Confessions of a Twenty-First Century Luddite (Does Windows 10 dream when it's asleep?)

Luddites have not been popular as a group, both in their origins and as a derogatory term used in the present day. During a timeframe of five years (1811 - 1816), groups of early Industrial Revolution workers destroyed machinery that they believed would cost them their jobs. This action was particularly prevalent in cotton and woollen mills. The word has now broadened to include anyone suspicious or resisting new technology.

And I definitely fall into that latter category, though there are also some days I feel as ancient as those in that first movement. Having not been introduced to the Internet, e-mail, word processing and most scarily the computers needed to access these pillars of advancement until I was in my thirties, I still regard any communication device other than landline telephones as potentially hostile.

I do not possess an iPod, an iPad or have iTunes. I do have an Android phone, which even after six months still has the capacity to shatter my self-esteem at a moment's notice. I have been unable to download OneDrive, which apparently move photos wirelessly from my smartphone to my laptop. I do not believe that anymore.

When I received my first laptop, I resisted turning it on for six months. I clung to XP far longer than I should have, eventually upgrading to Windows 7. This system proved surprising friendly and never let me down. Onto my second laptop in 2014 after six years. I didn't want to rush into the Great Unknown in an overly hasty manner.

Imagine my horror when I had to upgrade, again, to Windows 10. I had heard horrific stories of Windows 8 and I was dreading any change in my technology comfort zone. Spectacularly hyperventilating, I summoned my courage and Installed Windows 10.

This was not the unmitigated disaster I was expecting. This new operating system was reassuringly similar to Windows 7 and relatively easy to navigate (unlike most Government agencies and departments). Then little snags began to creep in and my Luddism crept back. First was the inability to download OneDrive. Then was the issue to try and delete photos off my SD card once I'd finished moving them into MyPictures. Epic fail. Thus, I have given up on that option and now use Michael's elderly wheezing laptop to remove photos from my SD card. Don't ask...

Just when I was returning to that characteristic smugness that always precedes a catastrophe, the inevitable occurred. Of course. On Thursday night, I dutifully put the laptop to bed in its case, prior to leaving for the Big Smoke yesterday. I may or may not have pressed the Sleep option by mistake. I will probably never know.

Come early Friday when I couldn't sleep, I returned to my favourite slumber inducer and pressed the big blue-rimmed button. The usual screen came on, with a couple of notable exceptions. No clock or day appeared and no strip to enter my password. I tried turning the laptop on and off again multiple times. No go. In disgust, I returned to bed and counted Michael's breathing for the rest of the night.

Upon arising, I turned on Michael's ageing laptop (some of the keyboard letters are actually missing, it wheezes like a moderate asthmatic, shuts down when it overheats and will not charge at all, so it has to remain plugged into power at all times) to search for clues. About a squillion responses came up to my query. All were useless, as the instructions ordered me to access some icon or another on the screen. Which wasn't there as the computer was asleep...

Straight to Facebook on my phone. A great many different solutions were offered. So I tried them all. Then, after my anaesthetic wore off, late in the afternoon, my computer gradually woke up at about the same time I did. First, the clock, date and date reappeared. Then after restarting again, the password strip became visible. Then, interestingly, my latest password wouldn't work, but the previous one activated my beloved screen back into life. Rather like that movie "Flatliners".

I took great care in pressing the "Shut Down" icon last night. I was tense in anticipation this morning and then delighted when the laptop woke successfully. I am very easily pleased. So for the foreseeable future, I will watch myself whilst "shutting down" until I breathe easily once more.

I still have absolutely no idea what caused this malfunction in the first place and I sure as shit have no idea how I fixed the problem. If I did at all...

My final questions. Is this all a glimpse of the future? Are we to be governed by our devices that may choose to work, or not? And what did Windows 10 dream about when it was asleep? Any ideas?

My natural instincts have turned me into my secret identity - Anxiety Girl. Much as I enjoy having my finger on my personal pulse of technology, I am still well and truly, a Luddite!

What happened to my computer?!

How I felt whilst trying to solve the problem...

But I refused to concede defeat...

and all's well, until the next time!

