Sunset Sign

Yes, it was a clear-blue sky overhead. A perfect, cloudless, clear-blue sky.

But when I started playing around with the white balance, in post-processing, the sky changed from azure to purple, to various shades of pink. And I liked it.

I was going to share this image with Monday's post about Dairy Queen but the image now stood out from all of the other, natural-lighting snapshots that I took of the vacant, old ice-cream shop.

I'm very sad about the loss of a Nepean landmark, a place that brought so many people together on a warm summer evening, but in all honesty, it's probably been at least a decade since I last placed an order at the take-out window. Perhaps I'm sad the same way that I am about other places from my youth are now gone from the Ottawa map.

Perhaps I'm sad that I'll no longer be able to see that DQ and remember the good times I've had there and decide to stop one more time.

I kept this final image, the last shot that I took at the old DQ, the one with which I played around with the white balance, as a single, solitary reminder of what is gone. The purple, pink, and blue pay homage to the colourful memories that I'll keep with me long after this site changes into something else.

Happy Friday!

Rubbed the Right and Wrong Ways

I've been seeing a registered massage therapist for more than 20 years. Not the same RMT but three separate people who I've seen more than once.

Image: lintmachine, via Openly.

I first went to an RMT after I complained to my doctor of constant soreness in my neck and shoulders. It seemed that these areas are where I tend to carry my stress, and working at an office job where I can spend hours on end sitting didn't help. And so, she wrote me a prescription to have a massage.

DW was already seeing an RMT for back pain that she was feeling while pregnant with our first child. She loved this masseuse, Dee^*, and recommended that I make an appointment with her. I did and I saw her for almost 20 years.

The pandemic kept me from visiting Dee and other factors that I deem as fallout from some of the sentiment around the lockdowns made me decide that when I was able to freely see an RMT again, I decided I wanted to go to someone else—someone closer to home.

And so, more than a year ago, I started seeing someone from a chain of massage-therapy clinics. Jay was great, but she was no Dee. And Jay^* likes to talk. A lot. Where Dee and I would exchange pleasant small talk as she was starting, we'd then grow quiet as she did her magic in working out all my pains: not just my neck and shoulders but also my back, my legs (cycling tended to produce knots), my glutes, and anything else that was bothering me at my visit.

I would often fall asleep during a massage, something that Dee accepted as a compliment. I couldn't fall asleep during one of Jay's massages because even if I stopped talking, she would go on about her family, or her favourite TV show, or travel, or anything.

When she worked out a particularly stubborn knot, she would say out loud, "Boy, I'm good."

When Jay left for maternity leave, I sought another RMT elsewhere. I found the clinic where Jay operated to be quite expensive, plus I was prompted to add a tip on top of the high fee. In January, I vowed to cut out tipping for anything other than at restaurants, at barber shops, in taxi services, and the like, as it bothered me so much that I wrote a post about the out-of-control practice.

I had my last massage with Jay just before DW and I left for Costa Rica. Come March, I was due for another massage and my neck was really giving me trouble. It was hard to find a comfortable position in which to lie in bed, and it was taking me a long time to get comfortable and fall asleep. So one night, as I struggled to get comfortable, I picked up my phone and, using Google Maps, searched for a massage therapist close to home.

In addition to the clinic where I had been seeing Jay, I saw a place that was only a seven-minute walk from home. The reviews looked good and the cost of an hour massage was less than what I was paying at the clinic.

In booking, I saw that this RMT was booked solid for weeks on end, except for a single opening at the start of the day, two days hence. I booked it, counting my lucky stars.

I found out, at the appointment, that the spot I got had been cancelled shortly before I started looking for a booking.

That massage was amazing. Cee^* knew how to find my tight spots and was able to loosen up my neck so that that evening, I didn't have to struggle to find a comfortable position in which to sleep. Cee also worked on my glutes, hips, and quads, which were also bothering me.

Throughout the massage, Cee was silent.

