start cybersenior.2.4
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	* THE
	* CYBERSENIOR
	* REVIEW
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VOLUME 2 NUMBER 4                        OCTOBER 1995
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The CyberSenior Review is a project of the Internet
Elders List, an active world-wide Mailing List for
seniors. The Review is written, edited and published
by members of the Elders for interested netizens
worldwide.

Contents copyrighted 1995 by the Internet Elders List
and by the authors. All rights reserved by the authors.
Quoting is permitted with attribution.

The editorial board of The CyberSenior Review:

Elaine Dabbs edabbs@extro.ucc.su.oz.au
Pat Davidson patd@chatback.demon.co.uk
James Hursey jwhursey@cd.columbus.oh.us

======================================================

CONTENTS, Volume 2, Number 4, October 1995

EDITORIAL by Pat Davidson

ON TOP OF THE TRENCHES by Jim Olson
    A poignant memoir of Jim's Uncle Fred.

THE ZOOWALKERS by Laurie Stone
    Laurie keeps fit by walking among the animals.

A QUIET BUGGY RIDE by Bill Powrie
    Bill takes us on a brief tour of the very different world of the Amish.

HOW TO SURVIVE FAMILY VISITS, AND STILL REMAIN FRIENDS by Pat Davidson
    Pat gives us some good advice on how to handle those guests that 
    just don't seem to know when to go home.

====================================================================

EDITORIAL
by Pat Davidson

Writers have used autumn as an inspiration for their poems which have
become famous; Keats calls it "Season of mists and mellow
fruitfulness", while Verlaine brings in a sombre note with his
"Chanson de L'Autumne" where he says "Je me souviens, Des jours
anciens, et je pleure".

We certainly have no time on Elders for crying over past days--we're
much too busy enjoying our lives NOW, free from the hassle of earning
our living, or bringing up our children. These are truly our golden
days of "mellow fruitfulness", when we have time to share experiences
with one another both in our everyday "conversation" and in our
Review.

Often these experiences can be distressing; we share with our friend
Barbara Ann in Thailand the horrors of being flooded out, and with
Horace in New Zealand the threat of a possible volcanic eruption. At
other times, the experience is more pleasant, when a new grandchild
or great grandchild is born, and we share the happiness of the birth
with the family.

The latest issue of the "Review" gives us an insight into the
lives of the Amish people, by Bill Powrie, and into the life of a
soldier of the First World War, his Uncle Fred, by Jim Olson.  Laurie
Stone suggests a way to enjoy walking when living in an urban
environment and my own article is written from situations described
by my friends, some of whom are members of Elders! It was written
when I was in a frivolous mood, and is NOT to be taken seriously!

I hope you have much pleasure from reading this issue of the Review.

====================================================================

ON TOP OF THE TRENCHES
by Jim Olson

My mother was the tenth child in a family of eleven children.
Her brother, my uncle Fred, was the ninth and it was this older
brother whose friendship with my father led to her meeting my
father and eventually to my existence. As I examine my past and
the heritage from the past, I  sometimes wonder about how my
Uncle Fred's life fits into the intricate web of circumstance,
heredity, and experience that  plays a role in shaping  our
lives and perhaps the lives of our progeny.

The picture in the old family album of Fred that sticks in my 
memory of is the picture of him in his World war I uniform, a
dashing handsome figure, looking out confidently at a troubled
world that he was soon to "save" in combat in France. The pose
and demeanor is almost an echo of that of his grandfather
Griffin, tall slim, almost courtly, the  patriarch of the
family, a pillar of the community whom everyone spoke well of
and respected.

Along with my father, Fred was in combat toward the end of the
war, and I recall one of the few conversations I had with my
father on one of those rare occasions when we got together. My
mother had died when I was three and my  aunt Jen, the oldest
child in the Putney family had taken in my older brother and
myself, just as she had raised the  ten siblings when their
mother died at a relatively early age. After that I saw my
father only on rare occasions as he had moved to another city
and  started a new life and a new family.

