The Brown Knowser

At least the migraines have stopped. I'm still on a waiting list for surgery for my foot , still have no indication of how long it will take, and my foot is still deteriorating, to a point where I'm in constant pain, where only a few minutes on my feet results in hours of aches. Until recently, I had been on a solid regimen of Tylenol and Advil, to ease the pain and reduce swelling. But when my stomach started to become upset, I eased off the Advil—limiting myself to one every three days—and cut my consumption of Tylenol in half. It didn't help my stomach. Some of you may remember that almost exactly a year ago, I developed severe stomach pains and had a total lack of energy. On Christmas Day, I spent most of the afternoon in bed, resting. As the pain and fatigue continued, I sought help from my new doctor. She ordered blood tests, ultrasounds, a CT scan and MRI. Nothing out of the ordinary turned up. This condition lasted almost three months, and threatened my va...

It's the rain that I remember the most. It fell solidly in the evenings, filtered through in soaking amounts from the high jungle canopy, rattled the rooftop of our barrack-like living space, and fell to the ground, the wooden walkways and concrete with a resounding splat. Our window to the outside held no glass: only a dense mesh to keep the flying insects out but allowed the wind to circulate the moist air, cooling us at night. The eaves ensured that no rain could come in to ruin our rest. Every so often, the gentle rumble of thunder could be heard in the distance. Not close or loud enough to stir or disturb us. It was merely the base line in a soothing melody. The rain was constant, filling our ears but landing with a calming, persistent pattering that surrounded us like a blanket. I could fall asleep to the pattering sound of the rain, as we lay in our bed, in that national-park shelter, in that 130-million-year-old rainforest, more than 120 kilometres northeast of Kual...

So close. We're so close. And like a dream, where you strive to get somewhere, only to find something holding you back, like a horror film, where no matter how fast the victim runs to escape the slow-moving monster, the monster catches up, there is some unseen force working against us. The second wall needed to be tiled. Last weekend, our friend helped us tile the important wall : the one that was to hold the range hood. That essential device was installed on Thursday and paved the way for the gas oven to be hooked up. That happens today. As of today, our kitchen will be fully functional. That doesn't mean finished. This weekend, my chores were clear. Finish the tiling on the long wall, around the window over the sink. Five outlets to cut around. After that, paint the ceiling, which has been ready to go since the electrician has installed the lighting and the dry-waller has filled in all the holes. I looked at the old covering, still in the original builder's whit...

Almost 17 years ago, in November of 1999, when our house was under construction, the developers kindly gave DW and me unlimited access to check out the progress. It worked in our favour: we were able to ask for modifications before the work was done and we also saw minor problems that could be easily rectified before further work would have made it more complicated after all the work was completed. As walls went up, floors were laid, and hardware was installed, I made sure to bring a camera to capture the development of what would be our home in a couple of months. Looking back on some of those photos, I found some of our kitchen, as the cabinets were being installed. It was interesting to see the room in such disrepair, knowing that only a couple of months ago, this room looked almost the same. Only, the floor was being ripped up and the counters pulled off. With less than a week before our home renovations are finally completed, it's nice to see it as the original configura...

With my daughters firmly rooted in teenhood, attitude and all, it's sometimes hard to remember when they wanted to be with me. These days, when they want to be off with their friends, or to be left alone in their rooms, I sometimes pine for the times when they heard me come through the door and came running to me, screaming, "Daddy's home! Daddy's home." In November of 2008, I was to head to Chicago, on business, my kids plead with me not to go. I told them that I would be home as soon as I could, that I would be gone from Sunday to Friday night. That we would have the following weekend to spend together. The night before I left, my kids clung to me, wanted me to read them stories, to sing them a song before bed. Heading upstairs, both girls insisted that I carry them, at the same time. I happily obliged. DW captured us on our journey up the stairs. They weren't going to be this size forever. I wasn't going to be able to carry them for much...

Rain, then ice, then snow In the worst order, it came Shovelling begins.  

I have the best friends. When DW and I started our kitchen and family room renovations, we thought we would save some money by doing the demolition stage ourselves. It was hard work, but when we saw the shell that had once been a busy kitchen, we felt pride in the sense of accomplishment. But because I'm not much of a handyman, I knew that I wanted to leave the construction in the hands of professionals. We paid for skilled labourers to install our hardwood floor, build and place our cabinets and island, do the electrical work and plumbing, and do the counter. Because I'm not entirely useless, I painted the walls, installed a ceiling lamp over the fireplace, and replaced our old baseboards. There was only one problem with me doing the baseboards: I lacked the tools to cut the boards and to properly nail them to the wall. Enter my friends. When I needed an electric miter saw, I posted an appeal on Facebook and Twitter. Within minutes, I had several offers. I ultimate...

It's an old photo, but it captures my favourite season perfectly. Run through a Prisma filter, the old photo seems renewed. That is all. Happy Friday!

I have been meaning to write this post since before the American election, before I ever would have believed that Donald Trump could ever win the presidency. Words failed me. Words still fail me, but I'll struggle through. Please bear with me. My daughters asked me what I would do if the Republican candidate won over Hillary Clinton, the only person in that election who had any credentials for the office. They had asked me a similar question, more than a year ago, when Canadians were in the midst of our own election. The campaigns had similar issues: tougher immigration laws, steeped in racial profiling. During our election, I told my girls that if the Conservative Party won another majority, we would leave the country, maybe move to Scotland or Ireland. My daughters were excited at the prospect: I was terrified. Luckily, it never came to pass. Canadians spoke out against the incumbent political party with an overwhelming voice, and that party of hate and division was sho...

