The Brown Knowser

It barely moved. The sun, on its descent, started above it, moved through it, and sank below it before hiding behind the trees. The cloud remained, as though it had nowhere better to be. Like it was waiting for its friend, the wind, and they would both head out for the night. It looked like a feather, caught in stasis. It grew more illuminated as the sun got under it, casting a red hue so that the cloud could light up, display as a stark contrast. To fade only when the light was gone. Happy Friday!

Last fall, Canadian indie-rock band, The Rural Alberta Advantage , released their fourth album, Mended With Gold . What was surprising for this release, in the digital age, is that they offered this album in a format that my kids would barely recognize. Audio cassette. Remember those things? Does anyone still drive a car that has one as a standard feature? Hell, my car and my van each have a CD player, and I can't remember the last time I used them. But I remember audio cassettes, I remember them with a touch of nostalgia. I remember buying 10-packs of high-quality tapes. I went through these packs like they were candy, filling them with my favourite songs, writing out the titles and artists in the lined slips, writing themes along the spines— Depression Hits — Car Toons — Dance Ditties . I made mixed tapes for my friends, too, loved to share my music. I could make the music flow, ensure that the song that played would mix well with the previous song, see to it that th...

If you could go back in time and re-do a day, would you? How would you do that day differently? I honestly have no regrets. Sure, there are things that I wish I had done differently, but not done at all? No. I look at my path, look at the detours. I look at what I wanted to do when I was younger, look how those dreams went by the wayside. I took a different path from what I thought I wanted, and I ended up here. Would I do over? No. I have no regrets. You? Leave a comment.

I get bored, as all folks do from time to time. The same old becomes so old, and change is the only option.   The Brown Knowser has become a formula over the years. I know what I'm doing from week to week, and perhaps my readers have grown to know what to expect. That's not a bad thing, I suppose, and I can see a pattern in where my readers focus, what they like, and what they don't.   My writing gets good viewership, and that's good. I'm a writer, after all, and though I don't always get as creative as I'd like, I keep my mind moving, my fingers moving over the keyboard. My head gets full, and this blog is the canvas upon which I like to let my brains spill.   Sometimes, I know, it ain't pretty.   My photos get good attention, and I like that. More and more, my eyes are seeing things from a photographer's perspective, and there have been many times where I've been tempted to walk away from my day job to be a full-time photographer. ...

There wasn't a soul around. It wasn't at any memorial, was where the Rideau River tumbles into the Ottawa. Under a lone tree, at the entrance to the Rideau Falls Generating Station. It's a small tree, separated from the others in the park. A lone tree, and a lone candle, burning silently. I have no idea what it was doing there, no idea of why the candle was placed there and left to burn. But it made for a great shot. Happy Friday!

I should have just stuck to the list. I only had to pick up a scotch-bonnet pepper and milk. We weren't completely out of milk, but our 12-year-old daughter tends to drink it like it's going out of style, so we like to be well-stocked. I should never shop when I'm hungry. I always get cravings for things I should not eat. I have a major weakness for potato chips. Sour cream and onion, in particular. Ruffles, specifically. I didn't need them, shouldn't be eating something that's so high in unwanted calories, so high in fat. I haven't ridden my bike since the Rideau Lakes Cycle Tour , having learned that cycling with a fractured wrist , no matter how minor, is not a good idea. When I rode to Kingston, I had a bag of Ruffles Sour Cream and Onion chips packed in my suitcase, waiting for me. Having burned a few thousand calories, I had no qualms about scarfing that bag by myself. Yesterday, I didn't need chips. I really didn't need to walk down the ...

It wasn't the hooker that made me uncomfortable. She didn't make me nervous as she approached me, a stumble or stagger, either drunk or on drugs, or maybe a bit of both. She had been standing just outside the Econo Lodge as I started extending the legs of my tripod on the edge of Montreal Road. It didn't bother me that she came right up to me, asked me what I was doing, and watched me take the first couple of shots. I was taking street shots, I told her, explained that I was not shooting video, was just taking stills. I wasn't worried that she stood near to me as I composed the shot and then took the picture. "That's really good," she said, as the image appeared on the view screen. It didn't make me nervous when I walked Montreal Road, tripod extended, camera clamped to the head, the whole apparatus resting over my shoulder. The drunk, young men, laughing, did not unnerve me as they approached from the opposite direction, as they saw me and...