When I returned from my stint in World War II, I visited my
father and we talked of war as one veteran to another.  He told
me mostly about Fred, who was clearly the leader of the group of
young soldiers from our small town. He recalled how in this
strange  new world of exploding shells, poison gas, and death,
Fred served as a model of stability and calm, taking a few
moments every evening to light a cigarette and walk along on the
top of the  trench defying the German snipers.

Perhaps he knew something about how the setting sun would create
a glare in their scopes; perhaps he wished simply to continue
his leadership of the group with this display of daring; perhaps
he wished to allay the fear they felt, something both my father
and myself had experienced in war.

Fred and my father returned unscathed from the war and attended
a technical institute in the Twin Cities  to learn about the
rapidly developing  field of electricity and radio. My father
courted and married my mother. I learned some details of this
courtship years later when I took a summer job harvesting grain.
The farmer told me of how he admired my mother who taught in the
local country school and  how he had briefly  competed with my
father for her hand and lost, remembering  being with her at
local dances, and how he had not married until after my mother's
death.

Fred married his childhood sweetheart, a member of one of the
distinguished founding  families of the community, a prairie
version of the Boston Cabots. It was the classic example of the
most popular sought after young man marrying the most desirable
girl, the prince finding his princess to live happily ever
after. But there was a complication that marred this scenario.

While Fred was off at war, his sweetheart had a battle of her
own to fight. She went on one of those  not uncommon visits to a
relative in a nearby large city for a period of months
sufficient to give birth to a baby boy. The child was adopted by
a family friend. This was the pattern of illegitimate birth in
those days. She returned to town in time to greet Fred upon his
arrival but did not tell him of his  paternity.

The marriage proved fruitful and successful for a number of
years.  A daughter and two sons  blessed the union  while Fred
assumed a position of leadership in the community as an
executive for an electric company. In contrast,  my father used
his training  and his father's money to set up a local radio
station, an enterprise that failed quickly. Fred took him in as
a lineman for the electric company where he worked until my
mother's death.

For several years Fred and his family lived in a  country home
about a half mile down the road from my aunt's house, a model of
middle class respectability, the rising young executive with the
socialite wife. I can remember walking down there to play with
my cousins and visiting them from time to time in the summer at
their cottage on a nearby lake. All of the middle class
businessmen in town had country cottages on the lake.

One summer they  built an airplane  and flew it  using their
pasture as a landing strip until one day the  plane hit a cross
wind on takeoff. One of my cousins was flying and not up to
handling this difficulty. The plane nosed down and broke apart.
He was not injured  seriously but that brief encounter "on top
of a trench" ended  his career as an aviator. My aviation time
was spent in those days with balsa wood models powered by rubber
bands and launched from the top of the silo after I had
cautiously climbed up holding on securely to the rungs inside
the interior tunnel that ran up the side of the silo, my body
braced against the sides and secure from falling.

I was not generally  a "top of the trenches" type, although
there was the one occasion when inexplicably as a lithe skinny
kid  I volunteered to shinny up the tall wooden  post that
served as the center post for the annual gospel meeting  tent
for a nearby church. Each year someone needed to climb the post
and secure a rope to a pulley so the tent could be raised. Maybe
I felt there was some divine guidance or assistance for me, or
maybe I was getting my "top of the trenches" proclivities out of
my system,  and like my uncle Fred, I enjoyed the attention the
feat garnered.  I still recall it quite vividly and the
exhilaration I felt from the experience.

When Fred's illegitimate child was about eighteen, the  family
that had  adopted him could no longer keep him.  At this point
Fred learned of his fatherhood and insisted that the boy join
his family as a long term visitor, son of a friend of the
family. What happened next is predictable.

He fell in love with his sister and they planned to elope,
misunderstanding their mother's disapproval of the match as a
social snub of the boy's family. The sham could no longer be
maintained and they were told that they were brother and sister.
They were outraged at this revelation and as befitting an age of
newer and open expression they  proclaimed the truth and the
story that had only been partially hidden from the town's people
was now the open subject of local gossip.

