major organ systems is developing. Your fingerprints result from a genetic development, plus the influence of the babâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ys movement and environment while it is developing in the womb.
Fingerproints will also tell about changes in your life, such as injuries and illness.
The history of fingerprints
Using ancient and modern methods, so much can be seen by looking at your hand www.55magazine.com
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QR Codes .
By Lynda Bennett
This one is on the front cover. If you scan it, you will go to the Reading Writing and Learning blog
This one is on our Lasers page. It will lead you to a YouTube video and song about the electromagnetic spectrum
This one is on our Lasers page. It will lead you to a YouTube video and song about the electromagnetic spectrum
QR Codes are the small black and white patchy squares you will notice throughout this magazine, and in many other areas of daily life.
â&#x20AC;&#x153;QR Codesâ&#x20AC;?
QR is short for Quick Response. The easiest way to understand it is that a QR Code is a 2 dimensional type of barcode. We are used to using the barcode made of straight lines seen on everything from books to supermarket items. The QR code provides easy access to information via the scanner on your smartphone. The printed code is linked to an internet site allowing a reader to scan and link instantly to the digital world. The system was invented in 1994 by Denso Wave (a Toyota subsidiary) for tracking vehicle parts, but has expanded into the wider community since the increase in smartphone usage. Although the words QR code are a registered trademark of Denso Wave Incorporated, they generously permitted the use of QR codes free of any license. Click here
If you have seen this sign at
your local coffee shop, you can get discounts on your coffee by scanning the code with your smartphone at the counter
for important information
A higher level of design means that they need not be black and white, nor apparently square! This one leads to an advertisement website for an Australian training
Technology How do you get one? If you want the ability to scan a code and open its information, then all you need is a smartphone. • QR code scanners, or readers, are supported by most Apple and android phones. • Go to your App store, search for QR CODE, and select the version suitable for you. Some are free, while others range in price depending on the complexity of the service you need. • Download the App. • Next time you see a QR code that interests you, opening the App will usually bring up a camera screen. Follow any specific instructions for your App. Generally, you are simply required to aim so that the QR code can be seen on your screen, and to hold the phone steady for a few seconds. You will often hear a shutter-click noise and your phone will instantly be diverted to the live internet site attached to that code. If you want to be able to create a QR code, then you search for QR code makers in your internet browser. • Download the free offers, or purchase a more complex and dynamic QR code maker. • If you create them on another device, you can instantly check whether they work or not • You need to check that they lead where you intended them to go. • Companies offering free QR code generators often attach advertising to the code in order to get paid much like ads at the sides on websites or blogs. Some Apps will offer both a scanner and a creator service. Take the time to read the information carefully before you make a choice.
What can they bring to your life? • Widen your world. • Instant internet links to entertainment, information or marketing. • Bring a book or magazine to life with video or website links. • Put a QR code on your business card, linking to a website or video about you and your business. Scan a code that is on printed advertising to find out more. • At the end of 2013, Australia Post trialed a QR code stamp, allowing live links to your parcels or letters. The apt warning was to treat it as you would a postcard. Anyone with a scanner could read it, so don’t make it too personal! • In Florida,USA, the J.N. “Ding” Darling National Wildlife Refuge puts QR codes on signs to connect people to informational videos about wildlife along the trails. • In 2014, in the Jewish Cemetery of La Paz, Uruguay, QR codes are being implemented for tombstones, in order to enable remote access to cemetery images and know the exact location of every tomb via websites; it is the first cemetery in the world to introduce this innovation. • Pay for parking, or call a cab. • For writers, why not add your own QR code to each printed work linking the reader to your website or author page where they might find other works you have published. • Be enthralled when you scan a QR code on a beautiful wall calendar. If your friends don’t have a QR code scanner already, you can tell them all about this article in 55.
Scan our QR code here, for more interactive experiences.
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LASER is an acronym; it stands for Light Amplification by Stimulated Emission of Radiation. These days, “light” has the broader meaning of any frequency of electromagnetic radiation.
Hand-held Lasers
By Lynda Bennett
“Hand-held lasers” are being used, by many doctors, physiotherapists, and acupuncturists to heal a wide variety of health problems. Medical acupuncture combines eastern and western knowledge with state of the art technology. It does not replace orthodox medical treatment, but does complement it.
This laser pen is used for acupuncture. •
It is placed gently on the skin over acupuncture points.
•
It does not pierce the skin.
•
There is no heat or burning
Acupuncture has been used for at least 5000 years. The first textbook, the Huang Ti Nei Jing Su Wen, or The Yellow Emperor’s Textbook of Internal Medicine, was written in China over 2000 years ago. Today there are acupuncture schools around the world. The following is a very basic explanation of acupuncture. The energy of the human body is called Chi or Life force. After thousands of years of observation, pints were noted to have specific effects on the mind and body. It was also noted that many points had similar effects, and when joined together on drawing, they appear to be grouped into lines or channels.
Click here
Chi moves around the body in these channels. Injury or disease can interrupt or alter the flow of energy. Treating an acupuncture point will try to re-establish the normal flow of energy. Dr McC, a melbourne GP, uses the Silberbauer Compact Laser CL mini 8-658. He explains briefly how to combine acupuncture theory with three main western scientific theories1. The Gate Theory essentially says that acupuncture stimulates nerve impulses which block out the nerve impulses from painful or damaged areas of the body 2. The Endorphin Theory has shown that acupuncture stimulates the release of the body’s own painkilling chemicals (endorphins).
3. The Reflex Theory has shown that there are areas on the skin that are reflexly tender when there is disease in internal organs. Stimulation of these points can alter the disease processes in the related organs. When asked how long the treatments take, Dr McC pointed out that everyone is unique. It depends on the problem and how long they have had it. Part of the treatment time is good assessment, as in any medical practice. The actual laser treatment time depends on the number of points that need to be stimulated, but each point time is only a matter of seconds. Repeat treatments are usually weekly, or sometimes fortnightly. Results occur within the first 5 treatments. Long term problems may require booster treatments as needed.
Technology
The power of a laser is produced by stimulating a particular chemical (the gain medium) to excite its atoms. These atoms are forced out in straight lines, rather than radiating out like a lightbulb. The use of the laser is governed by the frequency of the produced emission. We see them in everyday usage in many areas of life including CD players, laser lighting displays, and laser printers. Just as home printers have reduced in size, so have lasers. They still exist as giants, but the lasers used in laser acupuncture today are more like a slightly large pen
made to be held in the hand This laser pen example (pictured), used by a Melbourne GP, is from the Silberbauer company and is used for acupuncture and treating small areas of skin wounds. It is only 18.8 cm long, emits a wavelength of 658nm, with an output power of 8 mW. Using different gain mediums creates different wavelengths, having varied effects on the body. In medical acupuncture, a low-level laser is used for many conditions, except for the eye, cancer and only with special precautions in pregnancy.
â&#x20AC;&#x153;As a patient, I have been delighted by the quick, effective and painless treatment for my musculoskeletal injuries. I still have to take responsibility for myself in terms of food, exercise, rest and other health issues; more effort needs to be put in to remembering my own limits! The knowledge, that this gentle, effective, non invasive therapy is available to me, helps to keep me positive and active.â&#x20AC;? Lynda Bennett
The electromagnetic Spectrum Song
by Emerson and Wong. A fun song about understanding the electromagnetic spectrum. Scan the QR Code
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Raven Stones.