My Bung Knee Goes to the Big Smoke

At present, Michael and I really don't have a sound pair of legs between us. Having stepped awkwardly off a ladder and turned his left ankle in both directions (that takes real skill), Michael had an appointment for an ultrasound and x-ray to look for trouble down under. Then we were both seeing the "Boy Wonder" for consultation - Michael and his foot and me with my knee.

Those of you who read my posts know that I suffer from an impairment of being able to stand on two feet satisfactorily for any length of time. Over the last couple of months, I have danced the Watusi Quickstep in the laundry (having tripped over the dogs' leads) and twice ( how good am I?) outside landing on extremely unforgiving concrete pavers. Each of these tumbles has occurred when I was stone-cold sober. The latest disaster occurred after tripping over the outside hose and hurtling at full throttle (with a payload of eighty kilogrammes) towards the ground.

Falling after imbibing a few glasses of vino is much more pleasant. Take Michael's experiences, for example. Having performed a swan dive into a paint tray via a ladder proved wet and colourful ( he was covered in Red Terra) but not painful. Likewise when he performed his version of the Watusi Quickstep in our bedroom. He and our upright fan engaged in an impromptu tango which concluded with them both lying together on the floor. The fan was seriously injured whilst Michael was unharmed. Both times he was quite sozzled.

Crashing whilst sober is another matter altogether. Both Michael and I can attest to the fleeting thought of "oh bugger, this is going to hurt", followed by tensed muscles and them a fulfilment of our predictions. Which is why both Michael and I are currently the worse for wear. The moral of this story - only fall over when one has consumed a reasonable amount of medicinal liquid relaxant.

After much discussion and knowing our difficulty in rising from morning slumber, we resolved to gatecrash our good friend Ailsa and her husband Mark to stay overnight prior to the nine o'clock start for Michael. This proved to be a splendid evening with great food, vino, amiable conversation and entertainment provided by canine residents Archie and Mollie.

A comfortable bed and painkillers were an added bonus. Michael was on a mattress on the floor. In spite of the softness and warmth of our environs, neither of us slept well. We woke, dressed and left for Michael's appointment, Ailsa promising us a cooked breakfast on our return. Wonderful.

Michael's imaging was smooth, efficient and saw us back at Chez Ailsa's by half past ten. Bacon and eggs with tea and coffee were sublime. Then we retired back to bed for a couple of hours and slept soundly, feeling far better when we woke.

Hugs and kisses and we were off to see Mr Ben Kimberley. We used to be fooled by his slightly absent-minded and boyish manner. A superb surgeon, he has put me back together again on several occasions and performed miracles on both of Michael's shoulders and carpal tunnels. His practice is run like a well-oiled machine by his exemplary staff, Marija and Anne.

Ben deduced that Michael's ankle may further improve over time but my knee would not. Sending me for a quick x-ray to make sure I hadn't broken any bones, my knee and surrounds appeared intact. However, he suspected torn cartilage and fluid were the problems at hand. I obviously have great bones, which is fortunate, considering my frequency in falling on them.

So tomorrow we are back to the Big Smoke for me to have an afternoon snooze, a knee block, a prod, poke and clean out. We will stay overnight whilst Vanessa holds the fort in the Residence. And Michael is delighted as he will probably be able to watch the football unhindered on the telly as I will still be snoring my head off after the anaesthetic. His only concern is that he remembers to order food as my boarder.

See you after the jump.

The dance Michael and I perform on a frequent basis.

Though Michael prefers to add a Tango Twist...

Michael's preferred partner.

He has injured his ankle...

whilst my left knee is in strife at present.

Hopefully, my place of healing tomorrow!

Foiling the Ranger.

Beverley "enjoys" a part-time animal ranger to patrol the streets and pick up any strays. He is not a nice man. We first encountered him back at Brooking Street, when he was apparently responding to a complaint by a neighbour about our dogs barking at night. This barking was due to an increase in fox movements and all the surrounding dogs were noisy as a result. He was unmoved and suggested we set fox traps in the yard of the neighbour who had complained...

Then he questioned how we had managed to register all three dogs. As if we had diddled the system. He was definitely suspicious. Then he wanted us to microchip Sascha, who could die at any time given her age and Pip, who is so terrified at being handled by strangers, uses hot diarrhoea as a weapon of escape. When we refused and invited the ranger to leave our house, he was quite reluctant to do so. As far as we were concerned, he had entered our home under false pretences.

