The Brown Knowser

It's a part of our life that has been missing for a very long time. I'm talking more than a decade. We used to love to entertain, used to love to have company. Anywhere from having a friend or two come to our house every few days to share some wine and hang out, to a regular visitor to watch TV (our Thursday, Must-See TV of the mid to late 90s), to having a house filled to bursting—wine tastings, pot-luck dinners, and open houses—our doors always welcomed you in. I could blame the kids for our change, for how we stopped inviting friends in, but that simply not be true. When the kids were young and in need of constant supervision, we still opened our doors to friends and family. As the kids grew older, it was easier to let them go and play in their rooms, which opened us up to being able to spend more time with the important people beyond our immediate family. No, the reason for our making the house off limits was the house itself. The wear and tear, the natural aging with...

"We need to go somewhere," DW said, "if we just hang around the house, we'll do nothing. Or, worse, we'll go shopping and spend more money than we would if we went away." True. When we travel for a vacation, while the initial cost for the transportation and accommodation can be high, we tend to spend thriftily. We tend to stay in places where we can buy groceries, and we'll prepare breakfast and dinner in wherever it is that we're staying. We will have an inexpensive lunch and may go out only a couple of times for a nice dinner, but we often do that at home, anyway. Every year, for a great number of years, we have gone on vacation at the end of the summer . Last year, it was along the Bruce Peninsul a ; two years ago, it was France; three years ago, we paddled the Rideau Canal system from Kingston to Ottawa; before then, Cape Cod and Boston, New York City, Italy, Prince Edward Island... the list goes on. Every summer, we packed up and got out of...

You have to get away from it all to see it. I remember the first time that I saw the Milky Way. It was so bright, much brighter than I've seen since. I was on the tropical island of Ko Pha Ngan, in the Gulf of Thailand. I was on the beach, and all of the generators for the resort had shut down for the night. There was no artificial light, no sound except the waves lapping on the shores and the wind through the palm trees. The stars were so bright that they cast shadows in the sand. As the surf hit the shore, a ghostly glow came through the water: bioluminescent dinoflagellates, smaller than beads of tapioca. I could scoop them up in my hand, but removing them from the salt water seemed to extinguish their luminescence. The Milky Way spread across the sky like a spilled glass. It was mesmerizing and made me feel insignificant. In the city, you can't see the Milky Way. You need to drive away from the lights, but even then, in this part of the world, it's hard to compl...

She showed me a photo, just as I was wa k ing up. I wore no glasses, my vision was at a low. "What about this?" she asked, holding a tablet with an undersized photo. it looked like a cottage to me. "The view looks right out onto the St.Lawrence." "Okay, fine," my voice was groggy as I was just waking. It was for one night. It was a yurt: a glorified tent. Sure, the view was great, but it was camping, and she wasn't supposed to mention it ever again. I now refer to her as "my first wife."

I hate the sound of my own voice. But I like to sing. Last Thursday, as The Tragically Hip were performing in Ottawa, I crossed over into Aylmer, Québec, to perform at the weekly open mic, at Café British. I was lucky enough to have my brother visit from Phoenix, Arizona, with my nephew, Nick. We played two songs: one by The Hip; the other, by Radiohead. Listen, if you dare. I still hate the sound of my own voice.

I didn't want to go, originally. I had seen them perform a couple of times and hadn't been impressed with the shows. While I liked their music, the actual stage performances were somewhat lackluster. But those shows were a long time ago. I barely remember the first time I saw The Tragically Hip. It was in 1987 or 88, in Kingston, at Queen's University. It was either during Frosh Week or at Homecoming, the university's big weekend of football and alumni. I arrived in the evening and found my friend, Al, who was in poli-sci. He handed me a beer and we made our way to the fields behind Ontario Hall, where a local band was making lots of noise. I didn't pay much attention because I was there to see my friend and spend a weekend of drunken mayhem at a university that I, myself, had almost attended. By the time the weekend was over and I was making my way back to Ottawa, the name of the band was long-forgotten. I saw The Hip, a few years later, at Barrymore's,...

