The Confederation of Australian

Motor Sport apparently wants the government to teach twelve year old children to drive. They want road safety and driving to be taught as part of the secondary school curriculum. The suggestion has come up because there has been another proposal to raise the driving age to eighteen.
While I am a very firm believer in teaching road safety I do not believe it is appropriate to teach twelve year old children to drive. There are twelve year children who can drive. There are children younger than twelve who can drive. They are either children who live on farms who never leave the property in the vehicle they are driving or they wrong doers who can cause immense damage behind the wheel of a car in an urban area. 
I have a child driving a vehicle in the plot of one of my books. He is told to go along the track leading to the edge of their property. Circumstances demand he drives a short distance on the road before turning on to another track. I make it quite clear that he is very aware of what he is doing, that he does not want to do it. He is frightened by the circumstances and the responsibility. He knows what he is doing is very dangerous. The incident in the book is based on a real life incident and, in real life, the driver in question chose not to get his licence until he was twenty-one. He still felt traumatised.
Driving is a very adult activity. It requires physical and psychological skills which do not completely develop until people, especially males, are in their mid-twenties. We can certainly teach people about driving earlier than that but we cannot teach them to drive safely at the age of twelve or even fourteen or sixteen. They can be the most responsible kids in the world but they are still too young to drive. They are not physically and mentally ready to do it.
It is even more difficult for children to develop road safety skills now than it once was. Children are much more likely to be taken to and from school by car. Walking along a footpath is a rare activity. Crossing a road on foot is also rare. Our experience of traffic while inside a car, especially if someone else is driving, is completely different from the pedestrian experience. Teenage years should be spent learning to be a safe pedestrian and a safe cyclist.
I know there are many who disagree but it is my belief that the age for learning to drive should be raised to eighteen here, just as it is in some other parts of the world. It is an adult activity which should be confined to adulthood - and only then with proper professional training.

"Do you want to go?"

I asked the Whirlwind. She was looking at an advertisement for "the Show" - our Royal Agricultural and Horticultural Annual Show. It is held in September each year. I have, I think, mentioned this before. I am acting as a Steward in the Arts and Crafts section again. I will spend a day there beforehand, a day after and one day during the Show itself. On the day during the Show I will be "demonstrating" knitting - which really means I will sit and knit and let people ask question if they so wish. I will also keep a discreet eye on the display in the area in which the demonstrators knit.
The Whirlwind would need to go with a friend and the friend's family or come with me. Her father is likely to be away for the entire period of the event. He is not keen to go anyway. I would not actually go during the event unless I needed to go.  I am not good at very crowded events which require constantly avoiding people who are not looking where they are going. We cats value our paws more than that.
The Whirlwind has been of course. She has been with the friend and her family. It was "all right" but I know that she felt rather uncomfortable. The friend is a nice child but she gets four times the pocket money the Whirlwind does and, for many children, going to the Show is about going on fun fair rides, eating "fairy floss", hot chips and icecream as much as it is about seeing animals and displays of produce. The Whirlwind does not like the rides, loathes "fairy floss" and commercial hot chips. The icecream? Maybe, but she would prefer the icecream from the Italian shop in a neighbouring suburb. For her the Show is more about the Animal Nursery, the sheepdog trials and the various displays. We went together one year when she was small and, apart from the entrance fee and an icecream cone each, we spent no money at all. We took lunch and drinks. She did not want a "Show Bag" or any of the
childish delights.  She did not even want to go and look at the rides. I was surprised. I am no longer surprised. Those things are simply not her idea of fun.
So, does she want to go? She is just old enough now to be trusted to go off for a short time on her own and then report back to me. Her father has already discussed the possibility with me. There is a lot to see there and you can learn a lot if you do the things she will be interested in doing.
        "Maybe. I don't want to go with the others though."
We discuss the possibility of going with me. I will have a spare ticket because, as Steward, I get given several for my trouble. She will not have to pay as I will let her use one of those. Even that is not really an enticement.
        "Maybe but only if you absolutely promise not to go anywhere. I have to be able to find you."
I will not be going anywhere - unless I go with her.

Yesterday I was given two

skeins of yarn the colour of the sky shaking rain off and leaving tiny flecks of cloud behind. The yarn is made from merino and reminds me of plunging my hands into the fleece shorn from a prize merino sheep. It comes from Ireland and was an unexpected gift from a friend who has just been there.
The Irish know about wool. Like my Scots ancestors they have been using it for centuries. Wool has amazing properties and they have made the most of it. 
There are all sorts of myths surrounding the thick, heavily patterned, cream coloured "Aran" pullovers - myths about being able to tell where a drowned sailor came from by the patterns and what the patterns themselves mean.  The heavy patterns were not there just for decoration. They added to the warmth of the garment.  Garments might be recognised as someone's work. Some patterns might be favoured in some areas rather than others but there was no common pattern for one village and then another for the next. Like other knitting for fishermen the knitters worked without written patterns and put in what pleased them. The patterns themselves might be given names but to say that they were placed in a garment to convey a message is not correct.  Unlike other fisherman's jerseys the Aran garments did not normally include even the initials of the person it was originally made for. Nevertheless the myths are perpetuated and,  if nothing else, they help to maintain an interest in the garments and their rich rope-like cables, twists and turns so reminiscent of Celtic knotwork.
       "What will you do with it?" I was asked as I stroked it.
       "Mmmm... mittens?" I could see the back of the mittens with one of the complex cables I have stored away for use, "I need to think."
Whatever I end up making I know I will enjoy knitting it. I will enjoy it because of the long knitting tradition behind such yarn - and because it was given to me in the even longer tradition of friendship.

