The Brown Knowser

We are truly lucky, in Ottawa. We live in a great city, filled with beautiful sights and plenty of things to do, whether you are two years old or 102. We have theatre, we have art galleries. We have musicians that warm the heart and soothe the ears, no matter what your taste is. We have restaurants and pubs, and breweries. And we have writers. Some, we call authors and poets; others, we call bloggers. And all of them are highly talented. I am humbled to be included in this fine group of artists—and make no mistake: we are artists. We take our thoughts and raw materials—words—and we mold them and blend them until they take a shape that, when you read them, they convey those thoughts. On Tuesday night, I had the honour of joining nine Ottawa bloggers at Christ Church Cathedral for Blog Out Loud , as part of the Ottawa International Writers Festival . The room was small but it was packed. Our audience spilled into the next room. One of the area's longest-running bloggers, Da...

Bate Island, Ottawa

From the moment we put him in the basement, we knew he was doomed. He had served his purpose, had been moved from one house to the next, from the care of one person, and then a couple, and finally, to us. We made use of him, when we first moved into our house, treated him like a piece of furniture, joked about him, gave him a nickname, for his outdatedness and for his air of tackiness. His nickname came to us, passed on by friends, and it stuck with us, even as we relegated him to the basement. Larry. As in, Leisure Suit Larry. That cheesy character from that 90s computer game suited our Larry well. The fabric he wore would never attract a woman: black velour, with a scribbled print of pastel green and pink. He was over-sized, sporting far too much padding. Even as we welcomed him into our new house, we were repulsed by his appearance. But he had his uses and we knew that as soon as we could find a replacement, he would be gone. We didn't throw him out on the curb when we f...

Time flies. I've never been one to count, to keep track, but in just over a month, The Brown Knowser will be celebrating its fourth anniversary. And in those four years, I've written mostly for myself but also for the people who have followed along on this journey, where something comes into my head and leaves through my fingers. I've ranted, I've raved, I've made shit up. I've explored the city that I call home, have noticed little spots around my nation's capital, and have asked you if you know where that place is. I take photographs. I share music that I like. The Brown Knowser is my playground. Anyone who has a blog can see how many posts have been published. A couple of weeks ago, I noticed that I was coming to a milestone but I didn't pay close attention until I published last Friday's post. And then it dawned on me: I published The Brown Knowser 's 1000 th post. I write primarily for myself: it's therapy, it's escape...

For years, my wife would buy potted orchids from Loblaws and proudly display them in our kitchen, or our bathroom, or next to any window that would allow plenty of light to fall on the delicate, white flowers. We'd appreciate these flowers for months, gazing at the hints of pink and yellow, the three or four flowers balanced on the single stem that stood like an antenna, supported by a stick in the soil. The tongue-like leaves, at the base of the plant, would spill over the top of the pot like panting dogs. And then the flowers would drop off, leaving just the stem and the leaves. The orchid would look bereft of life, though the plant would survive for years, before we would give up and add the pathetic plant to the compost heap. Try as my wife might, she has never successfully made an orchid reflower, and it would become a ritual for us to replace the plant every year or two. Until the last attempt. My wife never gives up on anything. And so, with the stem bare, she cont...

Breathe, I kept telling myself. I could smell burning. And a pungent decay. My eyes stayed closed for most of the time, as I tried to concentrate on the music flooding my ears: R.E.M., Kathleen Edwards, Sam Roberts, Peter Gabriel, Midge Ure, Matt Good, The Cranberries, The The. Twice, my smartphone stopped the music, inexplicably, and I'd have to wait until there was a pause in the procedure, when I could start the music up and drown out most of the noise. The drill would sometimes drown out the sound. No one was there to hold my hand. Even when the dentist would move in close, would unintentionally press her breasts against the top of my head, I felt no comfort. Sometimes, a hand would rest on my lower lip, push that part of my face against my bottom teeth, as leverage was gained. The inside of my lip, rubbed raw, wouldn't be apparent until the anesthetic wore. But, while the outside of my face and my gums were numbed, the inside of my poor tooth was not. I felt ...