I knew my mom's parents. I'm lucky enough to have lived long enough to have good memories of the two, though I never saw them together. By the time I was born, or by the time I was old enough to retain memories, they were no longer living together. I can still hear Nanny's voice in my head, speaking to me on the phone, hearing the enthusiasm as I shared the things that were going on in my childhood. I was living in Ottawa: she, in Châteauguay, on the outskirts of Montréal. Every time I hear my own mother, today, talking to my kids or, most recently, talking to my young niece, I hear a bit of Nanny. Grandaddy never left a lasting impression, though I remember him clearly, remember how tall he was, compared to me, in my pre-teen years. He was a smoker: I remember he had a scratchy, Québecois accent, but his voice isn't as clear to me, as he mostly visited with my parents when we got together. When I try to hear his voice, one of my uncle's voices dominates that me...

It's not as if there are any written rules or guidelines that are passed down from parent to child. Indeed, it could even be a cultural issue, but when one person impinges on another's comfort level, it can be excruciatingly awkward. I'm talking about bathroom rules. I'm not really one to talk. At home, I often fail to shut the door. Not that I'm an exhibitionist, but it's a habit I got into when my then-girlfriend and now-wife and I moved in together. I don't know what made me change my once private ritual to be so open. In public, however, I'm very private. I feel uncomfortable when there are other people in the washroom and I practically feel mental anguish when someone gets close to me. True story: once, when I was walking downtown, heading to a bus stop after a social evening, I felt the call of nature and ducked into a nearby hotel to use the public facilities. I was a little intoxicated but was fully aware of my surroundings. Just as I ...

So, Shadrach Kabango, known simply as Shad, is leaving as the host of q , CBC Radio's morning arts and culture show, and not of his own accord, so it seems. According to CBC reports, the show has been losing listeners over the past couple of years, since former host, Jian Ghomeshi, was fired over sexual abuse charges. I don't know: Shad was okay. He had a nice demeanor and seemed comfortable, laid back. He was welcoming to his guests and he was well-prepared (even though, in truth, we know his preparedness comes down to the writers and researchers who line up his guests and get the questions to Shad). I did find, when I listened to him, that while he could ask the questions that were prepared for him, he didn't seem to be spontaneous and wouldn't always follow up with answers that begged more questioning. I've experienced that, first-hand, when I was interviewed by a previous host to CBC Ottawa's All In A Day . Which brings me to the crux of this post:...

It was gone, long before my time. Looking at it now, you would never have known that this low-lying region, just west of Centretown, was once a thriving community of residential streets and industry, where houses, warehouses, factories, and hotels filled a series of cross streets and railway lines. Ottawa Archives photo Lebreton Flats is named after a retired army captain, John Lebreton, who purchased the land in 1820 with the hopes of flipping it, making a profit from interested developers. Until then, the land had been occupied by a British military regiment (who have been credited with establishing a road that is now Richmond Road) and had a small tavern that hosted weary travellers who navigated the Ottawa River. Parts of that tavern were recently uncovered , where today's Canadian War Museum now stands. To the extreme east of Lebreton Flats, where Wellington Street now seems to be some dismembered roadway, businesses lined shoulder to shoulder, street trolleys ro...

I know: I showed this photo on Wednesday. But I'm pretty impressed with it. You see, it was my first real attempt at a levitation special effect photo. It's actually 10 shots, blended into one. Each of the photographers in the workshop were to come up with an idea for the levitation effect, and I came up with this one. I started by taking a photo of the room, a corner of an abandoned factory in Carleton Place. It really is a great setting for all kinds of photography, and I'm glad that my photo meetup group has started renting a space in it. In the initial photo, there's nothing but the space itself. I then set up a table and had our model, Kristina Bromley , strike a few poses, doing ab crunches while holding a hardcover copy of my novel, Songsaengnim: A Korea Diary . I wanted her to appear as though she was lounging on an invisible sofa. I asked her to wear a dress with a colourful and flowing skirt, but we had to be careful that the skirt didn't lie f...