世界最年长的博客作者离世
黄燕 | 2008年07月15日,06:55
108岁的她，留给后人的，又岂止是70多篇博客而已？
刚看到法新社报道，据信为世界最年长的博客作者、澳大利亚妇女奥丽芙·瑞埃雷（Olive Riley），在留下70多篇博文后，于星期六（7月12日）安然离世，享年108岁。
（世界最年长的博客在电脑前的POSE）
奥丽芙或许还会创造一个奇迹：作为一名既非明星亦非权贵的百岁老人，她将被数以千计的网友以及她数以百计的后代和亲戚缅怀。
1899年10月20日出生的奥丽芙，经历了两次世界大战，为了抚养三个孩子，从事过多种工作，包括当农场厨师和酒吧女招待。她从2007年2月开始加入博客一族，与大家分享自己对现代生活的想法和自己度过整个20世纪的一些经历。
（奥丽芙的家庭合影，中间的小女孩，就是曾经豆蔻的她）
奥丽芙最后的一篇博客发表于6月26日，她写道：我不敢相信自己已经在这个养老院呆了一个多星期了……时间飞逝，尽管大部分时间我都躺在床上。我还是感到很虚弱，无法停止糟糕的咳嗽……邻床佩妮的女儿、一个专业歌手，这个周来看望了她。猜猜发生了什么！她和我唱了一首快乐的歌，就像我每天做的那样。很快，护士们也加入进来，跟着唱。那可真是场音乐会啊！
奥丽芙的博客地址，最初在www.allaboutolive.com.au，最近在http://worldsoldestblogger.blogspot.com。她的曾孙戴伦·斯通说，博客令奥丽芙感到兴奋，她跟人们保持持续的交流，而这些人可能远在俄罗斯或美国。
“她喜欢声名远扬——这使她的头脑保持活力。”
法新社的报道没有提及奥丽芙是如何认识博客并在什么情况下开始写博客的。
英国《太阳报》早在2007年12月5日就报道了这位“互联网之星”，当时这位祖母级博客的点击率已经超过百万，不管她写的事情有多平常，每天都有几千人从世界各地点击浏览。
奥丽芙习惯把博客“blog”讲成“blob”，而这个错误是如此“甜美无邪”，以至于家人和朋友都放弃了要纠正她的想法。
据《太阳报》的报道，时年68岁的纪录片制作人麦克·鲁勃是在为澳大利亚观众制作关于百岁老人的纪录片时发现奥丽芙的，便帮助她建立了自己的网站。显然，奥丽芙对此一点儿也不反对，她认为这对老年人来说简直绝妙极了，因为“我们不再移动mobile，而互联网能让我们跟大家保持联系，这太棒了！”
她甚至向自己的同龄人推荐使用互联网，他们往往因年事已高而被迫困在家中。
人们都想知道奥丽芙为什么要写博客。对此，她的回答是：“因为我可以在睡觉前躺在床上啊，而这正是我思考最多的时候——面带着微笑，享受已经发生的一切。”
（奥丽芙与其“星探”麦克·鲁勃Mike Rubbo）
奥丽芙在最后一篇博客中还贴出了一首诗，作者是布兰达·布莱恩特（Brenda Bryant）。布兰达是读了奥丽芙早前一篇回忆洗衣日的博客后，有感而发，赋诗一首的，标题为《致奥丽芙·瑞埃雷 世界最年长的博客》，部分诗句的大意如下：
有时，我听到年轻人抱怨所有他们必须做的事情
而我确信他们的抱怨真的应该很少
以洗衣日为例，他们所做的一切只是按下旋钮
然后，洗衣机就转啊转啊 很快完成任务
他们扔进洗衣粉，或者还有漂白剂和柔软剂
然后脏衣服就转啊转 纠结在一起
然后，我听说，他们就打开烘干机
从头至尾，他们只是动动一个手指头而已
可是在很久以前，事情可要困难得多
当奥丽芙的妈妈把她的衣服洗得雪白
奥丽芙清楚地记得，当洗衣日到来
女孩子们必须帮忙，根本没有时间玩
首先奥丽芙要去拾柴 有时很难找得到
她必须四处寻找大枝小杈
有时她在地方发现一个水果箱
便用印第安战斧将其劈开，尽管这会弄得她手酸痛
……
时间关系，不能全部翻译过来。有趣的是，从这首诗来看，奥丽芙“唠叨”陈年往事，不但没有受到年轻人的讪笑，还受到“追捧”。她像是一位满脑子都是故事的讲解员，领着我们参观时间博物馆，边走边讲那些她再熟悉不过而我们却全然不知的过去……
奥丽芙很喜欢这首诗，称其“真的很可爱”。
转帖过来，跟感兴趣的朋友们分享吧：
FOR OLIVE RILEY
The World's Oldest Blogger
Sometimes, I hear the young complain of all they have to do.
