I went climbing with a millennial(千禧一代).She is younger, fitter, braver and more energetic. I am good at getting discouraged, having a rest and giving advice from the sidelines. She will cling(附着于)on to a wall like a small monkey trying to escape certain death, while I will get near the top, realize how high that is and lose my nerve. Together we could make an impressive（感人的；令人钦佩的） team, me at the bottom of the wall, going, "That's great, try using your feet one by one. Oh...What did you do that for?" And her going, "Shall we try that again so we've actually done it? Do you think we should have warmed up first?"

Climbing muscles, being the same as regular muscles, are use-it-or-lose-it. I climbed more often before I did the crazy running activity and used to think of the green runs at my local center as being for children, or for a warm-up. Now I find them extremely hard, and the purple is my top-of-the-tree, when in fact they are both for beginners, really. I suspect the millennial of avoiding the blue-with-red-spots just so as to not show me up.

It wasn't her first time climbing, but she wasn't registered at the center, so she had to go through a process that sounds threatening: watching a video and answering questions on it (the answers are always "I am responsible for my own safety in the center" and Holds may spin"). In an older person-me, for instance-any activity that starts with a reflection on your own death is a little low-energy, whereas she seemed quite excited by it.

We both laughed at each other's clothing: she accused me of having, a pink T-shirt which seemed too lovely for me, while she was dressed to be a labourer. The moral is that you can basically wear anything while you climb. It's not like running, where the ill-dressed are chased from the area by a thousand eyes.

It was early in 1981 when I first met George. I was in my early 30s, seeking a creative outlet unrelated to the boredom of housework and raising little kids. At 65, George had recently retired and was seeking a rewarding hobby for his golden years. For both of us, painting was “it” and we met at a local TAFE painting class. Thus began a friendship that was to last for 25 years- -until the day he died.

George was a man who lived life to the full. He worked hard, played hard and had an opinion about everything. As a slim and energetic man, he took pride in his fitness and walked more than three kilometers every day. “I'd no more go without my walk than without changing my underwear. “He’d say.

As the only male in a painting class full of women, George ruled the roost and we were his hens. He adored his singular role and looked after his brood with the same attention he gave to everything.

He took to painting with passion and commitment, even changing the spare bedroom of his home into a studio. His painting equipment was comprehensive- an easel, quality paints, linseed oil, turpentine, brushes, palette, canvases, charcoal pencils, fixative, palette knives- even a rolling pin for removing air bubbles when gluing.

For about six years George and I studied together through various units until the completion of the course and other commitments drew us apart, though we always maintained personal contact as we lived within a couple of kilometers of each other. I'd sometimes see him on his daily walk or at the local shops and occasionally we' d touch base with a“proper”afternoon tea.

Fast-forward some years and George was now about 80 years old. He rang one day and asked me to come to his house, saying he needed to ask me something. George explained that he was giving up painting and giving away all his “stuff". Everything- -paints, boards, canvases, completed works and rolling pin! “I can't paint, Bev.” He declared in the manner of a child who had to say farewell to his favorite toy.“ You have the best talent and are most likely to use it," he said.

After considerable persuasion, I accepted this precious gift on condition that he could reclaim it at any time. He never did, of course, and I still use much of his equipment today, more than 20 years later. As I paint, I often remember George and his big personality.