My hands were too full. It had been 11 years since we had visited Stanley Pottery, in that cottage-like house, nestled in the woods, in Breadalbane, Prince Edward Island. Hundreds, if not thousands, of tourists had been through the workshop and store since we last stopped by. And yet, Malcolm Stanley said he remembered us. And despite the fact that my head told me that he said that to anybody who mentioned that it wasn't their first visit, my heart wanted to believe those eyes that smiled and the gentle voice that said, "Welcome back. I see you have a couple of additions to your family," the artist acknowledging our two kids, aged three and five. He nodded, when we told him that we still have the wine goblets that we purchased, in 1995. My wife and I were looking for coffee mugs: something that we would use every day and would make us think of the red sands of this island province. As soon as I saw the tall pines over the red earth, the warm tones of the mug, I knew...

I think the 1980s brought South Africa into the minds of Canadians, thanks, in part, to the music scene. Peter Gabriel sang about Stephen Biko, the anti-apartheid activist that died in police custody, and much of Gabriel's music from his album, Security , had South African influences. Paul Simon's 1986 album, Graceland , also was recorded in South Africa with local musicians. And then , of course, there was Band Aid. Not so much as African-inspired music as for the plight in parts of Africa, where people were starving, that got musicians from around the world to take action. However, nothing brings South Africa and music to my mind more than Johnny Clegg, first, with his band Juluka, and later with Savuka. One of the great things about Johnny Clegg was that, despite the racial tension that came with apartheid, he managed to bring both black and white musicians together and create something beautiful. For a Canadian mind such as mine, that didn't seem like such a big ...

It was my first photo meetup with my new camera. I'm still figuring it out, and am learning as I go. I have a perfect portrait lens: a 24-70mm f2.8. With it, I can get up close, as I do with my 100 Strangers project , but I can also zoom back and get the whole person, without distortion. And I can shoot in lower light, without having to rely on flashes to illuminate the subject. That's not to say that when I do a model shoot, that I won't take advantage of studio light. At this model shoot, we took advantage of ambient light from large windows. I took two types of photos, as our model stood in the window frame: one, without a flash; the other, with an umbrella flash with a silver reflector. The results are striking: one shows the buildings outside and a dark silhouette; the other washes out the outside and throws light everywhere.   Which one do you prefer? Happy Friday!

Nobody likes pain. Not really, I think. Pain is cold, felt with negative feelings, if any emotion at all. It shows us that we are weak, fragile, vulnerable. Pain provides no comfort: it dispirits us, disheartens. Pain can evoke fear, and fear is a powerful foe. When we're in pain, we naturally want to seek an escape, find pleasure. Find comfort. If we're lucky, we find that comfort in those that love us. If we're fortunate, we find it in those with compassion. When I have injured myself, I have been fortunate to have those who loved me or those whose compassion has provided warmth through the pain, has alleviated my fears. Made the pain seem irrelevant. They say that our bodies don't remember pain quite like it remembers pleasure, and through all my past injuries, it's the pleasure of comfort that I remember the most. Soon, however, I anticipate a coming pain, an impending discomfort, and my fears are beginning to take hold. More than a year ago, as I sat ...

It's a blast and it's free. You'll laugh. You'll cry. You'll think. Blog Out Loud Ottawa (BOLO) gives you a chance to see Ottawa bloggers share their words, live. It's an opportunity to meet new bloggers and reacquaint yourself with old favourites. Whether you blog yourself or you have thought of blogging, you will be inspired by what you hear. For the second year in a row, BOLO has teamed up with the Ottawa International Writers Festival and will give you the chance to listen to 10 bloggers read a favourite post. Maybe it's your favourite post, too? The event will be held on Tuesday, April 28 (two weeks from today), at 6:45 p.m., at Christ Church Cathedral , 414 Sparks Street. Come early, as seats fill up. For the fourth time, I will be participating in the event, reading, for the third time, from The Brown Knowser . If you've never come out, I'd love to meet you. If you have been before, I'd love to see you again.  

The very first time that I saw it, I knew I was going to make it a Where In Ottawa spot. That was last summer. As I drove through the latest development in my end of town, Half-Moon Bay, I saw this giant, lonely star on a hill and thought, I must shoot this. But I was on my way, somewhere, with my family in tow, and I knew that this wasn't the moment to stop and photograph it. Besides, this statue needed a silhouette, at sunset, and I was seeing it at high noon, on an overcast day. It took several seasons longer for me to finally head out to capture this star, and it is now the location of this month's challenge. Welcome to Half-Moon Bay Park, at the intersection of Greenbank and Cambrian Roads. It's kitty-corner to another Where In Ottawa location, Minto Recreation Complex . Here are the clues, explained: Not Texas —that state is known for its Lone Star flag, and the object in my photo was a lone star, too. Where the half-moon & stars meet —this sta...