By Dianne Gell
Sara, my best friend from Art School, had invited me to visit her in Melbourne. It had been nearly two years since we’d last seen each other. Usually a short text message covered love and life news, while the less frequent, lovely long phone calls covered more important content: the beloved finer details of our current art projects, tid-bits, possible things of interest, and new discoveries. She hinted that she’d come upon something very unusual in the birds from her nearby park; that it would most certainly be of interest, and might even inspire me. As a chef, my father had relocated our family to resorts in the Whitsunday Islands, leading to my current home near Cairns, on the fringe of Australia’s Great Barrier Reef. People from around the world were magnetically attracted to this stunning part of Australia for so many different reasons such as the fantastic weather, or the myriad of attractions, and things to keep you busy and amazed 24/7. But to me it meant only one thing - I was living in the epicentre of bird heaven. Sara may well have been bluffing, but how could I resist the temptation to investigate such an intriguing invitation, and more importantly I needed to catch up with Sara. As far back as I can remember I had always drawn and painted birds of all kinds. Sara pointed out that lately I seemed obsessed with only tropical birds, mesmerised by their brilliant colours - politely called in our circles ‘Artists
Euphoria’. They simply took my breath away - I called them ‘my little flying jewels’. Not being a bird expert as such, I loved them for their beauty and delightful personalities. My two all time favourites were the cheeky, chatty budgies and my beloved pelicans - so elegant that I never tired of seeing them. I really didn’t need an excuse to visit Sara. I loved her to bits and hadn’t realised how much I’d missed spending time with her. The list of ‘places to see’ and ‘things to do’ meant that two weeks would be gone in the blink of an eye. Topping that list was the ‘must see’ art galleries, lots of coffee, some fine dining, and above all looking for photo or sketching opportunities. We wandered around stunning inner city buildings, beautiful parks and the Brighton seaside. Not far from her house there was open rolling countryside, so we lunched at a hilltop boutique vineyard with a great vantage point, and watched huge flocks of birds sweeping in and out along the valleys in grandeur. The scenery was very different here, but this place was starting to grow on me. Sara’s art perception as a mixed media artist was a world apart from mine, but the one thing we had in common was our love of birds. Strangely the little park Sara mentioned turned out to be my favourite sketching spot. Running down the hill from Sara’s back garden, it had a cute little stream running through it. After days of
observation, what stood out and that I found so remarkable was that so many bird species were living in a true cohesive harmony. There were ducks, geese, Ibis, Major Mitchell cockatoos, magpies, various honeyeaters, Lorikeets, and some Gang Gangs. I think I saw a Swift Parrot one morning, but it was the Ravens that drew my attention. They were possibly Australian Ravens, and larger than I’d seen before. Their black glossy feathers had a striking blue metallic sheen in the sunlight. Most of the birds stayed in formation with their own kind, but the Ravens seemed to have a certain authority. Walking singularly straight through any flock, all the other birds would step aside to let them through. The scene was different from the squabbles of a ‘pecking order’. It wasn’t fear; more like respect. I found myself becoming quite fond of the little park and it’s inhabitants, especially the Ravens. Sara and I were collaborating on a piece for her next exhibition, and my sketches were finally coming to life as I painted the last characters into the scene. My project on the park was nearly complete and I found myself thinking that Sara had been a little creative with her bird behaviour story, but I had come like a moth to the flame, thankfully! As was often the case near to finishing a project, we had lost all sense of time and been painting all night. It was about 7am and I’d stopped to
Fiction
make us a coffee when I heard the first drops of rain crashing on the tin roof. I was a little disappointed that my last day would be ruined by rain, preventing me from painting final details onsite at the park. Sara started to smile, and told me ‘there’s something I want you to see’. Quietly we tiptoed out the back door, crossed the verandah and down to the end of her garden.
She insisted we sit on an old log and look back at her house. In total amazement, I watched the Ravens dropping stones one after the other onto the tin roof. The assortment of birds busy pulling worms from the cool morning earth fluttered to the treetops, screeching in fright. Even the chickens scarpered away from their piles of scratchings in the flowerbed. To my utter delight I watched while the scoundrel Ravens swooped in
to reap their rewards of abandoned worms and other delicacies, repeating this intimidating show until their bellies were full. Then off they flew down the hill in to the little park. I was already mentally sketching the scene when Sara smiled, looked at me and said, “pretty unusual wouldn’t you agree”! I felt so glad I had come, as we sat on that log and laughed together.
Contributor: Original painting by Dianne Gell
Click here Listen to the sounds of Australian birds, including the cheeky Raven, on the Australian National Botanic Gardens Sound Index www.55magazine.com
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Thirteen Paths
By Lynda Bennett
“What do you want to do?” I had gone to the psychic reader for an answer, not to be questioned. “I don’t know whether to do it or not, that’s what I’ve come to ask you.” “No wonder you need help. Is that what you believe: that it’s an either / or decision.” “Of course. You either walk a path or you don’t.” I was getting a bit testy by now. I had paid good money, and had to tell a few not-quitetruths about my whereabouts to be here. Her plentiful breasts shook with laughter as she patted my perfectly manicured hand with her stocky, wrinkled fingers. Not only were my childhood fears stoked into little flames, but the small wooden chair she pulled out was blocking my exit. Before I could set her straight about treating me like some gawky, over-imaginative schoolgirl, she spoke as she lowered herself, eyes glued to mine. In the same tone as my maths teacher, she informed me that there were actually thirteen paths from which to choose and they all end up in the same place. Ah. I got it then. That was her technique: to make you ask where? Once lured into feeling she has the answers, you’ll pay again and again for her secret knowledge. I told her I wasn’t in the business of party games and if my friends were wrong about her being able to help, maybe I should leave now. Silence permeated my skin. A soft, warm voice surrounded me. “There are always 13 paths for every footstep.” I wanted to object; I breathed out forcefully, but the vocal chords would not respond. Despite my “But…” that floated uselessly across the room, she continued. “You can choose to act well or badly in five ways each, or do nothing in three.” “I want to do what’s right,” I whispered.
“Right and wrong, my dear, are only points of view.” Her wide pupils and green irises fluoresced; mine were held captive. “Let me explain your choices, then you can choose a card.” I nodded irrelevantly, as she launched into her spiel. Whenever we are aware of a choice, we can choose to help or hurt, in five ways. They are • To willingly, actively participate • To engage reluctantly • To act with the sole aim of impressing others • To act out of fear, under threat • Purely for gain You may choose to do nothing in three ways, being • To watch • To walk away • To observe and use the information to your own advantage As I emerged into awareness of the phones ringing and the customers in the main office, I shook my determination into responding with my only defence. “And what if you just don’t know?” The cards had shuffled themselves and spread into an odd wheel shape. I counted - thirteen, not twelve. The voice in the air said to choose, and suddenly there was a hand reaching across the table and I touched one worn, slightly damaged at the edges, faded card. “Before I turn it over, what did you mean that they all end up in the same place?” “In death, of course,” replied the professorial tone, this time. Swirling silence. My fingers jerked away from their choice. “If it all ends in death, then why bother choosing? Who cares?” The gentle laugh was followed by “you don’t think you’re going to live forever do you?”
