You know the old adage, "you can't teach an old dog new tricks" -- well it's not always true.

In 1991, I retired from my secretarial job with a government agency at the age of 70. Just prior to that time, computers were installed in each office, but no Internet. I tried to talk them out of giving me one, for I'd look up to see people standing in the doorway watching how fast my fingers flew over the keyboard of my electric typewriter. I didn't need a computer, I thought. Of course I had to get one, and was just beginning to feel a little comfortable with the program I'd learned when I decided to retire.

Not having a typewriter at home I felt I should get my own computer. I only needed it for writing letters and the stories I hoped might someday get published, so a simple word processing program would be adequate. I'd already mastered that at the office.

But I hadn't counted on my kids ganging up on me, telling me how wonderful the Internet was, and look at all the time I now had to "surf the Net"- I was fast learning a new lingo. No, I said, leave me alone. I'm happy with what I have. I was extremely reluctant to make the change, but finally, mainly to get them off my back, I agreed.

And so Internet entered my senior life.

At first it made me very nervous, so I didn't use it much. Word processing was fine - this other new-fangled device I didn't like. But I figured I should learn it, for I knew I couldn't spend time calling up one son after another for instructions on how to do it correctly. They'd get really irritated with me over that.

I knew, too, they were all a little disappointed that mom wasn't doing more with this wonderful contrivance they'd installed for her. What they weren't taking into account was how far I'd already advanced.

My first recollection of a new-fangled device, though I'm sure we never called it that, was standing in the sitting room of our small house in London, England, listening through earphones to our new crystal radio. Only one person at a time could listen. The year was 1927. After we emigrated to the States we acquired a large radio/victrola, and later a black and white, and eventually color TV. Now, I thought, I'm becoming involved with another new-fangled device called the Internet.

After deciding to become a secretary in 1940, I'd diligently learned to type; this, of course, on a standard upright. After a few years' break while rearing my children, I then re-joined the secretarial work force. When I sat down to type my first document after being hired, it was on an electric typewriter, which I'd never used. I panicked, but by taking it slowly and getting the feel of it, I finally mastered it. I would do the same with the Internet, I thought, but I still wasn't comfortable with it.

One day all that changed.

Even though we came to the United States when I was still young, I had many fond memories of England. Each summer Mother, my brothers and I rode the train from London to a little country town in the northern part of England, in the Lake District, to spend the summer with my grandmother.

While seated at my computer one day, I got brave and decided to do some exploring on my own. I clicked on Kirkby Lonsdale, the place I knew and loved so well. I discovered this country town, with fewer than 2,000 inhabitants, had its own Web site.

When pictures of Kirkby Lonsdale showed up on my monitor, I remembered all those happy summers. For hours, it seemed, I was glued to my monitor as picture after picture appeared. I was not just "seeing" Kirkby Lonsdale, I was back again in this market town, so old it is mentioned in the Domesday Book of 1086.

I "walked" to the center of Kirkby Lonsdale and the town square, where each Thursday, the local farmers gathered to sell their produce. I could remember when there were few autos in the square, and they came in their horse-drawn wagons. I noticed the ancient cross and the old Royal Hotel remained.

The next picture on my monitor was of the cobblestone street. Could that still be Mr. Richardson's meat market on the corner? I wondered. My cousin Hilda and I used to stand in the doorway for hours watching sheep and pigs being slaughtered and then the carcasses were hung in the window. Wonder how we all survived without refrigeration?

Just around the next bend I saw my first picture show. I could see us climbing up the outside wooden stairs and entering a small room. Here we'd pay a penny, sit on hard-backed wooden benches, and watch a black-and-white silent movie.

And there was Mitchell Gate, the hilly street, in the middle of which was Miss Dean's Sweet Shop, a wonderful place with rows of glass jars filled with pink, red, green and yellow sweets. After spending time deciding which ones I wanted, Miss Dean would take the jar off the shelf, turn the metal top, pick up a large scoop and weigh out my choice. Then she'd place the sweets into a small white cone-shaped paper bag. She had a superb knack of twisting this bag around and around so that none of the sweets fell out on my way back to my grandmother's. Now sitting in front of my computer, I could still taste the anise balls I loved so much.

The Lune River runs through the town, and I enjoyed seeing a picture of the Devil's Bridge, which spans it. Once, years ago, an old woman, who lived in the town, needed to get across the Lune to the other side. One day the devil, having learned of her desire, visited her and promised he would build the bridge if she would give him the first living thing that crossed over. The old woman agreed, so the devil built the bridge, laughing to himself that he would now get possession of her. But she outsmarted him, for when the bridge was completed she sent her dog over, thus sparing her own life. That's the story I was told of how the bridge got its name.

This was such an enjoyable outing I was having from my home, and I was pleased I'd found this web site, but would I have enough confidence do this again?

But the one picture that convinced me that Internet indeed was great, was that of St. Mary's, the 11th Century Norman Church where my parents had been married. When I clicked onto that picture I fell apart. Tears welled up in my eyes and spilled over.

I could hear the church bells ringing, as they did each Sunday morning, always the same tune. My grandmother told me they were saying, "Will you come to church? Will you come to church?" I "walked" into this beautiful old church, sat for a few minutes in the silence, and looked at some of the original stone pillars that were still standing. The sun was shining through the predominantly blue east window, casting a lovely glow upon the pews. We attended church here faithfully during the time we stayed with my grandmother.

I now crossed through the churchyard, passing old graves, many of former parish vicars, to the Brow, a resting spot overlooking the Lune valley. I sat for a few minutes, enjoying this area called "Ruskin's View." The writer, John Ruskin, who had once visited here, said, "The valley of the Lune at Kirkby Lonsdale is one of the loveliest scenes in England and therefore in the world."

That did it - that was the turning point for me. I was now "hooked" onto the Internet, soaking up as much information and knowledge as I could absorb - and all with just the flick of a finger. I couldn't believe how wonderful it was.

As an octogenarian, I am no longer able to travel as extensively as when I was younger. Instead I continue to communicate by e-mail with travel friends around the world. I can once again be standing in Trafalgar Square watching the pigeons being fed.

I can climb up to the Great Wall of China, or re-visit the countryside of New Zealand. I can take the elevator to the top of the Eiffel Tower and see all of Paris beneath; and I can look wondrously on the magnificence of the Taj Mahal. I can shop at Harrods in London, and if I'm really curious, I can click on how the "royals" are doing.

Often I wish I could reminisce about those wonderful summer days with someone who could recall them with me, but I'm the only one left in my immediate family. But all I have to do now is click on this web site and once again I'm transported back to those fun-filled days when I'd hike my dress up, take off my shoes and socks, and, underneath the Devil's Bridge, wade in the cool Lune River amidst the minnows and small fishes.

And all it takes is a click on my mouse.

Sometimes, if I occasionally get a little frustrated when something I don't want appears on my monitor, or I can't find the article I'm looking for, all I have to do is gaze up at the wall next to my computer. There framed for me by my son, are the Internet pictures of Kirkby Londsale to remind me that this new-fangled device called the Internet is truly a wonderful thing.