Have you ever walked down a street and noticed that the light at that moment is perfect, and you look up, and you see shapes, and your eyes frame an image, and you think, "I wish I had a camera to capture this moment?" And then, you realize that you have your camera with you? Yeah, that. Happy Friday!

The smell of burning skin, mixed with singed whiskers. That was the worst part. I was tired of dealing with the blood: applying pressure, dealing with soaked tissue and the scabs that would eventually form, then get accidentally knocked off, only to start the bleeding once again. And they were on my face. They weren't eyesores, but they weren't attractive, either. One, on the upper-edge of my lip, just off-centre, on my left. The other, about twice the size—maybe more—on my right cheek, set back, about two inches from my ear lobe. As a young kid, they gave me no trouble. I saw them every time I saw my reflection, looked in the mirror, or saw a photograph of myself. I didn't like the look of them, saw them as faults, imperfections on an imperfect face. When adolescence came in, and a razor came out, they became a problem. Hair follicles  grew through them. And, because these moles were raised above the skin, were entities of their own, I had to draw the blades ever...

We live in a world where everything has to happen instantaneously. We need information immediately. We want things done while we wait, and we don't like to be kept waiting for long. One of the features that I like the most about my camera is that I can capture an image with such ease, view it immediately, adjust it, send it wirelessly to my smartphone, and share it with my three Fs—family, friends, and followers. But as my photos come so fast and freely, I wonder if I'm losing my creativity because I can take scads of shots, and cross my fingers that one of those shots is usable. I can throw the rest away, without any more cost than a few extra seconds. The more I shoot with my Nikon D7200 , the more I wonder whether a good shot has more to do with the technology than with any actual photographic skill. And so, I'm starting a mini photo project. Recently, I have borrowed my father's SLR, the first real camera that I used. It's a fully manual Minolta SRT 10...

Okay, I'm changing the game. For almost four years, I have posted photos of locations around Ottawa and have asked you to identify the spot. The photo is a closeup or an odd angle, so as to give you as little help as possible. Some of you have been able to quickly determine the location: others have waited for the daily clues, in the hopes of putting it all together. Sometimes, the clues are tough. Last month, for the first time in the contest's history, no one guessed the location and no one won. I was beginning to think that you have lost interest, but the number of views to the post tells a different story. I also goofed, in not providing clues over the weekend of the contest period. Only four clues were provided, from Tuesday to Friday. Weekends are tough for me: I spend my Saturdays, running my kids from lesson to lesson, and then spending quality time with them. I make no apologies for that: it's all about priorities, right? On Sundays, I do chores and try to ex...

In March of 1989, I had just started dating the woman who would later become my wife. I was 24, was the assistant manager for a camera store, was driving my third car, and loved to spend my free time driving around, with or without my girlfriend, taking photos with my Minolta X-700. On a warm, sunny afternoon, I ended up at Hogs Back Falls, and I took lots of photos. We have two major sets of waterfalls in Ottawa, and by far, I feel the falls at Hogs Back are the most dramatic. On an active fault line, the rocks jut out randomly, split the running water into separate channels. Years ago, people would swim here, jumping off the rocks into the cool, deep pool. Nowadays, signs warn that that activity is prohibited. Near the falls, a canteen sells food and drink during the summer months. Over the years, the canteen has changed hands many times and is currently run by the Lone Star. The roof, which has always reminded me of an old carousel, has changed colors over the decades. In 19...

It was yellow, but a spot of red had somehow ended up in one spot. As the plastic disc moved toward my friend, Keith, who would catch it, toss it to my sister, Holly, who would, in turn, send it back to me, I saw the red twirl like a wash cloth in a spin cycle. It looked like a brush stroke of paint. It hadn't arrived to me that way when Holly threw it to me, so the red must have come from me. I looked at my right hand, the hand that had sent the yellow Frisbee, and saw a small pool of fresh blood in my palm. A narrow streak lead from the palm, away from my thumb and down past the wrist, where it continued around to the other side. I had to twist my wrist the other way to see where the blood continued. The laceration was more than two centimetres long, on my forearm, just below the wrist. The skin had spread and I could see bare bone. The bright-red blood flowed freely. We had been playing on our side lawn, our house being on the corner of Chesterton Drive, and Woodmount Cr...