I just visited Cee again, yesterday, and she massaged me from head to toe. We did chat a little, at the beginning of the appointment, but she would never initiate the conversation, and when I fell silent, she stayed silent.

I've referred DW to Cee, and she's also had two appointments with her. After yesterday's appointment, I had what I thought might be an awkward conversation with DW.

"At your first appointment," I said, "did Cee tell you to undress as much as you felt comfortable?"

"Yeah," said DW, "but I've always stripped right down. Even with Dee."

"Really?" I said. "With Dee and with Jay, I was told to strip down to my underwear."

"I only wear my underwear when I need to be treated near my sensitive region. I didn't wear underwear with my first appointment with Cee but I wore panties for the second appointment. And I never keep my bra on."

"At my first appointment, Cee told me to undress as much as I felt comfortable, and so I've kept my underwear on. But for both appointments, when she worked on my glutes, she ended up pulling down my underwear so she could get where she needed to go. She also slid the leg part of my boxer-briefs up and over my cheek when she needed to get there. I'm wondering if I should just take them off for our next appointment, should I need my glutes worked on."

"Whatever makes you comfortable."

"But how does that make me look?" I asked. "I keep my underwear on for two appointments and then at my third, I'm buck-naked?"

"I'm sure she's used to that," said DW. "It might show her that you trust her."

How about you? If you've ever had a massage with an RMT, have you stripped down fully? Should it make a difference if your RMT is the opposite sex?

I mean, I'm almost 60 so I'm done worrying about being naked around someone, especially in a professional setting, such as a doctor's office or on a massage table. But getting naked for a massage is something I've never done before because the other RMTs have told me to keep my undies on.

I'll see how comfortable I feel at my next appointment.

Happy Thursday!

^* not her real name.

Boycott

In all honesty, I rarely go to Loblaws anymore.

When DW and I first moved to Barrhaven, this large Canadian grocery chain was one of the closest stores to us and the prices were reasonable, if not better than other grocery stores in the hood. And shortly after we moved to the neighbourhood, Loblaws built an even bigger store, across the street from the old one, allowing for an Independent grocer to move into the old location.

But then Sobey's got better and moved to a bigger location, and a Farm Boy opened close by. Barrhaven got a Food Basics and a Metro, and eventually, a Costco. And Walmart also started selling groceries.

Our community has a lot of choices when it comes to groceries.

And because we have a lot of choices, you'd think prices would come down to be as competitive as possible. Loblaws used to be one of the least expensive grocery stores: it's now one of the most expensive.

DW and I have a Saturday routine. We get to Costco as early as possible. It officially opens at 9 but sometimes opens as early as 8. We aim to be there at 8:30. We get our groceries and supplies, and head out as quickly as we can, before the bigger crowds arrive.

If we need fresh produce, including meat, we head to Farm Boy, which opened a second location, taking over the space that Sobey's left when they moved out of Barrhaven. If we want name-brand items but don't want to overspend, we go to Food Basics.

And that's pretty much it as far as getting groceries.

I haven't considered Loblaws for a long time, now. Ever since they renovated the giant store, I find it darker and not as inviting. And, of course, things are overpriced.

Many people are upset with Loblaws. During the pandemic, prices were hiked up, citing distribution issues. In 2024, distribution isn't a problem but prices are continuing to climb.

Loblaws even lowered the discounted percentage for perishables that were approaching their best-before date, going from a 50-percent discount to only 30 percent.

So, starting tomorrow, May 1, people have called for a boycott of Loblaws and other affiliated stores. And I support it.

If you have other choices for groceries, consider supporting those stores, instead. If Loblaws is your only option, consider buying only essentials and not comfort foods or treats. Send this giant corporation a strong message that enough is enough.

Shoppers Drug Mart, also owned by Loblaws, should also be avoided. Go to a Rexall or Pharma-Plus, or Jean Coutu.

The price of groceries is not a result of inflation: it's a result of greedy executives.

I saw a great meme on social media and I'd like to share it here: "Poverty exists not because we can't feed the poor, but because we can't satisfy the rich." You don't have to be poor to participate in this boycott but you can send a message to the rich.