We have had nothing to do with him since we moved into the Residence. Until last week. This officious individual bailed up John our builder and declared if our dogs were seen on the street again, he would impound them on the spot. He also blamed all the dog deposits at the memorial park on our dogs and ours alone. We knew this simply wasn't true. We were speechless. We knew the dogs were prone to wandering and we were doing our best to keep them contained. Sascha's elderly bladder meant the unleashing of Noah's flood if she was unable to exit outside. We had been restraining Ruby as much as possible but as an escape artist, she was masterly in her efforts to sneak off when we weren't looking.

Michael had been hoping to reduce his physical workload to allow his ankle to heal after rolling it whilst painting the house. I remain physically disabled and useless since I stuffed my left knee. However, in view of the Ranger's threats, we had no choice. Some sort of enclosure would have to be constructed.

This has been accomplished after two days of toiling by Michael. He has used an interesting mix of old gates, mesh, wire and star pickets to create our own version of Fort Knox. We are able to reach both the new house and the washing line through two access points. Given the strength required by Michael to install the star pickets, the ground has shown itself to be very hard. This will reduce any potential escape opportunities by digging. Unless Ruby acquires an excavator.

And the fence will keep that dreadful little ranger on the other side of our happy little home.

The ranger in pursuit (an exceptionally good likeness).

Possibly a tad extreme...

The fence takes shape

The bricks are serving a very useful purpose...

And the grand finale!

View inwards.

The inmates inspecting their exercise yard.

Who would wish such a fate on the ranger?!

.

All About Michael (How did I manage to cut my mouth with a crumpet, darling? And other stories...)

Michael has proved himself, time and time again, to be patient, tolerant and fluster-free. Take this morning, for instance. As I continue to be somewhat out of commission with my bung knee, Michael made and served my breakfast. A couple of crumpets with plenty of jam and honey. All was proceeding to plan until I caught a sharp edge of the crumpet in the corner of my mouth. This involved a sharp scratch, a microscopic pinpoint of blood and a loud expletive. Then the obvious question.

Michel did not laugh at me or call me silly. Instead, he sat with a mildly puzzled expression on his face and responded "No Kate. I have no idea how you did that to yourself." And went back to eating his crumpets with no further fuss.

Over the last eight years, I have repeatedly been the source of surprise (and often exasperation) in my husband's life. I have broken a spout off a water container, set fire to a camping chair, set fire to my thongs, set fire to myself, produced inedible cannonballs out of previously tasty rissoles, turned tent-raising into a test of endurance, tripped over quite visible obstacles on innumerable occasions, lost my glasses on the beach, in the bush and in our garden. I have blithely blundered into obvious disasters without a care in the world. Following which, Michael usually has to pick up the pieces. Or me bodily...

I knew, immediately, that Michael was an unusual and extraordinary man from the moment I met him. Even our first "date" was a bit different. As I owned two dogs and Michael had his own dog, our choice of venue was the Whiteman Park dog exercise enclosure. Whilst the dogs introduced themselves and we walked and talked, very little else happened. But his beautiful dark eyes had already drunk me in. A gentle and quietly spoken man, he didn't touch me or try to hold my hand or kiss me after three seconds.

What a change from the Wide-mouthed Frog, the Chilean Stallion, Dave the Brave (who didn't like dogs), the Creepy Technician (who assumed I would have sex with him as he'd paid to see my profile on RSVP), the Sicilian Psychopath or a sad, anxious Kiwi who earned his nickname in a most unfortunate way. Michael was definitely a vast improvement.

So began our relationship. Friends were on the lookout for my welfare and put Michael through the Third Degree. My parents approved of my choice of partner for the first time in my fifty years. His children threw difficulties in our way, but we weathered those storms. We fled Perth to find a place to call home. We found sanctuary in Heavenly Beverley.

Michael introduced me to his beloved Goldfields, observing my reactions and gauging my moods. I fell in love with him, his stories and the places he took me. By the end of our first trip away together, I had become fascinated by the metal artefacts we collected and the places we stayed, which all whispered tales of the hardy folk who had settled there during the Goldrush and beyond.