Fiction
First published in Offset 13 Offset Press Ltd 2013 Victoria University Melbourne, Australia.
Death, forever, good and evil: these were not what I had come to ask about. “Anyway, isn’t thirteen supposed to be unlucky? The Chinese say that 3 plus 1 is four, and 4 sounds the same as “death”. And everyone knows about Friday the thirteenth. So how can everything I do spin around the number thirteen?” I don’t think I saw her stand, but there she was, turning back towards me with one arm crooked, offering me lustrous scarves. She reverently laid them over a soft padded bar immediately to my left, that I had previously not noticed. “Feel them. One of them will feel comfortable in your soul when you hold it.” Well, it was better than discussing death, so I reached out. “They are silk and cotton, from nature, and reflect the thirteen colours of the rainbow – the seven basic colours of Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Indigo and Violet, plus the six exactly between them, where they merge to become more of one or the other.” Whilst remonstrating that I had never heard that before, my hand was drawn to the yellow - not the bright one, but the yellow / gold next to the orange one. The sensuous texture persuaded itself to smooth around my neck. “Ah,” She said in an annoyingly knowledgeable tone. “Can we get to my question now?” I refused to be seduced by the scarf. “Let’s do those cards.” “But you have already answered yourself.” Defeated and confused, I meekly asked her what was going on. “The rainbow colours are also chakra colours. Your question has been uppermost in your mind since walking in my door. You have chosen a middle path between the yellow of self drive and the orange of relationships or reproduction.”
“But…?” “Of the thirteen choices, you don’t want to hurt anyone, including yourself. Neither do you want to do nothing, or you wouldn’t be here.” I could only nod and frown. “So to act positively, there are only the first two choices for you – to act willingly or reluctantly. Yes?” More stupid nodding. And the stupid eyes were getting like I might need a tissue soon. As she held the cloud-soft ends of the scarf with her small hands, I suddenly appreciated the understated strength they emitted. “This is my favourite one. I want you to have it; to remember who you are.” This was totally weird, and I’m not sure I should even tell anyone this, but I immediately felt yellow like the scarf. “Do you see?” she asked patiently. The little flickering flames of doubt and fear began to glow with a warmth of knowing that I still could not quite acknowledge. “You can do both, my dear. It is not either / or. You can go to Uni and marry the boy. You will be strong, smart and happy. The children will come when they are ready.” The really weird part is that I knew inside me that she was right. I wanted to learn more about the thirteen colours, and would never forget those thirteen paths.
Click the rainbow to discover more about the relationship with it and the chakra colours. www.55magazine.com
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Love Imperfect
By Lynda Bennett
Richard’s choice this momentous Sunday was a picnic in the park, under the bridge. New Year’s Eve was approaching and he wanted to be with her, watching the city prepare for the end of year celebrations. He had a plan for his own celebration. As his cab pulled up beside the kerb, Lisa was already waiting, standing on the new concrete pathway. From behind the safety of the reflective window, he absorbed her every movement, watching for signs. Her head was up; no ties restricted her shoulder length blonde hair. This was a new shirt; the bright azure blue material seemed to have clasps at the shoulders, from which sparkles rained down like fireworks. She waved, shimmering. “…like an angel.” Richard hadn’t realised that he’d said that aloud until the taxi driver hesitated swiping his Visa card saying, “What mate?” The weather was ideal and white caps on the low choppy waves danced and glinted with the last of the sunlight. Boats of all kinds passed by. Their colours, shapes and probable destinations charted their conversation as they wandered under and around the bridge pylons. He sensed Lisa was full of life and happy, yet there was a certain tension he could not define. The harbourside would provide the romantic setting for his plan. Mark had been goading him a lot lately. His best friend was right, but he was also wrong. Richard was “chicken”, but not because he did not value himself. It was the risk of ruining a beautiful friendship that scared him. What if she rejected him? He knew she wouldn’t laugh at him. She never had. He chuckled. “What’s so funny?” Lisa queried, leaning over him, enveloping him in her perfume and the softness of her hair. He couldn’t breathe, let alone speak. She stopped pushing his wheelchair so that she could see his face. “Well?” “Nothing,” he lied, but her frown creased his resolve. “Just Mum,” he replied, thankful he was so quick at thinking, if nothing else. “True,” Lisa looked into his eyes, straight through to his soul, “she’d go dingbats as my gran used to say.” Richard smiled, and it was enough for Lisa to
resume walking along the gently sloping path to the water’s edge. He wasn’t ready to tell her everything yet. What he had been remembering was the awful confrontation when they had tried to tell his parents about their friendship. From the volcano of horror as his mother had abused Lisa, came the most radiant moment of his life. He smiled again as he pictured his mother when he would tell her one day that it was her attack that had given him hope. He laughed aloud as a distant ship sounded its horn, leaving the safe harbor, wondering what Lisa would say if she knew he had immortalized those thirty-eight wonderful words. “He is a man, Gail – intelligent, cultured and sensitive, with a man’s needs and a man’s feelings. He has grown up whether you like it or not.” Those twenty-seven were magical, but he nearly fainted at the next eleven words, and so did his mother. “I might even want to marry him, for all you know.” He saw them in gleaming amber, preserved forever. Richard liked fonts, so he imagined them written in Apple Chancery, italicized, and in hot pink. Glowing pink inside golden amber. That would have to be his consolation prize, if his plan didn’t work. Lisa had phoned him yesterday, crying and angry. He visualized the fluid crystals falling down her cheeks, and he loved her even more. “Sheila heard me telling Karen about your mother,” Lisa had said. “She burst into the tea-room and barraged me. ‘He’s not the secret boyfriend, is he – the one in the wheelchair?’ she said. Like you were a thing, not a person.” Richard had started to say something, but had taken too long because he was picturing Lisa outraged on his behalf. He could smell the coffee, and wondered why they called it a tea-room. He didn’t care what Sheila said. He’d heard it all before. He stopped smiling when Lisa repeated the next part of the conversation: “She said we were both pathetic – a cradle snatcher and a cripple – that we were embarrassing – unprofessional – and…” then the crying became a mixture of pain and outrage of her own.
Fiction
On the long path to the secluded spot he had pointed out to her, he had time to review why he had finally made the decision to tell her. He wanted to start the New Year closer to his love. On this balmy summer’s eve, he would tell her how he truly felt. No matter how good a time they had on their outings together, he could get no closer than holding her hand. The invisible, unspoken barrier was always up. Reluctantly he had, up until now, accepted this and been satisfied simply to enjoy her time, her company, her hand. He had planned every detail. Tonight he was filled with hope for more. A more glorious sunset could not have been arranged – pinks and golds now arched across the western sky, like her words in amber. As they found a bench at the water’s edge, he transferred from his chair to sit close beside her. The summer night’s cool breeze arrived, providing the excuse to place his arm around her bare shoulders. She didn’t pull away; she waited for him to complete it in his own time. All was going according to plan.