But I am sure that their complaints should really be quite few.
Take Washing Day, for instance, all they do is press a knob,
And then machines go whirling round and quickly do the job.
They throw in powder, maybe bleach, and softener as well,
And dirty clothes are whirled about, then spun around, pell-mell.
And then, to follow up, I hear, they set the dryer spinning,
They've hardly raised a finger to the end from the beginning.
But things were very different in the days of long ago,
When Olive Riley's mother washed her clothes as white as snow.
And Olive well-remembers that, when it was Washing Day,
Daughters had to do their bit; there was no time for play.
First Olive looked for firewood, which was sometimes hard to find,
She had to hunt for broken twigs or sticks of any kind.
Sometimes she found a fruit-box that was thrown down on the floor.
She chopped it with a tomahawk, though it made her fingers sore.
After filling up the copper, her Mum would light the fire,
And the water would start heating, as the flames grew ever higher.
Then she threw in some soap chips, followed by Reckitt's Blue,
(That was a clever little bag that made things look like new.)
Next she got the Sunlight Soap to scrub at all the stains,
And, sometimes, if she scrubbed too hard, there were blisters for her pains.
The corrugated board was rough, her hands were roughened too,
Ruined by years of scrubbing, but what else was there to do?
Then, she threw in the dirty clothes, and gave them all a stir.
The steam rose up in clouds and very nearly smothered her.
She was splashed by boiling water, and the bubbles stung her eyes.
And a line of snowy washing was to be her only prize!
Yet, now, would come the starching, of the collar and the cuff,
And, however hard she starched them, it was never quite enough.
For Father must look perfect when in his Sunday Best,
He mustn't look inferior, measured against the rest.
At last, the clothes were clean and rinsed and the fire had lost its heat.
Mother was quite exhausted, after so long on her feet.
But the hardest job was yet to come, an energetic trick,
For she had to get the clothes out with a hefty copper-stick!
Imagine sheets all water-logged and weighing half a ton!
Her back was nearly broken by the time that job was done.
A soggy mass lay, wetly, in a tub, somewhere nearby.
The washing was as clean as clean, but not the least bit dry.
Now Olive had a job to do, though she was scarcely grown,
For Mother couldn't mangle all the washing on her own.
Between the wooden rollers Mother fed the dripping clothes,
While Olive turned the handle, standing on tippy-toes.
The mangle squeezed the water, it came quickly pouring out,
But the washing was still wet and heavy, that I do not doubt.
But Olive and her Mother had to drag it to the trees,
Where a line was stretched, so washing could be dried off in the breeze.
When all was safely pegged, they stood and eyed the white perfection.
But a flock of noisy magpies swooped and swirled in their direction!
They aimed for Mother's washing, causing splish and splash and stain!
'Oh well' said Olive's mother, we must do it all again!'
快乐并勇敢的奥丽芙，让人想念。
诗歌源自：http://worldsoldestblogger.blogspot.com/
报道和图片出处：http://uk.news.yahoo.com/afp/20080714/ttc-lifestyle-australia-internet-bloggin-0de2eff.html
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