The End of a Cool Era

I remember when Merivale Road used to be only two lanes. But it must have only been for a short period.

When I was four, I learned how to ride a bicycle. I was living in the garden homes between Chesterton Drive and Bowhill Avenue, behind what was then the K-Mart Plaza, which included a Dominion grocery store, a TD bank, a Living Lighting store, Giglio's barber shop, Gow's Chinese take out, and a Brewer's Retail.

I've written about this old neighbourhood before, with some aerial shots from 1976 for reference.

Across the street from this shopping plaza were single-unit homes, which were separated by the two-lane Merivale Road. I remember riding my bike along this street, which, in 1969, didn't see much traffic. It wasn't the bustling thoroughfare of consumerism that it is today.

When the road widened to four lanes, a few years later, but still before the field was cleared for where the Merivale Mall now stands, my friends and I would have to look both ways and run across the street—often holding hands—to get to a little convenience store, Darly's, where we would spend our allowance on candies, chips, and pop, or buy either hockey or baseball trading cards.

I never watched either sport but all my friends collected the cards, so I did too.

There were two other places, further north on Merivale Road, where my parents would take my sister and me for an occasional treat: one was the Red Barn, a fast-food chain that preceded McDonalds on this strip; and, further up, where Merivale would bend but you had to make a left turn to get onto Clyde Avenue (today, you just have to stay straight, where Merivale meets Lotta Avenue), there was our ice-cream favourite spot: Dairy Queen.

Image: Google Maps street view.

This was not a Brazier Dairy Queen, meaning you couldn't get burgers or fries, or most other hot eats, though you could get a chili-cheese hot dog. It was the cool treats that made it popular and upon which it focused.

Also, for the longest time, it was only one of two DQs in Ottawa that kept its old signage. In the 90s, it eventually updated its sign, leaving the shop at St. Laurent Blvd. and Hemlock Road the last of the nostalgic holdouts.

Image: sfgamchick, via Openly.

My family loved going to the Merivale Road Dairy Queen. My favourite treat would be a green Mr. Misty Float—or as my dad called it, "a Mr. Misty with a blob on top." It was a lime-flavoured drink with vanilla ice cream that floated above it. I would let the ice cream melt and stir it into the drink, and sip it through a straw.

Ah, to be a kid again.

In my teens, my friends and I would often ride our bikes or walk to the DQ. Often, we'd grab a burger at Harvey's, which was further up Merivale, at Baseline Road, and then go to DQ for dessert.

Ah, to be an easy-going teen again.

As I got older and had my own car, we'd make the DQ almost a weekly summer event. Because this DQ wasn't a Brazier, it was only open from about the end of March to the end of September. But every time we went, there was always a long lineup that almost turned into a party scene. My friends and I would almost always run into someone we knew, and chatting it up with people made the lineup seem short.

DW and her best friend still like to build up and joke about a time that we went to DQ, when DW and I were just starting to date. While I was driving us to the spot, DW and her friend talked about what they were going to get, and then asked me what I was going to get.

Casually, I said, "I'll probably get my usual." In my early 20s, my usual was simply a chocolate milkshake, but in my response, they both let out an "Ooh!" as though my usual had suddenly become a great mystery.

The both laughed when, at the counter, I ordered my shake.

"We thought you were getting something extravagant," DW said.

Her friend started to mock me, saying, "I'll have... my usual..." dropping her tone at "my usual," making it sound seductive.

Every time they recount this story, the "my usual" part gets more and more exaggerated.

Even to this day, I roll my eyes when they start to tell this story again.

It was only the other month, as I was heading to the Merivale Photography Studio, just a few doors down from the DQ, that I noticed that the sign was bare of the DQ logo, that the words Dairy Queen were cut out from the sides of the building that has stood there for about 60 years.

At first, I didn't think much about it. After all, it was before the ice-cream shop normally opens for the season, and I thought that perhaps they were updating the sign and the lettering on the building. But last week, at the end of April, when I drove by the DQ and no one was there, I was curious.