Lisa poured two glasses of the champagne he had brought. As she turned her face to him and lifted his glass, a container ship roared an urgent blast of warning to a small boat, and Richard’s dream fell apart. They had been sitting half turned towards each other. The sudden bellow startled him; his right hand, about to wrap romantically around hers, violently spasmed, punching the glass out of her grasp. They would have forlornly watched it smash to the ground if they hadn’t been distracted by his left hand. Previously lying lovingly on her left shoulder, it mercilessly flew up into the air, clipping Lisa on the side of her head as it went. Richard wanted to amputate it there and then. A catastrophic domino effect ensued. Lisa’s head was catapulted into his chest causing him to fall backwards, missing the bench’s metal armrest by a literal hair’s breadth. He wanted to die. As she lifted herself off his hopeless body, he could www.55magazine.com
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not open his eyes. He could not bear to see her pity or contempt. But the sounds did not match his vision. Slowly he forced his eyelids to part, just a little. “You’re laughing?” He had no idea how to feel. A toxic mix of pain, shame, relief and confusion had his heart racing so hard that if hadn’t already been lying unceremoniously on his back, he would have fallen there anyway. “Of course I am. But where’s someone with a camera when you need one?” She organized herself, and then efficiently helped him to sit up. Too efficiently. Back in therapist mode. The romance was gone. He knew it. The plan was gone. All hope sank. Contemplating the unfairness of life, he looked out over the water while Lisa picked up the broken glass, and confidently strode over to dispose of it in the rubbish bin. Walking back, she watched him. Her heart went out to him as she saw the slumped shoulders, and the sadness settle over him like a blanket. She knew how hard he had been trying to please her, and how shattered he would be feeling. “Come on. Cheer up. We are both okay, and it’s not the end of the world.” “Not much short of it,” he reluctantly replied as he noted the richness of the colours draining from the sky. Lisa sat down close beside him. He could feel her hip next to his. It was her turn to place her arm around his shoulders. “I’ve had worse. Surely you’ve heard about the David incident.” Met with silence, she continued. “It was my first day in the therapy pool, and no-one warned me about David’s left arm. I bent over to hear him more clearly, his arm shot up, and I went flying across the room. I hit the wall so hard that I literally saw stars. I felt like I was in a Disney cartoon as I slid to the floor. Everyone laughed except me.” As he slowly turned his head to risk seeing the expression on her face, Lisa leaned in to him. Without another word she placed her lips gently, lovingly, and longingly on his. As his head was exploding, he felt one of her arms slide behind his waist, and the other placed on his chest. With tears in his eyes, he could hardly breathe as she moved
back slightly. “Why now?” he whispered. He had waited so long, fearing their love may never happen. Keeping her arms around him, she explained. “I watched a movie on TV, late last night, about the end of the world. I was so miserable after Sheila’s harangue, I felt like a disaster movie. I assumed it would be one of those sci-fi, end of the world thrillers, but I was wrong.” He shivered as a short burst of cool air breezed past. The sunset had faded to its final glow on the rim of the distant hills and building silhouettes. The lights on the boats began to blink and sway. “But it wasn’t about the end of the world. It was about where you might be, what you’d be doing, and who you wanted to be with when it happened.” He placed his right hand as carefully as he could on her thigh. Lisa paused for only a moment. “The main character couldn’t be with his mother or his best friend, so he made a decision of where and how he wanted to be in his last hours. Following his own path led him on a journey to finally find love. People around him did as they pleased, good and bad, without society’s limitations because there would be no recriminations. Richard was getting a bit lost and hesitantly asked, “but how does that relate to us?” “But that is exactly it. I only thought of you. I fell asleep holding my pillow, imagining I was in the arms of my lover, listening to beautiful music. As the cataclysm strikes, we are deep in a blissful embrace, held together for eternity.” She lifted her fingers from his chest and stroked the side of his strong, soft cheek. “The face before me is always yours.” Richard bent to kiss her as he had fantasised so many times alone at night. It was briefer than he wished. Lisa relished his action but had not finished her tale. “I need you to understand what happened to me,” she explained. “My first waking thought this morning was that scene. I realised that with no rules governing me, if I could just follow my heart it would be straight in to your arms. It wasn’t all idealised, you know. You were still in a chair, and I was still just me, but nothing mattered. It sort of hit me how futile it would be if I actually knew what I wanted, and what I think
Fiction
you want, yet lived my whole life without telling you, or doing something about it.” The only part that struck Richard was that he was still disabled in her dream. It meant she really loved him for who he was. “Why should I wait until I’m about to die, like the guy in the movie, to be truly close to another human being when there isn’t anything tangible to stop us?” Two ferries sounded their horns loudly as they crossed paths leaving the wharf. He jumped, but she held him firmly. “Do you realise we have known each other for nearly five years, and have wasted most of it because of other people imposing their prejudices on us?” He could only nod in agreement, not daring to interrupt her earnest tone. “Then I understood that, despite my thinking that I was so “cool” about disabilities, the last barrier was actually me.” “No. You are the most perfect…” Lisa was in full confession mode and was not going to give him a chance to stop her. “I’ve been discriminating against you, even though I didn’t know it. Society’s rules made me behave differently towards you because of what you are; how they classify you. Yet what you are is the person I care most about. The way you were born, and the things that have happened to you, have made you who you are.” She noted his slight frown as he was starting to find it amusingly difficult to keep up with her. “Don’t you see that without the what’s right and wrong thing going on in my stupid head, there was only one truth. I do love you Richard.” A gasp filled his lungs and whole body. His back straightened. He did not want to breathe out as she continued. “As I so blithely said to a patient’s mother the other day ‘love sees past those things’, I realised that I was lecturing myself. You work so hard to please me and show me love at every opportunity. You lift me up with your words, your eyes and your heart. I’m sorry it has taken me so long to be able to return that love.” As he clasped his errant hands behind her back, feeling her warm body in his arms, she recommended the movie to him.
“If it is on again this month, I’ll record it for you. I think you’d like it.” This time he laughed out loud. “Record it? No way. I’m going to buy it, frame it, and write the producer a huge thank you letter for helping you to make me the happiest person in the whole world! I love you too Lisa, with all my heart and soul to the end of the world, whenever it may be.” Words about to be said vanished as their lips touched. Gentle, warm, brushing lightly at first, then lingering with delicious anticipation, they savoured the kisses of release. They were finally free to explore their love and their future. Reluctantly, they left the cool and still busy harbor, making plans as they slowly returned to the carpark, and his taxi home. The time had come to end these secret weekend meetings.
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Alacrium.
