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I go to sleep at night, not wondering if the sun will rise tomorrow. I don't ponder if there will be a winter next January. I won't check the night sky to see if the moon is still there. All those seem like certainties - they seem guaranteed. I also don't wonder if I will be alive tomorrow. I don't worry about how much time I have left. I don't worry if the salt and sugar is hardening arteries and forming diabetes. I don't even worry if I'll have enough cash when I get old. So, how could I spend much mental energy on universal design when myself and my surroundings suggest, "don't worry about it; you'll be fine; you'll figure it out." Thinking about aging puts a knot in my stomach that I would rather not feel. I'm much happier pretending that I will be fine. I'm much happier worrying about the past day and the next one. To concern myself with the life I'll be living 30 or 40 years from now just doesn't hold my interest. Is there a technique that I can apply that would help me take actions today that would assure an independent, secure, comfortable and joyful future? How do I get excited and motivated? Remember the vacation you always said you would take and then finally took? The process began with a dream or maybe an impulse. A bit of research, a few conversations, some internet, and then one day, you hit CONFIRM and you had yourself a ticket, a hotel and a car. Did you just drift back into a ho-hum, everything-is-normal way of being, or did you have a spring in your step? Did you focus on the work at hand, or did you think about that cool cocktail being served to you as you glow in a setting sun. Once you had that ticket, you were not normal - you told the world; you cut out of work early and got a new outfit for the vacation. You were gone in a few weeks - you couldn't wait! That's the technique that gets you revved up about life 30, 40, 50 or maybe even 60 years from now. It won't be a pretense either - you'll be on a real track. Here's how it goes: much like the dream vacation, start to imagine your dream lifestyle as an older person. Who are you? Who have you become (go ahead and say these things out loud, write them in a journal, or create a mental image)? Are you rich in cash, rich in spirit, rich in love? Do you live in the sun or the cold? Are you social or solo? Is the family big? What will make you happy? What would you like to be doing for others? Do you live in the city or country? This is your fantasy - if you catch yourself being reasonable, cut it out, go wild! Get everything in there that you want to be and have. With this vivid mental picture of yourself as an older person, imagine moving toward the present by ten years. Ask yourself this question: what would I have so that this dream is on track for being realized? Let's say you pictured yourself at age 70 living on a beautiful ranch in Montana. Move forward ten years to age 60 -what have you done by 60 to be on track for that vision at 70; maybe you just moved to Montana. Once clear, move forward another ten years. Fill in that picture. In the example, you are now 50; what has to be complete by 50 so that the picture of 60 is a slam dunk? Maybe you have to sort out a new means of income so you can pack up and move to Montana. As we get closer to the present (let's say that you are presently 40 years old), the time jumps are shorter. You would go from a picture of life at 50 to 45, then to one year from now, to 6 months from now, to 1 month, to one week, to now. What do you do right now so that next week will be a done deal (and then one month from now, 6 months, one year, age 45, then 50, them 60 and then 70)? Your right-now action might be to research Montana and begin planning a trip there - right now! And you are excited! If at the beginning of this post, I asked, "what are you doing today so that being age 70 is gonna be just great," your answer might be much less passionate, "uh, I have an IRA." Now, many meaningful conversations are possible including one about universal design - in fact, it's critical to your desired lifestyle at age 70, and, it also makes the years in between much more livable. Are you planning on living in your own home at age 70? Will you be mobile? Will you still be earning an income? Will you be social? Will others be able to visit you? What do you want to do for others? An environment with universal design will make that future much more possible than one without. Your next action, right now, Check out Universal Design Resources. Find out more, discover. Konrad Kaletsch - http://www.universaldesignresource.com/
Tags: Aging Universal Lifestyle
"Mulga Bill's Bicycle" is an Australian poem written in 1896 by Banjo Paterson.
The poem is a ballad. Each line is a fourteener, having fourteen syllables and seven iambic feet.
It tells the tragic tale of Mulga Bill, a man whose pride in his riding skill causes him to purchase, ride and crash a bicycle. Although Mulga Bill claims expertise in riding all things his ineptitude and subsequent accident suggest that he may only know how to ride a horse.
Mulga Bill's Bicycle
'Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that caught the cycling craze;
He turned away the good old horse that served him many days;
He dressed himself in cycling clothes, resplendent to be seen;
He hurried off to town and bought a shining new machine;
And as he wheeled it through the door, with air of lordly pride,
The grinning shop assistant said, `Excuse me, can you ride?'
`See, here, young man,' said Mulga Bill, `from Walgett to the sea,
From Conroy's Gap to Castlereagh, there's none can ride like me.
I'm good all round at everything, as everybody knows,
Although I'm not the one to talk -- I HATE a man that blows.
But riding is my special gift, my chiefest, sole delight;
Just ask a wild duck can it swim, a wild cat can it fight.