Up to this day, I keep discovering more about Michael, particularly about his passions. Photos of him in his twenties, working in steel fabrication and moving towards decorative metal art and then into sculpture. The early stirrings of his story-telling through his art has led to his unique style of multi-faceted pieces. He loves manipulating his art to create shadows, as well as art that can be viewed from either side. The only multiple pieces he produces - Magda our redback spider magnet - are still individuals, given that each is hand made by eye.

Approaching another anniversary, we find that our relationship is still strengthening. We are content in each other's company. We love our friends, but we also treasure our alone time.

Hopefully, within a month, we will be moving into our new home, Station House. We plan to mount "Dory" onto our outside golden wall and our van Gogh colours reflect our hard-fought happiness.

And I have no doubt that Michael will continue in his calm ( if slightly bemused) acceptance of my ongoing disasters.

Love you, darling.

"Forgotten Tracks"

"In the Mix"

Within the chapel at SJOG, Subiaco

ladybird

caterpillar

"Spider on a Wall"

Adjacent to Mercy Hospital, Mt Lawley

Building a grizzly

Michael with his first business partner, Bevan Kipps

Please god, let this weld hold...!

"Child's Play"

"The Black Dog is Back"

"Starbirth"

Firescreen and fire grate

"Flowers in my Garden"

"Kangaroo Paw"

"Magda" in production

"Sketch in Steel" (Doodle!)

"Mindscape"

We are at LOCK-UP!

I have been rather tardy with my posts over recent days. The latest catastrophe was a worsening of my sore left knee, which I injured in an unseemly fall a number of weeks ago. Tripping over a hose when stone-cold sober is not a good look. I remember thinking  - bollocks! This is going to hurt. Managing to strike both knees, my left shoulder and lastly my forehead onto exceeding unforgiving concrete was the first tragedy. Skinning my left knee (isn't one supposed to stop doing this kind of thing in childhood?) masked the lurking problem Underneath. After initially improving over some time, I realised that a short brisk walk with Callum on Tuesday was perhaps not my brightest idea. By that evening, I was finding weight bearing was almost impossible on my left leg. The unfortunate body part also began to swell up like a balloon. Most annoying of all was that my beacon of logic, Vanessa, was going to be proved right. Again. After my tumble, Vanessa had gloomily predicted that I had done myself some real damage. I had hoped that by ignoring the obvious, I could magically make my knee better. Apparently, I have torn some sort of ligament or tendon in this troublesome area. Poop. I see the Boy Wonder, our orthopaedic surgeon on Wednesday.

Onto much more pleasant subjects. Our concrete pad was poured in the second week of March. Here in the first week of May, we are at lock-up. Actually, we are Beyond Lock-Up. Over the last two days, the Wonderkid that is Lindsay Doyle has been installing our kitchen, our kitchenette in the Studio (our upmarket  name for the third bedroom), our laundry cupboards and trough, ably assisted by John the builder extraordinaire, Hans the awesome tiler and all-rounder Elliott, who looks about twelve (with a beard) but is actually old enough to drive a car.

All our expectations are being blown out of the water. My new kitchen is totally different from any previous kitchens. Although compact, I have plenty of swish matt-black cupboards, a dishwasher, a brand new built-in microwave, two glorious multicoloured benchtops, glass cooktop and a sparkling oven. Holy cow!

Tomorrow will bring Hans back to tile his heart out, Lindsay to complete tasks at his usual speedy rate and Michael to begin painting the skirtings in our bedroom. As for me, I will be lurching around on my crutches, driving to Northam to collect Vanessa. And after she finishes laughing at me, I will be thrilled at her arrival. If vacuuming the Gallery today was any indication, I probably need to stay off my feet as much as possible for the time being.

Luckily, the progress of Station House continues to delight and distract me from my other woes.

Stay tuned.

My deluxe store room 

pantry and microwave

oven, not quite in-situ

a dishwasher that isn't ME

bench top and cupboard backs

laundry

still life of Beagle and kitchen

Ye Gods, what is she thinking?!

kitchenette and studio bathroom