Fred had always been keeping up a drinking comradeship with his
war buddies, but increasingly he found the bottle a source of
solace. His marriage dissolved, and he ended up in the Veterans
hospital in the alcoholics ward. His family with the exception
of the illegitimate son  disowned him. This son, my favorite
older cousin, visited him from time to time, and I recall going
along on several occasions. In the ward, Fred reminded me of his
father, old grandfather Putney, rocking in his chair in the
farmhouse dining room, staring past us into a world unknown to
us, muttering to himself, another victim of the bottle, and
perhaps of his inability to ever live up to the image of his
wife's father.

Fred  recovered enough to move in with us and occupy the spare
bedroom  where we would sometimes talk.  He told me about the
experience of delirium tremens and urged me not to drink. On one
occasion  he told me of my father and how he used to climb the
power  poles using only his hands and the lineman's boots with
their climbing spurs, racing up the poles minus safety and
climbing straps.  Fred talked of how my father would sometimes
work quickly and  skillfully  on high voltage wires having
disdained the usual practice of waiting for the power to be
disconnected. Evidently my father had a few moments "on top of
the trenches."   Our talks soon ended as Fred's old friends
lured him back to the bottle and he returned to the hospital.

His condition deteriorated rapidly and he died within a few
weeks. As the American Legion rifle squad composed of some of
his old companions fired a  salute  over the casket lowered into
the newly dug trench besides my mother's grave, I thought that
here was the volley that toppled Fred from the top of the
trench. It was  a hit from within; within himself, within his
military experience, and within the social mores of our small
midwestern town.

====================================================================

THE ZOOWALKERS
by Laurie Stone

My doctor said, "You need to walk more. Fitness machines are excellent, but 
for an all-around workout, you still can't beat walking".  I thought 
about various alternatives for awhile, but discarded them--hate walking 
in malls; neighborhood has no parks or wooded areas; hate getting up 
early for solitary exercise, etc., etc.  I could think up excuses faster 
than other people could give me reasons.

Then my friend Dorothy said, "Why don't you join the Zoowalkers and walk 
with my friends and me?  We're a pretty laid-back group, and we won't 
hassle you if you don't feel like doing it all the time--and you'll have 
company, too."  My first thought was "Oh, not the zoo!  I hate 
zoos--seeing all those pathetic caged creatures is just too sad!"  
Walking the same area every week didn't sound all that interesting, 
either, but walking with a congenial group was certainly preferable to 
solitary rambling, so the next Tuesday morning she picked me up at 9:00 
a.m. and off we went.

One morning's walk and I was hooked.  The day was one of our beautiful 
Puget Sound winners:  sunny September with just a hint of coolness in the 
air and blue skies overhead, birds singing, flowers and trees looking 
their best--I was beginning to feel better just standing there!  There 
were about 85 present that morning, and they ranged in age from early 60s 
to early 90s; from the vigorous to those walking with canes.  Dorothy 
told me that some of the members had been barely able to get around with 
a walker when they first started, but were now walking briskly with a 
cane, and in some cases, with no aid at all.

I soon found out why.  The 83-year-old director started us off with brief 
warmup exercises, pulse count, etc., and then set off briskly for the 
measured mile walk.  The various trails through the zoo have been mapped 
out for efficient walking, but everyone is free to take any trail they 
wish, depending on their ability and/or determination.  Seattle has in 
recent years embarked on an ambitious zoo renovation plan, and as it 
slowly takes shape the zoo has quietly emerged as one of the best walking 
areas in town.

The trails wind through carefully landscaped plantings which are designed 
with natural settings in mind.  The walkways are for the most part 
unpaved, so that one walks in a natural setting, completely separated 
from traffic noise and commercial establishments.  In places it looks 
like a quiet woodland area; in others, a tropical jungle, and with the 
seasons the trees, shrubs, and flowers are always different.

The zoo occupants are housed in large open areas designed to be as close 
as possible to native habitats.  Many of the animals are on the 
endangered species list, which is one of the principal reasons for 
keeping them in protected areas, and I am finding my prejudice against 
zoos slowly dissolving.  One soon develops a certain fondness for special 
animals or birds--the perky meerkats, the baby Colobus monkeys, who are 
cradled and spoiled by both their mothers and their aunties, and my 
personal favorites, the beautiful, elegant black-white-and-grey 
Demoiselle Cranes.

