The Brown Knowser

When all is said and done, I think 2015 will go down as a good year for me. Lots has happened and I've been challenged in so many ways, and if you want to know what I mean, just go back and read my posts from this year. In March, I upgraded my well-used Nikon D80 for a newer, better model, and I carried it with me almost everywhere, from vacations to concerts, from jaunts to and from work to model photo shoots. There were some growing pains as I learned new features and different buttons, but overall, I'm loving my D7200. So, without further ado, and as we say goodbye to 2015, here are the photos that I feel are among the best that I took this year. And be warned: one of the photos may not be safe for work. My Bate Island Project has been over for nearly two years, but every once and a while I like to return to this peaceful spot and point my lens eastward, toward the downtown core. On this frosty winter's day, in January, a fog shrouded the river. The lonely bench,...

I wrote my first name in small print, trapped between two parentheses. My middle name, written in large capital letters, was underlined three times. "Greg?" she called out, in a friendly tone, with a smile. "The doctor will see you now. Follow me please." While I don't like being called by my first name, I cringe when I hear the shortened version. Not that there's anything wrong with that name: my step father's name is Greg. It's a good, strong name that suits him perfectly. I've been calling him by his name since before my parents separated, before he and my mom started dating. I continued addressing him by his first name after he and my mother married, even though my sisters called him "Papa." I have friends with the name Greg. They are good, intelligent, kind people. And, when I address them, I never associate the name with myself, not like when I address another Ross. I have no problem with the name Greg. It's just not m...

He never cared for Secret Santas in the office, or anywhere, for that matter. He d id n't feel the need to pick a random name from a hat and then try to figure out something about that practical stranger ( he just kn e w that, as luck would have it, he would pick the name of someone that worked in a distant part of the office, someone that he d id n't know well), and he would then spend money and time choosing a gift that would not enrich the life of that individual , would not be something t hat would give th at individual anything that he or she would truly want. He used to participate in Secret Santa at work, feeling compelled by peer pressure. But over the years , he had become immune to peer pressure , would only participate in an office social activit y if he truly wanted to. And, usually, he d id n't want to. He wasn't a Grinch, nor a Scrooge, but especially, he wasn't a Secret Santa. It was Christmas Eve and, as with every ye...

I first posted this story in 2011 and have now made it my holiday tradition. If you haven't read it before, I hope you enjoy it. If you have read it before, I'm hoping that you make it your holiday tradition in reading it again. Merry Christmas, and all the best over the holiday season! At first, we did it out of excitement, unable to wait. Later, it became a game about how far we could go, how much risk we were willing to take. In time, it became a ritual. The first time we crept downstairs, anxious to see what Santa left us, my younger sister, Jen, and I faced an obstacle: each other. "Go to bed," I whispered, not wanting her to make any noise, thereby arousing the attention of our parents, who had only a half hour or less gone to bed after placing our wrapped gifts under the tree. Our older sister, Holly, was sound asleep, able to contain her excitement and curiosity. The first time that Jen and I met on the stairs, we got our parents' a...

* On some level, I'm not a fan of Christmas. Not of the decorating, nor of the card giving (actually, the Brownfoots have pretty much given up on that front), nor, especially, of the shopping. I hate going near the malls and department stores at this time of year: fighting crowds, standing in lines, searching for that ever-elusive parking space. Not being religious, the spiritual side of Christmas is lost on a cynic like me. Our family doesn't go to church, participates in no rituals that have long ago been stolen from the Pagans. We have no manger on display, no angel on high. My participation in these year-end, winter festivities usually includes some shopping, taking the family to a farm to search for and cut down our tree, and then driving it home, standing it in the house, and helping my wife with the lights and flashy, gold garland. Once that's done, I leave the room and let the three girls hang the ornaments while they blast music from the ann...

TV stations do it: why can't a blog? For years—possibly, for as long as I've been writing The Brown Knowser —I have reserved the days that lead up to Christmas for holiday-themed posts. Most of the posts are repeats from Christmases gone by, though each year I tend to add a new one. This year, however, I have revised some of my traditional tales so that they can, hopefully, become more timeless and will require fewer revisions as the years go on. If you're new to my blog, I hope that you enjoy the posts that are to follow in the next couple of days. If you're a regular reader, I hope that you enjoy reading these stories again. Thank you for reading and I want to wish you and your loved ones peace, happiness, and warm thoughts over the holidays. Be safe, raise a glass of good cheer, and be merry. TV stations replay holiday classics: starting tomorrow, so will a blog . Cheers!

It seems that you can't get away from Star Wars . I have to give it to my neighbours, though: they pulled out all the stops, went to great lengths—kind of when Darth Vader spared no expense, person, or ships, to search for Luke Skywalker. On the day that The Force Awakens hits cities across North America, I thought I would share how some folks on my street really got into the spirit... or is that the Force? There's the Millennium Falcon, making the jump to hyperspace; there are stormtroopers on skis; there's R2D2, with a Santa cap, and lightsaber-wielding Yoda and Vader. The soundtrack to the movies plays through speakers. There's even the Death Star, firing its weapon at an exploding bush. All in the season of peace and joy. And Star Wars . Happy Friday! May the Force be with you, and Season's Greetings.

My wife was poking around in the basement, the other night, looking for things to throw out. For more than 15 years, we've accumulated all sorts of junk, and when something outlived its usefulness, instead of being taken out to the curb, it went downstairs, to our black hole of stuff. This summer, we made a great effort to throw a lot of that crap out, making room for a place for our youngest daughter to practice on her drum set and for us to finally have that home gym we've been talking about for almost as long as we've lived here. "Take a look at this," she said, as she held up an old magazine. It was a copy of Tribute Magazine , from spring of 1983. It bore an orange border, and in the centre, an iconic image from arguably the best of the Star Wars movies, Return of the Jedi . I remembered the first time I saw that film, in an Ottawa theatre that is now gone—it was either the Elgin cinema or the one on Somerset: it doesn't matter, now, as both ar...