Lenny Bruce, declares a truce and plays his other hand. Marshall McLuhan, casual viewin', head buried in the sand. Sirens on the rooftops wailing, but there's no ship sailing. Groucho, with his movies trailing, stands alone with his punchline failing. —Genesis, "Broadway Melody of 1974" From one great song to another, my random pick from my Android device is a song that takes its title from another song, one that is on one of my favourite Genesis albums, The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway . As a young kid, growing up in the 70s, I could sing the lyrics to all of the songs, from end to end, by heart. And so, when one of my favourite Canadian bands, 54-40, was inspired by this song to use "Casual Viewin'" as the name of its 2000 album and its title track, I just new this song was going to be doubly good. In January of next year, 54-40 is scheduled to perform at North on 29 , and I highly suggest that if you like this band, you should pick up tickets A...

It was too good to last. For the last couple of months, my wife and I had nursed a seemingly lifeless orchid from a flowerless twig to a fully blossoming plant, with a dozen gorgeous blooms at its height of rejuvenation. But all good things come to an end. A couple of weeks ago, the first flower to blossom shriveled up and dropped off. A few days later, the second flower fell. We continued to care for the plant, sticking to our watering schedule, but to no avail. Day by day, more flowers dropped off. We're down to the final two flowers, the last two to open on this beautiful plant that has brought us such joy, being the only orchid we've ever owned that actually grew a second set of flowers. We shall continue to care for it, but before these last blooms dry up and fall, I wanted to preserve them. In capturing them, I learned something new: in the right lighting, a flat-screen TV makes for an excellent backdrop. Happy Friday!

I didn't go to high-school dances in my first two years of high school, and for good reason: I didn't dance. I was also awkward with girls and couldn't get them to dance with me, assuming I could gather the courage to ask one to dance. I was shy back then, too. By the 11 th grade, my circle of friends was fairly well-established, and we would go to the occasional dance, en masse , and hang out on the fringes of the dance floor. Dance? Not me. Nor did the majority of my friends. We just hung out. Possibly, if we lasted to the end of the evening, I might dance with one of my female friends to "Stairway To Heaven," the quintessential high-school dance finale. Once or twice, when I had an actual girlfriend, we would dance to all of the slow songs but would find a place to make out for the faster dance tunes. I wasn't one for dancing. It was in grades 12 and 13 (yes, I'm that old, when high school was a five-year sentence) that my friends and I actua...

The music may have changed, but there's still music. The hair, the clothing: different, but not so much. There is still life on the streets. The crowds, the mingling, the laughter. The bravado, the egos, the loud inebriated. Someone revving an engine, another squealing tires, adding burning rubber to the scent of alcohol and food. There's always the stench of urine in the parking-garage stairwells. Ferraris, Porsches, Mercedes, and BMWs prowl the grid of streets, rolling at slow speeds, the drivers wanting to be seen behind the wheel, wanting to troll the young women in high heels and short skirts. It is the joy of youth, but its not all joy. Someone starts an argument. Another falls down, drunk, on the sidewalk. Another drunk tries to hit on a woman he doesn't know, who simply had the misfortune of walking past him. On the peripheral streets, a fight breaks out. Someone pulls a knife. Paramedics are called to the scene. Hookers stand on darkened streets, John...

They were one of the best bands of the 80s and they're still going strong. I have memories of listening to New Gold Dream (81-82-83-84) , Simple Minds ' 1982 hit album, on my Sony Walkman, walking from my home in Skyline to work, at the Merivale Mall, the volume turned up (probably why I'm losing my hearing now). The unmistakable voice of Jim Kerr, the synthesizers, the solid beats. I would be singing along and I didn't care who heard me. One of my favourite songs from that album is "Someone Somewhere (in Summertime)." I have always loved the guitar melody and the driving beat. It's a great driving song. Over the decades, I've all but forgotten it, until we drove up to my in-laws' cottage at Lac Bernard, yesterday. We were listening to a retro-music show on Live 88.5 FM , and I was enjoying hearing some of my favourite music from the 80s: The Smiths, Peter Gabriel, Echo and the Bunnymen, and Simple Minds. When "Someone Somewhere (in Su...