There's nothing clothed in hair or hide, or built of flesh or steel,
There's nothing walks or jumps, or runs, on axle, hoof, or wheel,
But what I'll sit, while hide will hold and girths and straps are tight:
I'll ride this here two-wheeled concern right straight away at sight.'
'Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that sought his own abode,
That perched above the Dead Man's Creek, beside the mountain road.
He turned the cycle down the hill and mounted for the fray,
But ere he'd gone a dozen yards it bolted clean away.
It left the track, and through the trees, just like a silver streak,
It whistled down the awful slope, towards the Dead Man's Creek.
It shaved a stump by half an inch, it dodged a big white-box:
The very wallaroos in fright went scrambling up the rocks,
The wombats hiding in their caves dug deeper underground,
As Mulga Bill, as white as chalk, sat tight to every bound.
It struck a stone and gave a spring that cleared a fallen tree,
It raced beside a precipice as close as close could be;
And then as Mulga Bill let out one last despairing shriek
It made a leap of twenty feet into the Dead Man's Creek.
'Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that slowly swam ashore:
He said, `I've had some narrer shaves and lively rides before;
I've rode a wild bull round a yard to win a five pound bet,
But this was the most awful ride that I've encountered yet.
I'll give that two-wheeled outlaw best; it's shaken all my nerve
To feel it whistle through the air and plunge and buck and swerve.
It's safe at rest in Dead Man's Creek, we'll leave it lying still;
A horse's back is good enough henceforth for Mulga Bill.'
Banjo Paterson (1864 - 1941)
Tags: Bike Poem Australia
The Winter Olympics.... Once again the fishing world has been ignored. As I sit watching a spine tingling, heart thumping, always tension packed Olympic Curling event competition, I can't help but wonder why a fishing event has never been represented in the Olympics. What are they trying to say? Are they saying that there is no athletic prowess involved when trying to flick a #12 Adams to a 20 inch ring created by the kiss of an 18 inch Rainbow trout! Is the firing of a high powered rifle after skiing around on a pair of wooden planks any more demanding than fording a riffle packed stream and tossing a chunk of powerbait deftly into the "honeyhole" pocket containing an 8 inch stocker? I see no difference. But then I'm an idiot. Or am I? Let's at least take a look at some future options for the winter Olympics, that can finally give the fisherman his due when it comes to skill and athleticism.... 1) What event shows stamina and grit more than ice fishing? I propose a winter Olympic event that is comprised of ice fishing. In this event, contestants will be timed on their ability to saw a hole in 8 to 10 inches of a frozen lake surface, run in sneakers across the frozen ice to a designated staging area where they will grab up a rod, and stool, and sprint back across the ice to the open hole, bait up, and sit for hours in a fierce northern wind. The athlete then will hopefully, eventually catch a fish, pull his fish from the ice hole, drop it in a bucket, and sprint again across the ice, into a 1975 Ford pick- up truck, drive across the finish line to the cheers, flag waving,and cow bell jingling of his fellow countrymen. More challenges? Perhaps a couple of fellas name Swen and Ole can sit across from the contestant and constantly be throwing a verbal barrage of "You Betcha's" and "Don't ya know's" at the athlete, as he or she agonizingly attempts to coax a fish out of the water. Talk about grit!! Of course the Norwegian contingent might not have a problem with this and be at a decided advantage.HOW do you say "you betcha" in Norwegian anyway? We will all watch as the hole starts to skim over with ice,and the athlete frantically chips away at the hole to keep it ice free.All the while precious time clicks away as the fish only nibbles at the bait. They can even hold this event indoors at the Olympic Hockey or Figure Skating venues. It might even make the hockey games more interesting with a few holes in the ice, and figure skating?PLEASE... a double axle into a gaping hole in the ice will add more excitement than Tonya Harding and Nancy Kerrigan living in the same trailer park. Or they can leave a few frozen fish on the ice to help add to the Olympic ambiance. The events could also easily be held as a "two man" competition with one athlete fishing, while the other builds an ice shack. If the extreme thrill of the Downhill is your cup a tea, imagine if they hold the event on thin melting ice. The now famous runs of Franz Klammer and Hermann Maier will pale in comparison to the crackling of ice beneath the ice fisherman's stool as he scrambles for shore before disappearing into the frigid waters. Talk about the agony of defeat.... 2)Boat Slalom. Never mind the luge, bobsled, or skeleton(which at first glance appear to require the two major athletic skills of courage and alcohol), try standing up in a drift boat while running a classIV rapid with a 40 pound salmon stripping line off of your reel, hell bent for return to the ocean. Yes, athletes in ten layers of clothing including the mandatory flannel outer jacket, will try to stay afoot while "the driver" navigates the boulder choked channel of a stream. Not only are the contestants timed in this event, but style points are given for the degree of difficulty the athlete shows while doing "gunnel grabs", "spins", and the ever popular "aerials". Throw in a number of slalom gates, and you have the making of an event made for television. Fall in or lose your salmon, and it's sorry Charlie--see you in four years. "OOOHHH, tough break Vern--Elwood has been training all his life for this moment, and to see it all go overboard in one instant is heartbreaking...." 3) No offense to our Canadian friends north of the border, but --CURLING!!! CURLING!! A combination of bowling on ice and a group of shop keepers trying to keep the storefront spiffy. Gawd, the winters must be awful up there. Outside of the obvious "sex appeal"of the Olympic Curling
events, the only thing more thrilling would be to watch Dick Cheney go quail hunting. But, given that there is a place on the podium for chiseled curling athletes, I'm sure we could find a spot for the skilled athleticism of the Winter Fly Tying Team !