One of the nice things about

being librarian for my knitting guild is that I see the new books first. I am even allowed to order the new books. They usually get delivered to my home and I take them from there.
We have a reasonable library now. When I took it over it was a rather tatty collection of "donations" in vague-sort-of-maybe alphabetical order. Then the discovery was made that I knew something about books and had been reviewing some for another organisation. I actually owned a reasonable collection myself? Right. I could do the job.
As I am unavoidably late to meetings because of another commitment it seemed a reasonable thing to do this rather than try to make arrangements to act as the person on door duty or get underfoot in the kitchen. I agreed. If you belong to an organisation you should be prepared to do things within it.
So, the library is my responsibility but there has always been a problem. Our book stores do not normally stock many knitting books. There are the pamphlets of course, the little booklets put out by the knitting yarn companies to accompany the specific yarns they sell. They are not what the library needs.
We need books on techniques, stitches and various forms of knitting - lace, Fair Isle and the like. We need books about Scandinavian knitting, knitting fisherman's jerseys, shawls, hats or gloves.
Not everyone uses them. Some knitters only knit from the pamphlets. Other people simply borrow the books simply to look at the pictures. Sometimes they will read a pattern and try something new. A few use the library as the resource it is intended to be or they will find a complex design in a book and translate it into the garment.
I do not read all the books in the library but I do look at them thoroughly. I need to know what is there because many of the guild members are simply not users of libraries. Searching books is foreign to them. They rely on me to know what is in them and I am, slowly, trying to teach them how to do this for themselves - but I need to know what is there first.
I have not always known and since I no longer review for the other organisation I do not see as many new books. I rely on internet sources for reviews. Now I also have a new source to view books before I buy them. It is our new library system. The new, multi-library catalogue which extends across the state means that I can borrow from other libraries. There are only a few knitting books in each library but there are new books there that I can look at before deciding whether we buy them or not. I have two possibilities out at the moment and can take them to the meeting this afternoon to discuss with others. Do we get them or don't we?
I am sure that the library system had no idea the common catalogue would be used in this way when they set it up. I know they expected a rush of inter-library loans to occur but, although numbers have risen, there has not been the expected volume.
Perhaps people have not yet worked out just how much information there is to be had out there - or perhaps they expect people like me to tell them. Being a librarian is a big responsibility.

"If only they would pursue

all alleged rapists as hard as they going after that Assange guy," someone said to me as we were waiting for a meeting yesterday.
I have to agree. The "well he/she must have asked for it" attitude is still alive and well in the minds of too many people. The initial trauma is horrendous enough but reporting it and not being taken seriously makes it far worse. Even if action is finally taken there are more hurdles, prolonged delays, a court case where the victim is made out to be of worse character than the perpetrator and in many cases - after all the trauma - a slap on the wrist for the perpetrator if the victim is finally believed.
I have friends who have a profoundly physically and mentally disabled daughter. She is unable to do anything for herself and requires their full time care. Her communication is limited to looking at the floor (no) or the ceiling (yes)  and smiling (please/thankyou). They have lovingly given truly excellent care to her all her life. She is always beautifully clean and well dressed. As a family they are considered a "model" of care and concern.
They also have a problem.  Two years ago the husband, now in his seventies, became seriously unwell and was in hospital for several weeks. His wife continued to care for their daughter with just a little assistance to get her up in the mornings and put her to bed at night.  At the end of that time she was also exhausted.
They were finally offered some "respite" care so that they could go right away and have the first break they had ever had. They took it  knowing that if they were to go on caring they needed the break. Relatives banded together and gave them air tickets and they had a wonderful month in New Zealand, wonderful that is until they came home.
They found their daughter traumatised. She had been physically abused in care and, far worse, sexually abused. The physical evidence was there in the injuries but their daughter was considered incapable of giving evidence. Those who had been caring for her all denied any knowledge of what had happened. As there were more than twenty different "carers" involved over the month it was considered "impossible" to decide who was responsible. Nothing was done.
Someone did this. There may be even more than one "someone". Others know who did this. The investigation was not rigorous. There were not-so-veiled threats that there would be no chance of further respite or even "day activities" if the parents pursued the matter. As it is the day activities which now allow them to go on caring for her they gave up. They need the sleep they get then to keep going. They worry constantly about what will happen to her when they die.
I find it sickening that the authorities can do so little. Some of those "carers" will still be working in the area and perhaps still abusing those in their care.
I think the Assange case has been badly handled from the start but at least those making the complaint are articulate and others appear unusually determined they will have their day in court. No such determination was apparent for someone who was far more vulnerable. She is not the first and she will not be the last. The authorities need to rethink their attitude towards pursuit of all alleged rapists not just someone who is a political embarrassment.