It's one of my favourite spots in the city. I've photographed it more than any other spot in Ottawa, with the exception, perhaps, of Parliament Hill (which you can see from this location). Although, there was that photo project where I shot from the same spot on Bate Island some 296 photos of downtown Ottawa, in which Parliament Hill was also captured. And, if you look really hard, you can see this spot, too. It's the National Gallery of Canada , and, in particular, that alluring sculpture known as Maman . On Saturday, July 11, I am hosting a late-night photo walk through the Byward Market, and the National Gallery is along the route. I find that night lighting of Maman can be particularly eerie, and I don't get out the the gallery in the evening as much as I would like to. If you're interested in joining me and other photographers for a late-night walk this weekend, feel free to sign up at my Eventbrite site . We will start at the water fountain on York Str...

I wanted to say yes because I hate to say no, especially when it's all in fun. I could have said, "Close, but no cigar," but I didn't want to steer the contest in any way. But I was looking for an exact location and not a general vicinity. Rockcliffe Park is a neighbourhood to the east-end of downtown Ottawa just past Sussex Drive and the Prime Minister's residence and Rideau Hall, and north of New Edinburgh, before you reach Vanier. It's a sizable but quiet neighbourhood, one that, until 2001, was an independent village. It's home to a lot of wealthy people, holding some of the richest real estate in the country. No, I don't live there. Not even close. In the near-centre of the neighbourhood lies a beautiful park that is part forest , part open garden, filled with sculptures and works of art, as well as memorials to some special people and lovely flowers . It's called The Village Green, and it's the location of this month's Wher...

They were like lovers in the night. Yearning to be together: seemingly approaching one another yet vast distances apart. Making the desire to be as one more urgent, more important. Nothing is more heart breaking than seeing two entities drawn together by random circumstances, seemingly destined to be together, yet never fulfilling that imminence. And now, those celestial bodies are moving apart, gaining distance, losing so much. Until time and space bring them together, some day.

I was always good at Roman numerals. Summer is upon us, and I love to get outdoors with my camera. And, while I'm shooting pictures of whatever catches my eye, I'm always on the lookout for the next location of my monthly contest, Where In Ottawa . As I present the 49 th installment of this contest, I have already snapped the pictures for number L (that's 50, in Roman numerals). For those of you who are unfamiliar with Where In Ottawa , here's what you need to know. Starting today, you have only five days to solve the challenge. Actually, it's four-and-a-half days. The contest runs from 9:00 today and ends at 9:00 on Friday evening. Here are the other rules for Where In Ottawa : If you think you know the location of the structure in the image, leave your guess in the Comments section of this post. Answers sent to me by Twitter, Facebook, e-mail, or any other method than by writing a guess in the Comments section do not qualify for this challenge . I...

It must have been the greatest view. If I didn't have a great fear of heights , I would have loved to get his vantage view. The photos I would have shot. But I was planted firmly on the ground when I spotted him, working hard to make the great hall in the National Gallery shine. It's not every day that you see someone at such a height, giving it no more of a thought than I had given to standing on the interlocking bricks, under Maman . It must be nice to be so carefree. Happy Friday!

I wasn't always afraid of heights. I could climb the tallest tree until the supporting branches thinned and bent, threatened to snap and send me earthward. I would climb down apartment buildings by the balconies, would scare girlfriends by hanging over the ledges. I don't remember when my fear of heights began. It might have been the times when I fell. The time that I slipped on my way down from that great tree out by the old train tracks, south of Borden Farm, when I hugged the trunk as I came down and the coarse bark took the layers of skin from my arms. Or the time that I lost my grip from a balcony and fell from the apartment building. I was only on the second floor when I fell, plunged only about 12 feet into deep snow, but I had started on the seventh floor. It could have been a lot worse. I don't fear heights when I'm behind glass in a sturdy building or on a structure that is secured with high fences and railings. I wasn't afraid when I stood at the ...