DW and I were meeting a friend for dinner at Alirang Korean Restaurant, a few doors away, where a Dunkin Donuts used to be, long ago. After dinner, the three of us walked to the DQ, and DW and I realized that we were face to face with the end of an era.

A sign informed us that it was closed. Inside, not only did it look deserted, it looked abandoned. The menu board was missing its panels that listed all of the treats. It looked like appliances had been pulled off of the walls.

There would be no Mr. Misty Floats, no chocolate milkshakes.

After about 60 years, the Merivale Road Dairy Queen is dead.

I wonder what will replace it. Will someone tear it down and build something new? Will somebody occupy the space and run a shop with take-out windows like this DQ did?

Because my photo club always has something going on at the photo studio, nearby, I'll keep an eye on the lot at the bend in Merivale Road, where it intersects with Clyde Avenue.

Beer O'Clock: Don't Look Up

I really meant to have some of this ale with me when I was watching the solar eclipse, a couple of weeks ago. I even meant to have it reviewed for the Thursday that followed the celestial event.

A friend, Marc, had picked up the beer on the Friday before the eclipse and I had intended on driving to his place to pick it up, but weekends are tricky for driving to the east end of Ottawa. And I was also totally preoccupied with making sure that I had everything ready for the big day.

No matter. I received my six-pack on the following weekend, at the same karaoke night where my other friend, Perry, unexpectedly brought me some of his homemade brew. Guess which beer suddenly became my priority?

Anyway, thanks to Marc for thinking of me when he went to purchase this limited beer release and for bringing it to me on karaoke night.

When I saw the label of this ale, from one of my favourite breweries, I immediately knew I would be both in for a treat and a disappointment. Stray Dog is very good at making hazy, juicy, fruity ales. Every time they release one, I'm eager to try it.

I've never seen this Orleans brewery release an IPA. Like, a traditional IPA. Yet, on every label of their juicy pale ales, they've called it an "India Pale Ale" or simply an "IPA."

My friends, you've done it again. You've made a beautiful ale but have misidentified it.

And it makes me sad.

Please, call it a NEIPA or even a "Hazy IPA," if you must insist on keeping IPA in the name. You must differentiate your creations from simply an IPA. And if you really want to be brave and break this trend, call it a "NEPA" and throw away the I.

Your brew has nothing to do with India.

Okay, enough ranting. Let's look at what they've created.

Don't Look Up! IPA (6.7% ABV)
Stray Dog Brewing Company
Orleans ON

Appearance: pours a dense orange, much like orange juice, with a white head that doesn't pour thick but forms a solid cap of less than a centimetre in thickness. No bubbles stick to the glass but they're there. Yet, when I cracked open the can, there wasn't much of a hiss as the air escaped. I almost thought the can was flat.

Nose: orange peel and tangerine, with a touch of lime and only the faintest hint of pine.

Palate: full-on orange rind and some more pine, and a bit of grapefruit. There's a bitterness that fills the mouth and stays all the way to the finish. I have to admit that there are fewer tropical flavours and more of a traditional IPA taste, but I still wouldn't call this an IPA without another descriptor.

Overall impression: I had more treat than disappointment in this ale. While Don't Look Up! looks nothing like an IPA and smells nothing like an IPA, in a blind tasting (and I mean completely blind or at least wearing solar glasses so that you couldn't see what you're drinking), I would say that this is an unusual IPA that retains some characteristics in the mouth but has something more to it.

It's a good ale that is definitely quaffable.

But it's always going to bother me when a brewery puts only IPA on their label and creates the impression that inside the can is a clear, deep gold to copper liquid that has lots of hops, some grapefruit and pine, and a higher alcohol level.

And I'm always going to rate it lower because of that.

Beer O'Clock rating: 🍺 + .5

Don't Look Up! is still available for order from the brewery. Like the eclipse, it could be gone for a long time.

Cheers!