Zoowalkers are allowed into the zoo on Tuesday and Thursday mornings from 
9:30 a.m. until 11:00 a.m. for the paltry sum of $5.00 per quarter--and 
this includes a free parking permit in a specified zoo lot.  Not even zoo 
members are given free parking!  The program is underwritten for seniors 
by Group Health Cooperative of Washington, oldest and one of the largest 
HMOs in the country, and one of the first to emphasize preventive 
maintenance of the human body rather than after-the-fact repairs.  They 
implemented the zoowalk program in the summer of 1990, and it now has a 
membership of about 150.  Attendance fluctuates with the seasons, but 
even in December and January there is always a large group out, wrapped 
up snugly in down jackets and caps and ready for exercise.  Now that's 
dedication.

At least once a quarter a group social is held in one of the social 
centers at the zoo.  Interesting programs are given, refreshments are 
served, and it is a good opportunity to become acquainted with new people.

The small group of 15 or so regular walkers to which Dorothy first 
introduced me nicknamed themselves "The Zoowalkers Brunch Bunch", which 
is pretty self-explanatory.  We don't confine ourselves to brunch/lunch, 
however, but have a lot of activities together, including Elderhostel 
trips, especially for those who live alone.  A lot of close friendships 
have been formed as a result of zoowalking.  My spouse was so intrigued 
by my enthusiastic report the first day that he decided to join us, and 
has been walking with us ever since.  Because he is usually the only male 
in the crowd, he gets all sorts of attention, and you can bet he thrives 
on it!

I have to admit that even though I'm still a nightowl I don't mind 
getting up as much now to go zoowalking.  Yes, there are a lot of other 
good places to walk, but where else in town do you get to check on how 
the baby calves and lambs are doing at the Family Farm, or if the 
giraffes are outside yet with the zebras and springboks?  And how many 
people outside the zoo get to watch the hippos personally devour their 
annual feast of post-Halloween pumpkins?  One needs to be there to check 
it out!

====================================================================

A QUIET BUGGY RIDE
by Bill Powrie

Allow me to take you on a quiet buggy ride into a world that may be strange
and very different from most of yours. 

First, let's go back to about January 21, 1525. This, of course, was the 
time of the Reformation. As Martin Luther led the challenge to the
Catholic Church, another reformer named Ulrich Zwingli came to the
attention of the people of Zurich. From this came a group of people called
"Brethern," or also called "Anabaptists."

In this group there was a Catholic Priest named Menno Simons. Simons was
the spark that unified the Anabaptists and from this came the Mennonites.
In 1693 a young Swiss Mennonite Bishop named Jacob Amman became
disenchanted with the lack of purity of the Mennonite church and along with
a group of followers started a more conservative church, calling themselves
"The Amish."

The Amish church has split many times and there are still to this day many
different types of Amish churches. Without going into detail about theology
and doctrine, we will look at the beliefs of the most conservative, or the
"Old Order" Amish church. 

What are some of the things the Amish consider most important in their
lives? First and foremost in Amish life is their belief in God. All other
things revolve around this: closeness of family members, food, shelter,
health, contentment and peace. These are the things Amish life thrives on
and other things are not considered important and thus not practiced.

Another question often asked about the Amish is: Does anyone ever join
them other than the ones born into Amish families? The answer is yes,
anyone is welcome to join their church and thus their community as long 
as they abide by the rules of the church. To many, joining the Amish church
would not be possible because the rules are too strict. Some have married
Amish men and women and thus been accepted into the Amish church but this 
is not common.

On the other side of the coin, we have church members who do not stay
committed to the rules and standards of the church. The discipline of the
church is as severe as the entrance requirements. The church gives loving
counsel to its members and encourages them to repent of any sins they
commit, but if this fails to convince them, punishment is severe and
includes banishment from the church, and the fellowship as well, until they
see the error of their ways. These punishments are not meant to harm an
individual, but to force them to take a serious look at their actions and
to come back to the fellowship. Fortunately, the number of members
excommunicated this way is very small. 