By Robert Bennett
A hot, dry breeze sweeps across the river flat. It is summer and the water is low. Insects buzz or flit about in the reeds. Lazy fish regard them with detached interest and no real expectations. Fish wisdom asserts that it is better to feed on the larvae nestled in the smooth pebbles. It must also be remembered that sooner or later the larvae will transform into adults before flying away. The breeze also raises small, whirling dervishes of dust that race madly along what was once a major street in an ancient Roman town. Its name was Alacrium. Over 1700 years have passed since the town was abandoned and Alacrium, silently and patiently, waits to be rediscovered. Once or twice, archaeologists have come close to finding it, but other discoveries have captured their attention. This is not surprising because Alacrium was only a small place and there are few records of its existence. The rutted cobbled stones that once marked the busy town thoroughfares are
now buried in soft soil and baked mud. Straggly, low vegetation adds to the disguise. There were no really grand buildings in Alacrium; the temple, the bath house and the administrative centre were relatively modest affairs. However, the temple did house a very pleasant sculpture of Minerva. All of the other buildings were either low, dingy shops or one and two storey houses crowded together like olives in a barrel. Most of them were made of timber or wattle and daub. As the Empire crumbled in 429AD, the Goths raged across the land and there was nothing of any consequence left of the little town to scream down the centuries, â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Hey, look at me!â&#x20AC;&#x2122; There was also a fort that stood on a gentle rise above the river. This strategic position enabled the garrison to maintain a simultaneous watch over the town and all of its approaches. The garrison consisted of around 80 men commanded by a centurion. All were veterans with only a short time to serve before retiring with
a pension to some small farm in Sicily or within the province of Africa. Most were content to serve out their time in Alacrium until their twenty years of marriage to the eagles was over. Apart from local crime and occasional civil disturbances, Marius Sextus and his men had little to do. The permanent population of Alacrium hovered at around 1200 with transients sometimes boosting the figure to 14 or 1500. It was a very manageable situation. In its heyday, Alacrium could sometimes be a fairly lively place. At least, it was lively in comparison with some other garrison towns in this part of North Africa. There were six taverns, several brothels and a market. Three or four different bakeries supplied bread and there was meat. The ancestors of the freshwater fish, which glide so securely in the river these days, provided further variety to the local communityâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s diet. Game, crops and homegrown vegetables rounded out the daily fare. Of course the best produce
Fiction was sent to Rome. Even so, food, wine and water were abundant. Boredom was the only major problem because the legions had long ago asserted their authority after the fall of Carthage in 146BC. In addition, the little town and its fort never featured in the greater events which swept the Empire during the three centuries or so of its existence. The weather was usually tolerable owing to the river and the proximity of the coast which was a little less than six kilometres distant. There were also some surrounding hills. However, the heat of summer sometimes changed things. Especially when no breezes blew off the sea or no rain fell from the hills. It was then, under the brilliant, white hot sun that bored men clashed in the close confines of the fort. In the town, locals drank too much at the taverns because it was too hot to work. It all made Sextus’ job less comfortable. But Sextus was not a man to waste time dealing with trouble. When his men wanted to fight he simply allowed the combatants to settle matters in front of their comrades. No weapons just a physical contest; toe to toe in the heat, a fight to a knockout or a standstill. Rematches seldom
occurred. Civilians were dealt with in accordance with established Roman law. The system was harsh but fair and few were silly enough to reoffend. Serious offenders received a proper hearing and were expeditiously punished or executed. Sextus knew the value of public spectacles but he preferred the axe or the rope to crucifixion. He took no pleasure in prolonged agony. Sextus’ men usually spent their leave in the taverns and the local brothels. In fact, many of the children playing in the streets had unknown or suspected fathers in the garrison. Even so, many former whores and legionaries had formed lasting relationships. Their offspring were often legitimate or at least the beneficiaries of their father’s pay. Those women who had not married lived in hopes that promises made would be honoured once their man was discharged. Civil officials, tradesmen, artisans, potters, shopkeepers and landlords made up the rest of the population together with their wives and children. Alacrium was not a place where a man could get rich but it was safe and secure. Then, one day, the order came for the garrison to move out. After Constantine the Great, died in
337AD, his three sons engaged in civil war. All three had been proclaimed emperor. But none of them was content with their allotted share of the Empire. The youngest son, Constans I quarreled with his elder brother Constantine II about the division of Roman lands in Africa. This meant that every garrison in the province was required to proceed to a major town and await further orders. Unfortunately, the loss of the legionaries’ money was a major blow to commerce in Alacrium. In 340AD, Constans defeated Constantine but by then Alacrium’s fragile fortunes had waned. The citizens decided to abandon the town. The only inhabitants who did not leave were those who had died there. There was little emotion. The reasons for leaving were sound and a promising future beckoned in the bigger coastal town to which the garrison had relocated. An assortment of wagons laden with all manner of goods, furniture, the sick, the elderly and small children led the way. A few people were mounted but most were on foot. It would not be a long journey, simply a matter of following the old road. Down on the river flat the insects were already rising. As usual, the fish observed proceedings with detachment.
Photograph: www.memoirsofanadventurer.com www.55magazine.com 23
Fish ‘n Ships
By Marjorie Griffith
I was 8 years old when my circle of adventure began in September 1936. My family sailed from Sydney on a huge passenger ship; our destination was Thursday Island (commonly called TI) in the Torres Strait. I remember little of the 8 days sailing up there but the arrival is etched, crystal clear, in my memory. On disembarking we walked part way along the jetty to a wooden shed in front of which was hanging the biggest fish I had ever seen. I was amazed, as the fish was at least twice my size with giant scales – I think it was a Groper. My parents had trouble making me leave until I heard “Marjorie!” This name was only used when I was “in trouble”. We then continued along the jetty towards the island, and the hotel where we were to stay until our home was ready for us. The next day my mother took me up to the one-room State School, which stood on the cleared top of a hill with the Australian flag fluttering in the breeze. The flag was raised each morning attended by the school children standing to attention, while singing the national anthem; then lowered each afternoon at the end of the school day. The head teacher taught children over the age of 8 yrs and the second teacher had control of the younger children. Coming from a large school, this one room was a shock, but it maintained a very high standard of education. At the lower edge of the school grounds a massive growth of gooseberry bushes ran along the fencing. The ripe fruits were
avidly collected and eaten by all in our 11 o’clock morning break. I loved the 2-hour lunch break, when we all went home to cool off from the midday heat. Goats had been brought to T.I. in the early years of the 18th and 19th century to provide food for passing mariners. They had demolished all the vegetation on the hill behind our house and, although wild, they chose to sleep under our house. They often kept us awake with their horns banging on our floorboards.