"Would you like some

possum yarn?" a friend of mine asked.
Yarn? I love yarn. All knitters love yarn. We all suffer from SABLE - Stash Advancement Beyond Life Expectancy. In other words we all buy more yarn than we can possibly hope to use in our life time or, in my case, have been given.
I have been given yarn by old people, both men and women, entering nursing homes. There is too much yarn for them to take with them - or they have stopped knitting.
I have been left yarn by people who have died. There was the sad little note the daughter of a friend found, "You don't knit. This is to go to Cat. If you are lucky she might finish the ghastly blue thing,"
I did not finish the "ghastly blue thing". Her daughter did not like it either. We gave it to someone else who professed to "love" it.  She finished it and wears it. Each time I see it I am reminded of my old friend but in a good way.
I have been given yarn I would never ever buy for myself. I have passed on the cheapest, brightly coloured acrylic yarns to someone who makes pet blankets. It is all the pet refuges want. I have passed on other yarn to other knitters who make things for charities.
I too have knitted hats, mittens, vests, small pullovers and other items but not all yarn is suited to charity knitting. It needs, at very least, to be machine washable. By no means all yarn is machine washable. People need to know how to care for hand knits - and many people do not know.
Then there is yarn given specifically to me. "It's for you Cat. Use it for you. You never make anything for yourself."
That really is not true. I do sometimes make things for myself and I like to make them for other people. The only family member who really needs my knitting is the Senior Cat. The others simply do not feel the cold enough to need woollen garments in this climate and the rest live in places where most people do not need them. They do not want cotton either - which is just as well because I do not particularly enjoy knitting cotton. It has no elasticity. I do have several friends I knit for. One friend has very severe arthritis. She feels the cold. Dressing is difficult. I have the pleasure of making her things designed with extra deep armholes so they are easy to get on and off. She likes mohair because it is light but warm. I am not particularly fond of knitting mohair - unless it is very good quality it sheds like mad and I really do look like a cat covered in hair.
And then there are the odd little bits yarn I have been given to try, yak, camel and some horrendously expensive quiviuk. (I knitted that and passed it back. It was pink and I do not care for pink or fluff and it was both.) I have knitted linen and silk and soy, bamboo and corn - even seashell. The last formed part of a sock yarn.
And yesterday, I was asked if I would like some possum yarn. I know it will come from New Zealand. Possums are a pest there. I am sorry about that. I feel rather sorry for the possums. It is not their fault.  Their fur however, mixed with merino wool, makes very soft, very fine yarn.
I said yes of course. I don't need it but I know someone who will like what I can make with it. I suppose that really is all that matters. My case of SABLE just got a little worse.

What is a university for - can anyone

enlighten me?
The Whirlwind came back from school last Friday and put a piece of paper in front of me. "It's about what subjects I do next year. I have to talk to you and my Dad."
      "Me?"
      "Well you know about things like this, maybe more than he does and anyway he will tell me to talk to you too."
I read through the information. It is alarming. There is apparently a need to start making subject choices that will affect your career choices even before you reach the tender age of twelve. It is not a huge choice at this level but it will still mean choosing. In two years time there will be very big choices to be made, choices that will set the path to university or not university and then science, languages or the arts.
The school the Whirlwind attends has an excellent range of subjects but I had not realised you had to make a choice quite so soon. Does she continue with French or start Japanese? Does she do Special Maths or just Maths? Does she continue with Latin or do more Science?
For the Whirlwind that answers are simple. She loves French and is learning Italian. Japanese does not appeal in the same way. Maths is not her favourite subject. It is tolerated rather than enjoyed. Latin wins hands down over more Science. Science is "okay but messy and smelly".  She is definitely a languages and arts student and always has been.
On Monday night, because her father was on one of his frequent trips to Canberra, I talked to her at school. She had passed in her subject choices for next year and her form teacher had apparently asked if she was sure about them.
       "She asked me what I would do with them when I leave school and I told her I want to go to university. She said that was all right but what would I do with them after that. I still don't know. Does it matter? It's what I like. What's going to university for if you can't do what you want to do?"
It's a big question. What is university for? Nowadays it seems to be all about your future career rather than about learning.
I told her not to worry and she can talk to her father when he comes home. I also said there were a great many possible careers for someone who is very good indeed at languages.
But the question remains, what is a university for? Would any reader of this blog care to enlighten me?