Although some members (mostly young people) leave the fellowship
voluntarily, looking for freedom from strict religious standards, the Amish
church nevertheless continues to grow even today.

Why do the Amish dress as they do? 

The Amish believe that your lifestyle reflects your faith, and their
clothes are an example of their convictions. The main reason for their
style of dress is to eliminate any doubt that they are different from the
rest of the world. 

Men and boys wear dark suits, coats without lapels, suspenders instead of
belts, broadfall pants, white or pastel colored shirts, black shoes, black
or straw broad-brimmed hats. Their hair is full and cut at the collar. They
shave until married and then wear beards only. Mustaches are forbidden as
they are associated with the military and the Amish are against carrying
arms.

The women and girls do not cut their hair. They wear it parted in the
middle and rolled tightly back from the face, then twisted in a bun at the
nape of the neck. The dresses are dark or pastel in color, ankle length and
made of the type of material that is appropriate with the area they live
in. Aprons are of light material and are always worn. There is a white,
organdy prayer veil that covers the back and top of the head, and when
going out a black bonnet and shawl is worn. No jewelry is allowed.

What of Amish education?

The Old Order Amish are not against education and know that it is 
important. But the type of education that goes on in the Public Schools
bothers Amish parents. The Amish child knows less about science and
the arts but more about nature, farming, soil, animal and plant care and
basic skills such as carpentry and food preservation. The Amish child is
also bi-lingual (German and English) from birth and has a sense of security
that is found in very few other places.

The children learn the basics--reading, writing and arithmetic--and as long
as the Public Schools went along with this in the one-room schoolhouses the
parents had no problem with it.  But when the schools were enlarged and
consolidated and other courses were introduced, the Amish turned away and
stuck to their one-room schools. Amish children attend school up to the
eighth grade. When they reach their mid-teen years the Amish feel they 
are needed more at home and in the field. Home and family are always more
important than any career or higher education.

Contrary to most opinions, the Amish pay school taxes and all expenses for
their education. I guess another way to put the Amish education theory is
that the Bible says wisdom and understanding are more important than
knowledge, and the Amish will always follow the Bible.

The Amish want you to know that they exist and are growing everyday. They
want you to know that God is the center of their life and they are living
as they believe the Bible tells them to. This may offend some, but they
will not argue with anyone about it; they will just smile and say,"God
loves you too, and if you try to live a Bible-centered life you will know
the peace and happiness that we know."

I have not gone into the Biblical references in this brief article because
my main goal has been to introduce you to a group of people completely
different from those you are familiar with. I may go deeper into the Amish
theology and doctrines at another time if there is sufficient interest.

As for now, our buggy ride has ended. Everyone out! Perhaps, another time, we will again board the buggy and stop at an Amish wedding, attend an Amish church service or spend a day in an Amish kitchen. 

Until then, remember, once you meet an Amish family and show genuine love and friendship to them, you will have friends forever. 

====================================================================

HOW TO SURVIVE FAMILY VISITS, AND STILL REMAIN FRIENDS.
by Pat Davidson

It happens to all of us. The phone rings, and another family visit is
imminent! That's fine when the guests-to-be are people whom you find
agreeable, but how do you cope with those whom you abhor, yet might be
the dearly-loved brother and sister-in-law of your spouse? Just
because your husband looks forward to their visit, it doesn't
necessarily follow that you do! However, you're required to offer them
hospitality. How are you able to do this, and still remain sane?

In my opinion, the first thing to do when the visit is mooted is to
agree on the length of stay, and a rough time of arrival. This gives the
hostess some idea of the number of meals she'll be expected to serve,
and she can plan the menus ahead. The final length of stay should be
decided by the hosts, as after all it is they who will be spending
their hard-earned money on providing entertainment and food. It
also saves you asking, when they're with you, awkward questions about
the length of their stay. I'll never forget the expression on the face
of my mother-in-law when I asked her how much longer she intended staying,
so that I could shop accordingly for food. The question was completely
innocent, I can assure you!