Three months later, my love of history was ignited. We learned that King George V had died and the Prince of Wales became King Edward VIII. When he abdicated on 11th December 1936, his brother, Albert, became King George VI. On that day TI put on a major celebration. The Catholic and State schools entered floats in the colourful parade. I was chosen to represent Princess Margaret, on the State School float, and my mother made me a lovely white dress to wear with pride. The town swimming pool was
built of rocks and was tidal. Unfortunately, one of our school’s older boys, while swimming in the pool, had stood on an extremely poisonous Stone fish, and died. My mother forbad my brother and I to swim there, but allowed us to swim in the open water at the bottom of our road where there was a small beach. My mother, being a Sydney city girl, had no idea of the dangers that lurked there, or of the marks left overnight by the crocodiles (we didn’t bother her with that kind of information!) One day, a submarine docked at our jetty and the schoolchildren were invited to explore it. Not everyone wanted to go, but I was very keen. We had to line up and only a certain number were allowed on at one time. Although I found it fascinating, I could not understand why anyone would voluntarily spend time in such a closed atmosphere. Next day my essay about the expedition was highly marked. A small, German private ship also visited our jetty. No, this time we were not invited to visit. Much later we learned that it was a disguised operational fighting vessel that did some harm to our navy in the Pacific during WWII. The local newspaper reported, at the time (pre war), that its purpose was mapping our coastline, the islands and coral reefs. The coastal charts in use then were still those made by Captain Matthew Flinders in the early 19th century. My next impressive history lesson occurred on 3rd September 1939, when war was declared on Germany by the British
Government. Our then Prime Minister, Mr Robert Menzies, followed by declaring Australia was also at war with Germany. My father gathered us around the radio to listen to Mr Menzies’ historic speech. The airfield on nearby Horn Island later became a target for repeated attacks by the Japanese. TI was (unofficially) not attacked because the body of a Japanese princess was believed to lie in the cemetery, along with many Japanese pearl divers. On one of my many long walks, I discovered a pearl shell operation. The huge piles of discarded pearl shells piqued my curiosity. I picked up two small pieces - one shaped like a dolphin and the other a double blister - both of which I still have, and are often admired. Another of my wanderings took me to the top of Green Hill. This was a gun emplacement built to fight a feared Russian invasion in the 19th century. The guns were still there pointing to the area from which the danger might come – but never did. Something I learned from my stay on TI was that religion can, and should, be co-operative and friendly. My brother was tall, blond and fair-skinned. There were only three churches on TI, and should one of them need a blond boy for a concert then my brother was “loaned” from the Presbyterian Church to the Catholic or Church of England, or vice versa. A similar situation existed between the Catholic and State schools (there were only two schools). It was a shock to me when returning to Sydney
to find such a high degree of prejudice among the varying religions. My life on TI came to an end in January 1940. I had passed the Q.C. N.S.W. exam for entry to high school. As there was no high school available on TI, any child wishing to further their education usually went to a Queensland mainland boarding school of their choice. As my family came from Sydney, I had applied for , and was accepted to, the prestigious Sydney Girls High School. On attending the first day I was given the choice of learning German or Latin. I chose Latin as I had been introduced to it on TI. Many of the other children knew nothing about Latin – so in the first half yearly exam I came first! It was then that I realised what a high standard of education was taught on TI in that one room, two teachers school. I had also been taught some anatomy and, best of all, I had been taught how to learn the meaning of words, both foreign and English, by the
understanding of the beginning and endings of words. At the tender age of 11yrs, I travelled alone to return to Sydney for high school. I hung on the rail of the small coastal ship Wandana, as my parents with a group of friends, both adults and children, black and white waved and sang the New Zealand Maori farewell song. It was very hard not to cry. In Cairns I was booked on a very large passenger ship to sail to Sydney. On this ship I met another lone school child on his way from Papua to a Toowoomba high school. We enjoyed our trip until he disembarked at Brisbane. Although it was a little daunting, travelling to attend high school was expected as part of growing up on TI. My world had expanded, and I found life so exciting. I was met by my aunt and uncle, and lived with them until my parents returned three months later. Once more installed in our old home in Manly, my circle of adventure was closed.
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Shanghai On a hot August night, we arrived in “Shanghai” to begin an unforgettable five week tour of Mainland China. Despite the fact I found something new and exciting in every city, if I could choose only one place to revisit, it would be Shanghai. Jutting out into the East China Sea in the shape of a human heart, it has captured mine. There are more people in this city than the entire population of Australia. The sheer size of everything opened our eyes wide, yet the overall experience was of welcoming, and cultural pride from the Shanghainese people. The immensity and pressure to move about should be chaos, and yet this lothian sways gently and steadily. Shanghai taught me patience and pragmatism.
By Lynda Bennett
attempted to teach us some basic Mandarin. Learning numbers in words was fun, but learning the correct Chinese hand signals meant that there was no doubt during one particular bargaining experience. Once I started using my hands as well, the vendor was surprised, and soon agreed to my offer. Everything is enormous. And yet, in a small park a short walk from the hotel, at night the locals gather to dance and socialise. Ballroom dancing on the pathways, typified the the way in which these people have learned to value, and to share, each precious available space. But it was the Shanghai Museum that changed my appreciation of history. Transfixed by small pieces of pottery, dated about 6000 BC, I realised that these ancient people already applied decoration to their work. An entire room was dedicated to maps and reflief models of the world, showing the history of trading interactions with other countries. I was infused with an appreciation of the intermingling of cultures, religions, and languages across what we now call Asia and Europe.
“if I could choose only one place to revisit, it would be Shanghai.”
The traffic was multi-tiered and apparently bedlam, and yet drivers took turns and gave way in mostly silent agreement. The coaches were comfortable, and the guides friendly, helpful and informative. They spoke excellent english, and with a great deal of good-natured humour, we
Ancient, merely old, and modern exist side by side in this city, which stretches all your senses to the limit.
The view of the hotel balconies, from inside the 88 story Jin Mao Tower
Intricately carved jade Interlocked Dragons Warring States 475 - 221 BC
Black pottery covered jar with carved pattern. Songze Culture, 3800 ~ 3200 B.C.
Travel
10 Things to do in The magnetic levitation train from the Shanghai Pudong International airport in to the city. Breathtakingly fast and smooth, it reaches speeds of 430 km/hr on a ride of under 8 minutes.
Nanjing Road is the main shopping street. Big stores, big interiors, big choices. Make a list before you go. You haven’t shopped until you’ve been here.
The Bund is the wide walkway bordering
the city along the Huangpu River. It is a place for tourists and locals alike. Behind you are the impressive 1920s buildings, while across the river are the skyscrapers of the Pudong. The light and colour display at night is the best I have seen in the world .
M on the Bund is a restaurant run by
Michelle Garnaut, an Australian restaurateur. In the spring (March), he oversees Shanghai’s very own International Literary Festival, which has in the past lured everyone from John Banville to Amy Tan. Walk along the Bund, or take a river cruise to marvel at the futurist architecture of the Oriental
Pearl TV Tower, is brilliantly lit with LED sequenced lights every night. The viewing and
restaurant levels are approx. 265 meters high.
The Shanghai Museum to alter your
understanding of history and art. See previous page for my experience. Make space in your itinerary to enjoy the calming, refreshing, traditional style of the
Buddhist Temple
Jing’an
Ascend the 88 story Jin Mao Tower. Look outside for the panorama, then look down through the glass dome into the interior to view the balconies of the Grand Hyatt Shanghai Hotel
The aquarium & the zoos, are a must,
especially if you can’t go to Chengdu to see the Pandas. The zoo has two divisions - a day zoo, and a night zoo. We wandered the ordered paths to wonder at the animals that are active in the evening. There’s a train, if your feet have done enough walking in the daytime.
Yu Garden
This is a must do - a serene, magnificent walled garden, whose outdoor “rooms” include traditional furniture and art, ponds, many goldfish, trees and flowers, rocks and paths. My time was spent in quiet amazement. www.55magazine.com 27
Story by Lynda Bennett. Flower images from Lynda’s garden in July
Many dread winter; but I love it. Winter caresses my face with icy cool fingers and I sigh with relief from the heat. This year I relived the gentle snows of my childhood, not at a resort, but driving up the summit road to Mt Donna Buang from Warburton in Victoria. Approximately a kilometre from the top, barriers prevented vehicles from proceeding, and directed the traffic into flat clearings to park. The road above the barriers was for walking, playing, crunching, sliding and snowballs. There were two large trucks – one selling hot chips, the other hiring small plastic toboggans. I wished I were six again in this wonderland.
