Detail of echidna and bead necklace designed and crafted by Mrs Eileen Wingfield

	I am always aware of the responsibility that these knowledges I have been learning come with. I believe that there is no time to collect knowledge and remain silent, that knowledge is embodied, and that we must bring our bodies into action. (p 5)     How do you know if any story that you might want to tell about yourself and other people is really yours to tell? (p 9)     I can't speak for anyone. At the same time I can speak for all myselves, trapped inside a skin of stars. (p 16)     My Nana had what the doctors described as 'dementia'. This translated to a sometimes absent short-term memory. My Nana's long-term memory was relatively intact right up to her death. This meant that I would hear stories about parts of her life, those memorable parts over and over and over again. Sometimes I would get impatient but then I would remind myself that my Nana had her own reasons for telling me stories again. She was asking me to slow down and listen again to the story. Maybe there was something I had not heard inside the story. Maybe I had to learn how to listen. When we are children we are comforted by hearing the same story over and over. It think it is the same at the end of life. It is comforting. This repetition of story also has another purpose. Now that my grandmother has passed on, I can still remember the stories she told me. They have become my stories, and I can remember them well even though the time whem most of these stories happened was before I was born. In this way I have inherited memories. I can bring myself to the telling of these memories. In many ways memories defy linear constructions of time. (p 53)   All quotes are from "Squeezebox Text. Translating understandings of homeplaces into new media: A Nunga* Perspective" by Ali Gumillya Baker, Flinders University, 2001 *Nunga is a self-referential term for South Australian Aboriginal person