The guests have arrived, and although you're enjoying their company,
the conversation is becoming repetitive. What about a "breathing space",
when the visitors go out in the car on their own, visiting the local spots
of interest, and the hosts can recover their flagging spirits?  No
car? Then you've got to bite the bullet and either hire a car for
the day for them, or one of you will have to take them out, leaving the
other to recover. The next day, you do a swap, so that each host gets
a break. The guests will be delighted with their entertainment, and
you'll have something new to talk about. It helps to have brochures of
the local interest spots available the previous evening, as they can
discuss what they'd like to do.

Your guests do not respect your furnishings the way you'd expect them
to--they put their feet, still wearing shoes, on the sofa, and complain
that the picture which you've just spent a considerable sum of
money purchasing is keeping them awake? Do not upset yourself. You
cannot blame yourself for their lack of culture.  Positive thinking is
required here. Ignore the feet and remove the picture for the length of
their stay, reminding yourself that your guests will not be with you for
much longer, and think of the good clean-up you'll have when they've
gone. You could even begin cleaning around them there and then, if
you're really desperate!

Children visiting with their parents can be a real problem. Positive
thinking is again the answer. Remind the little dears that the fishing
nets you've provided for the beach are to be used for catching fish
for their evening meal, and not the goldfish in Uncle's pond. When
they throw the cushions off your sofa onto the floor, look carefully 
before you remonstrate for the reason behind their apparent
vandalism. You have to distinguish between the destructive and the
creative urges. Are they doing it for the hell of it, or using the
cushions for making a fort on the floor of the sitting room? You could
be stifling creativity if you vent your justified wrath, and think
how you can boast when they've grown up that it was thanks to your
stimulation you have a genius in the family!

Murderous impulses beginning to intrude as the visit continues? It's
not worth it--there are too many witnesses, and think how much blood a
hatchet in the head would provide, especially when the carpet is new!
It's no good either, thinking of providing a lumpy mattress or
uncomfortable armchairs--that should have been taken care of BEFORE
their arrival. (Still, come to think of it, my grandmother had a superb
line in dining room chairs covered in horsehair; they scratched
the backs of my uncovered knees mercilessly, when I was a child. I
HATED going to visit her. Wonder if they're still available?)

There ARE, however, ways of coping with difficult guests; if you're
sure you can't keep the peace a moment longer, you must try to cut
short the visit by developing a non-fatal illness, which will make
you poor company. Don't specify the ailment, or you could open up a
new area for discussion with all the suggestions on how to deal with
it. If you're the hostess, you could also ask your guests to help
with the chores, especially when you're feeling a bit off-colour with
your "illness". There's nothing more efficacious in getting rid of
guests who are proving awkward than asking them to peel onions for the
evening meal! A third way is to remove the bath plug. This is
essential during a shortage of water, hot or cold, when guests have
conveniently forgotten that they are restricted to ONE bath/shower
a day. When they ask for the plug, you have the opportunity to mention
yet again the problem you're having trying to save water. A day or two
of this treatment will result in their speedy departure.

Nothing has worked, and your guests are determined to last out their
allotted holiday time. You could always play your radio or television
loudly, making conversation impossible, or talk through their
favourite television programme. Failing that, a look of interest while
your guest is speaking can conceal inward planning for an article you've
promised for the deadline which happens to be the day after your guests
have gone. They won't notice, if you throw in an occasional "Is that so?"
or something along those lines to show you're really listening. Try the
positive approach again, searching for something good to say about them,
or for something good they'd admire in YOU.

The end of the holiday is here, and you've survived. In your relief,
you need to be very careful not to make extravagant promises about the
next visit, such as "You must stay for longer next time!" Make sure,
too, that you don't promise to return the visit within the next
year--after that time, you'll have forgotten all your experiences, and
be looking forward to seeing your relatives again. Remember, however,
that next time it's YOU who will be the guest!

====================================================================

end cybersenior.2.4