Deeply settled on bending branches, there was no wind or rain to disperse winter’s rich, sparkling cloak. Leaves and branches know the secret of bending with the weight, until the snow slides off and they are free again. They know how to deal with pressure and they teach me. The thick, strong arms held out from the trunk appear to tolerate the heaviest snowy-white layers, yet even the tiniest leaves tolerate the same pressure and sometimes more. Brittle branches succumb and crash to the ground returning to the earth. Some leaves will not cope with the bitter cold and cry brown tears as they shrivel and die. But most of the flora knows. It does not fight the pressure. It welcomes the changes and bends in acknowledgement, bowing courteously until the snow slips off. It knows the power of cycles and the wisdom of welcoming winter as the cooler; the time of waiting and healing; the readier for the renewal.
Under the snow, the bulbs that elate in the cold are excited and strong, reaching for the surface. Spring may see their full beauty, but winter is the nurturer. The tender green tips peek above the frosty grass in anticipation of the colours of spring. Learning Tai Chi has taught me to be as the leaves heavy with snow: to bend until the snows fall and I can stand tall again. I learned to show my colours, breathe gently, and move calmly as the weather whirls around me. On the mountain, winter’s cloak is stark white, deep black and shades of grey. People adorned in a myriad of safety-coloured jackets brighten the scene. The clothing, that surrounds my body and keeps the heat in, is thick, soft and bright pale blue. But it is the scarves that draw my attention and are my favourite; the variety of colours and textures, lengths and shapes is boundless. Flying freely behind the children as they toboggan down the slope, they wave a rainbow of happiness. Returning home after lunch from the snowy grey and white mountain, I search for colour, looking to discover what the birds and possums have already known: winter shyly hides her brilliance. In my garden, blooms of white, pinks and reds adorn the broad, shiny, dark green leaves of the camellias. Sunny yellow daisies stand tall, and others creep below the bare trees. The possums delight in eating the bright purple bracts of the happy wanderer that grows wildly over fences. The Happy Wanderer
Winter Wonder
Snowfall photos taken by Lynda Bennett at Mt Donna Buang, Victoria.
Creative non-fiction
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Flowers and butterflies in a winter garden
Winter apple blossom
The wattlebirds acrobatically sup on the new, pale yellow-green brushes of the giant banksia. In another corner, near the bare cherry tree branches, a cloud of small vermillion blossoms erupts, beckoning bees, before producing their early, tiny apples.
Sweet scents seduce the gardener. The white blossoms of the Daphne, the early hyacinth and the viburnum withstand winter’s temperament. A few brave jonquils and daffodils defiantly release joyful aromas from their protective sheaths. The chill winds blow and the rains fall. The blossoms do not show that they even notice; they teach me resilience. I had worn my warmest hat to the mountain, and did not remove it as I climbed the path to the top orchard. Frost had brown-tipped some of the orange–twist lilly pillies, but the grey-green of the olives and the bright green of the lime leaves, seem unconcerned. I find the bench and rest under the old apple tree. Its gnarly, twisted fingers compete to reach for the sun, with tiny swellings of promise along their tips. My thoughts swirl like the gusts of wind. I tug my cap further down around my neck, remembering where I bought it. My favourite hat called to me through the window of the tiny shop in Lorne, offering me protection from the Antarctic winds whipping around my ears. Although I was wrapped and warm, the heat was escaping through my thick, tightly woven scarf. Sitting on a pole in the shop, among other subtlehued clothing, my hat’s colours shouted happiness. Knitted by hand from silk and wool, the riot of vibrant colour shakes its cosy fist against any grey day. As soon as it molded around my neck and ears, all my energy was retained, and I was happy. It still teaches me a love of colour, and protection of my thoughts. In Lorne, I was sad and no amount of chat, hot chips and tourism could assuage the depth of my loss. Winter of comfortable jackets and roaring fires, and
the pleasure of cuddles had abandoned me. The love of my life, my dog George, had reached the end of his time on earth. He hated being cold and had a method of discovering the warmest person or the optimum heated spot to settle on. He would have claimed my silk hat, if he’d had the chance. In the late afternoon, idling down from the orchard, I pass my neighbour’s bright yellow winter wattle, attracting the bees and tiny birds. My eyes search across the valley, marvelling to find other large wattle-yellow patches adorning the hillsides. George, the Shih Tzu, and Littleman, our enormous black cat, have both found a permanent resting place near the orchids, this winter. I pause and lean against the new retaining wall on a cold, grey, now rainy day, and cry and smile at the same time. Beside me, in the waning light, I notice only one strappy-leafed, tightly-bunched orchid is flowering. The delicate redthroated green-lipped sprays emanate from the pot given to me several years ago when my father died. Dad’s orchid has bloomed since early March, and has continued throughout winter, perhaps to welcome my two small friends. I am next to George’s resting place and I am wearing my hat. I tug at it again to warm my thoughts as much as to protect me from the fine drizzling rain. A golden gerbera is flowering early in the earth above George, as if he is saying, “I am here”. Georgie’s smiling early Gerbera
Winter Wonder
I remember the wonderful life we had with George, and then the memories of others I have loved and lost come flooding in. They teach me love and gratitude. Those of you who have known the unconditional wagging-tail love of a canine companion will know my loss in your bones. It was cold that day. ; he didn’t like being cold, especially as he got older. I buried
Creative non-fiction
For a moment I allow my mind to stray, and remember George’s friend and love, Saffie. While George loved to be warm, clean and dry, she loved mud and salty water, and running in the wind with her double-thick fur coat. No matter how cold the evening gales blew, no man-made coverings for her, she was up for a walk. She loved winter. Her aim in life was to create love and laughter. We all miss her and when her funny, flickery, flighty candle went out, a little light went out in all of us too. Littleman, though a cat, was their pal. He is curled up on his blanket beneath the overhanging stems of Dad’s orchid, next to George. They all watch over me now, as I watch over them. I look along the wall that has created the new garden. From Georgie’s spot across the back of the house to the side fence, there are a variety of short stems jutting out defiantly from the beige-gold straw mulch. The roses, whose tender toes were planted before the frosts, develop stains of passionate red in patches over their stark, sharp stems and thorns. They listen to the cold, settle in, get comfortable and ready themselves for the energetic task of bursting forth their brilliance in spring. A peace rose was bought for my mother, given to her by my father on their honeymoon sixty-four years ago. A new peace rose has been planted this winter, beneath her bedroom, and the memories are stirred.
mornings, bouncing tiny rainbows, responding to my smiles. Clouds of ‘dragon’s breath’, as I have called it since my childhood, will cease to puff from my mouth as I exhale when I venture out to bring in the waste bins after the morning collection. Spring will bring the fruit blossoms and warming, sunny days. Spring will be busy, clearing and mulching and planting. The baby birds of all sizes and sounds will announce their arrival. I will join the others in celebrating the emergence. In summer, I shall pick the crops and delight in the freshness of our bounty. Sometimes I shall be forced to hide from the unyielding, unfriendly heat. The cooling water is not enough for me, and I will count the days til winter. Autumn will lift my spirits again, with another bounty of crops and cooler nights. The falling leaves will decorate my hopes, and herald the return of winter. As a child, I raked the fallen autumn leaves in to great piles to be gathered with my parents. Now, I gather the falling leaves and each one brings me closer to my beloved winter. It is the time to collect the last of the harvest, protect those that need it, and make the home snug. As the light fades over my winter garden, I go inside and snuggle into my thickest dressing gown. The comfy velour against my skin hugs me and tells me ‘all is well, the day is nearly done’. As the evening chores are completed, the light quilt, the warm sheets and soft blue blanket beckon me. They promise ease and dreams, and wrap their reassuring arms around me. Winter is not a sad time. Winter will always be my special time; it is a time for rugging up, and staying warm in the cold; it is for resting and remembering; it is for loving and healing; it is a time with colours hidden, waiting to be found.