This event would obviously be dominated by the American squad, which has trained year round in a meat locker in Detroit. Size #28 midge after miserable size #28 midge, the Americans have relentlessly been training, by tying these little buggers to 8x tippet--in a meat locker kept at 14 degrees below zero. That's minus 26 celsius for our European competitors. There at the Olympic Fly Tying arena, in frigid weather, teams of fly tiers will take to the vice, and tie up various flys. We will watch pained expressions and complete intense concentration as athletes try to get their fingers to work in the icy cold. We will hold our breath as they try to get the hackle and dubbing just right. Precious time will tick away as they blow on their hands, and we watch split screen images of just where the Olympic hopefuls lost time along the way. Of course,in this two day event, athletes will be judged on speed, style,difficulty, and the ability to catch and release fish. So, here's to the athletes of the XX th Olympiad, and I will see you fishing rod in hand, in Vancouver in 2010. A.J. Klott Author, writer of fishing humor,and "fly tack" peddler. A.J. writes about the people,characters and modern day events that surround the fishing world. His first book is due out in December of 2005. If you need a laugh or a fun gift, visit his website at: http://www.twoguyswithflys.com
Tags: Fishing
Change your thinking:
Two men, both seriously ill, occupied the same hospital room.
One man was allowed to sit up in his bed for an hour each afternoon to help drain the fluid from his lungs.
His bed was next to the room's only window.
The other man had to spend all his time flat on his back.
The men talked for hours on end.
They spoke of their wives and families, their homes, their jobs, their involvement in the military service, where they had been on vacation.
Every afternoon, when the man in the bed by the window could sit up, he would pass the time by describing to his roommate all the things he could see outside the window.
The man in the other bed began to live for those one hour periods where his world would be broadened and enlivened by all the activity and color of the world outside.
The window overlooked a park with a lovely lake.
Ducks and swans played on the water while children sailed their model boats. Young lovers walked arm in arm amidst flowers of every color and a fine view of the city skyline could be seen in the distance.
As the man by the window described all this in exquisite details, the man on the other side of the room would close his eyes and imagine this picturesque scene.
One warm afternoon, the man by the window described a parade passing by.
Although the other man could not hear the band - he could see it in his mind's eye as the gentleman by the window portrayed it with descriptive words.
Days, weeks and months passed.
One morning, the day nurse arrived to bring water for their baths only to find the lifeless body of the man by the window, who had died peacefully in his sleep.
She was saddened and called the hospital attendants to take the body away.
As soon as it seemed appropriate, the other man asked if he could be moved next to the window. The nurse was happy to make the switch, and after making sure he was comfortable, she left him alone.
Slowly, painfully, he propped himself up on one elbow to take his first look at the real world outside.
He strained to slowly turn to look out the window besides the bed.
It faced a blank wall.
The man asked the nurse what could have compelled his deceased roommate who had described such wonderful things outside this window.
The nurse responded that the man was blind and could not even see the wall.
She said, 'Perhaps he just wanted to encourage you.'
Epilogue:
There is tremendous happiness in making others happy, despite our own situations.
Shared grief is half the sorrow, but happiness when shared, is doubled.
If you want to feel rich, just count all the things you have that money can't buy.
Tags: Thinking Inspiration Thoughts
Our voices united,
The peril undone
We stand tall together,
But we've only begun.
Our freedoms are threatened,
Our lives on the line
We don't have tomorrow,
Today is our time.
Let our unity thunder,
Till power and greed
Both crumple before,
The depth of our need.
Let our unity Clamor,
For all who have died
Because no one would hear them,
Or come to their side
The whole world is watching,
To see where we stand
The whole world is waiting,
Come on - take my hand
By Shirley Klein
Klein wrote this poem especially for a California Disability Community Action Network Rally in 2003. She passed away May 2007 in Grass Valley, California.
Tags: Shirley Klein Poem
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