Blue Iris
Fire and Ice orchid
him in a new section of the garden in is newest thick, warm, brown coat – the one he liked, not the stretchy one that he hated having dragged over his head, with feet poked through holes and red stretchy fabric pulled up under his arms. I freed him from the collar that for fifteen years he had barely tolerated, except for the certainty that it meant going for a walk or even better, a drive in the car. I said my goodbyes without any pretence of holding back tears; he deserved every drop.
The days will warm soon, and my heart already secretly mourns the loss of a chilled sunrise. Brilliant diamonds will no longer cover my carport in the www.55magazine.com
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by Lynda Bennett
I’m swimming in the dark And I think I like it. I used to think that life was sink or swim But no, that isn’t it. The truth is sink or stay afloat And if you actually get to swim Then you’ve really made it!
Listen on soundcloud if you look this up https://soundcloud.com/from-the-courses-mouth/ swimming-in-the-dark-lynda
Swimming in the Dark
S
But swimming in the dark I don’t know where I’m going. I do hope that it’s forward But at least I feel I’m moving. Unseen rocks and swirling eddies Attempt to drag me down at times. Just now I’m smoothly gliding. Swimming in the dark is quiet And sometimes even lonely. I am a little scared But the silence is lovely. I have some time to ask myself Where I really want to go Tho’ I change my mind hourly. Swimming in the dark Is really in my head. Others see the light or lights Paddling straight ahead. I cannot yet see the way, so I listen to the wind and waves And feel the world instead. If I’m swimming near the rocks They used to bruise and pound. Often I went crying under But now I swim around. I thank the rocks for showing me A different way to floating flow To the treasures I have found. Swimming slowly in the dark Before I disappear, I feel another hand go past Excited someone else is near. We porpoise, dive, kick and sprint. We are the water, the wind and the knowing Love is the light to conquer fear.
Lonely as a Cloud
by Lynda Bennett
I wandered lonely as a cloud
Adrift in a bright blue sea. All the world was sunny ‘Cept for the little patch of me. Casting my hopes to the wide horizon As far as my eye could see. I searched for kindred clouds Floating as winds whisked me casually. I puffed and piffed and skittered along Aware that what I made Wasn’t always wantedMy brightness-blocking patch of shade. Giving protection from blinding rays, Some shake their fists at me. Yet others want relief And welcome cooling sanity. Sensible clouds in groups of greys Gather to decide. A spit or spat to give Or a torrent of a ride. I wander lonely as a cloud Who wants to stay just right. Not threatening or mean, Reflecting colours dawn and night. Do not mistake my quietude As careless inanity. For those in brilliant blindness, I cry o’er homes and land and sea. “She’s just a stupid little cloud Don’t listen to her whine. All is as it should be, With the masses we’ll align.” I have been known to yell aloud Puff up and explode. Today I rarely bother As you follow your own road.
“Poetry”
Frayed, feathery, fluffy edges Conceal my desire To show bright blue will kill Like an all-consuming fire. Illumination beckons you. Put your filters on. A shadow pause to ask What follows from this action? It seems so right to act as one To love, or kill, or play As benefits the group To live and grow another day. Deceptive blue is warm and happy “We do not want to hear. Shoo you cooling cloud, Strive and thrive, we show no fear.” Gentle drops of tenderness Let fall into your cup. Steered by thoughtless greed You will surely shrivel up. I wander lonely as a cloud Back to the bright blue sea. Shielding those who wish Through open eyes, the truth to see. It’s not about us, you or me. Desire balance and care In sun and rain and wind. Seek your right place if you dare. How will you know when you are there? Your eyes are open, seeing Courage moves you forward Small steps as a loving being. www.55magazine.com
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Editorâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Photo Pick NMIT SPRING LESSONS
Stunning clear blue sky over the Bachelor of Writing and Publishing building at NMIT Fairfield, Melbourne Australia. A temptation to stay outside in the sun, at the end of winter 2014, but an inspiration to live, love and learn on this garden campus.
Location
Please read the information below if you would like to be a contributor. 55 is a voice for writers and artists who are aged 55 or over at the time of submission. You will be required to include your date of birth on the submission form. We will not be able to accept any work without this information. Format: Send your writing ONLY in doc or doc.x files. Nothing else will be opened. All work must be in English. Send images at actual size and 300dpi CMYK tiff, jpeg or PDF files. We like high resolution images as we will not print poor quality or pixelated images. If you are entering a photo and caption, please send the image separately, with the words in the doc or doc.x file. Do not include your name on any documents or images. Send them as attachments to an email. In the interests of fair assessment, your name and contact details must only appear in the body of the email. Currently, all stories must be no more than 1000 words. Any changes to the word limit will be on the submission guidelines page of our website www.55.com.au Types of submissions: Send submissions to Fiction 55ausmagazine@gmail,com Non-fiction and visit us at Creative non-fiction, or what we fondly refer to as Faction http://55magazine.wordpress.com Poetry Visual art Other forms of art, such as sculpture or crafts - send a high quality image of the work. Separately send a Word document with a story about it, such as its journey to creation, or its significance. We strongly advise you to have a look at a 55 magazine to decide where your work might fit. We pay $100 Aus for work published. A story and accompanying images are one item. We will send an automated notification of receipt of your email. We will try to get back to you as soon as possible, but if you have not heard from us after 3 months from submission, please send us an email. Themes and deadlines for upcoming issues will be advertised on our website. We allow a broad interpretation of theme, as long as it complies with our Mission Statement. Submissions do not have to be about people over 55. They only have to be by people 55 and over. We want good writing. We want to hear your voice. Edit your work carefully before you submit. We will see past the odd error (none of us is perfect) but we can only accept work of a reasonable standard. Terms of publication: LyndaBennett Publishing publishes work in 55 on a non-exclusive, irrevocable and royalty-free basis. We require writers who will be published in 55 to sign a licence deed granting us permission to publish work in the printed 55 magazine, the online 55 magazine, via the 55 magazine podcast, in the 55 magazine blog, and on the LyndaBennett Publishing website, and for use in promoting the 55 magazine. Writers retain copyright of their work and are free to use it in whatever way they like in the future. All text and images must belong to the contributor. 55 Mission statement is to provide a voice for creative people 55 years and over, with the overarching intent to inform, inspire and intrigue with positive and entertaining content. ***All works must comply with our mission statement.
Please only submit your work if you are satisfied with these terms. www.55magazine.com
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