That's right: I missed the bright moon rise over a crystal-clear sky on Sunday. I saw that huge celestial satellite lift off from the horizon. But I was driving and my camera was at home. I told myself that it was okay: I was living in the moment and enjoying the spectacle with my own eyes, instead of though a lens and digital screen. Monday night's super moonrise was supposed to be as glorious, possibly bigger, possibly brighter. I knew I would be at work and would be leaving right around the time of the next moonrise, and I always have my camera and tripod on me. Too bad the sky didn't come prepared. Behind my office lies dense Gatineau forest. The leaves on the trees are almost completely laid bare; only the lush evergreens hinder a view through the dense brush. I could see cloud in the sky but couldn't determine how thick it was, whether it would allow the light to shine through. It did, and it didn't. I swapped my 70-300mm lens for my 10-20, and foc...

Until last weekend, this part of the house had been largely ignored. When we pulled all of the furniture from the family room, we were making the area available for the folks who were laying our hardwood. Naturally, nothing could be left on the floor, and all of the baseboards needed to be removed. We had a blank slate, ready to start over again. With the carpet ripped up, I took the opportunity to repaint the stippled ceiling and to apply some fresh paint to the walls that hadn't seen a coat since the house was built, when the builders had applied a cheap white. Every year, as I looked at and loathed those plain walls, I wanted to add a more-durable paint. The antique white that we chose made the walls look clean and added a touch of warmth. The two walls that I did paint, back in 2000, when we took possession of our first home, I covered in a bold, burnt red, and while DW and I loved the colour, the renovations called for a change. And so, I painted the walls, then stepped ...

It was the moustache that killed it for me. It kept touching my upper lip. It kept curling into the corners of my mouth, getting covered in saliva or, worse, getting food caught in it. I've had the sniffles for the past couple of weeks, and I dreaded blowing my nose, felt I needed to wash my face after, to make sure there was no goo caught in the whiskers. I don't think my face suits a beard. It rounds out a face that already is starting to show the extra pounds I've put on over the past few months. I don't mind the gray, so much. It was the shagginess. I kept it for 37 days. I trimmed it twice: the second time, too close for my liking, and I felt that I was starting all over again. In Montréal, a couple of weeks ago, I met with a friend who has been growing his own beard for quite some time, and we looked more like brothers, with our gray coming through around our chops, like twins. That wasn't a bad thing at all, but I felt his beard suited him, while mi...

My mom says I can't get 1,000 likes because handicapped people aren't beautiful. People who abuse animals should go to jail, just like they do when they abuse children. Like and share if you agree: ignore if you're heartless. On December 25, I say "Merry Christmas," not "Happy Holidays." I don't care who it offends. I know who will share and who will not. Can I get an Amen? Fuck. That. Shit. I was reluctant to join Facebook because I heard that the weirdos would come out of the woodwork. Some of my friends told me that people that they barely knew and hadn't seen in decades would suddenly reach out to become online friends, like lost puppies. I didn't want that. I joined the popular social network because it was a good way to feel like friends who were far away weren't that far. I could share in their travels and watch as their kids grew up. And sure, I connected with some people who I hadn't seen in decades, but these...

No, that's not the Roman numerals for 54. I did that number last year. Rather, it's the solution for yesterday's Where In Ottawa location: the LIV apartments on Bell Street, at Gladstone. This building was once known to be a shady, low-income apartment building in a dodgy part of Centretown West. But the building has been totally overhauled and now offers modern short-term accommodation (at, no doubt, higher rent). I didn't get a chance to leave any clues because Jonathan Snook came up with the location within hours of the contest starting. Congratulation, Jonathan! The next Where In Ottawa is Monday, December 5.

That's 59: not some cutesy way of writing licks . That wouldn't even make any sense. Not for the 59 th installment of my photo challenge. Never played Where In Ottawa before? That's okay, the rules are simple: Below, you will see a photo that I shot somewhere in Ottawa. Your job is to simply identify the location and leave your guess in the Comments section of this blog post.   Leave your guess on this post only. Do not try to contact me through Twitter or through Facebook, or even by e-mail, as I need all answers to be transparent to all players, and not everybody has access to me through other social media. This blog post is one place where everyone can play along. Plus, the comments are time-stamped, so everyone can see when an answer is submitted. If you try to guess by any other means, whether you're right or wrong, I won't respond to that guess and you can't win.   For every day that the challenge isn't solved, I'll leave a clue in...

I felt sorry for these girls and being a former dance dad, someone who looked out for all the kids in the dance school as you did for your own, I wanted the weather to be warmer. But autumn being autumn, and after a couple of cancellations for the rain, we took this sunny day and headed out for our photo shoot, despite the fact that the temperature was about 5°C. We explored all that the setting had to offer. William Lyon Mackenzie King, Canada's tenth prime minister, had commissioned various ruins from the Ottawa area be artistically placed around the surrounding lands of his residence, in Kingsmere, Québec. Today, countless tourists flock to the gardens and structures, shooting countless photos. DW and I were married on these grounds, our ceremony taking place under the colossal arches that once welcomed customers at an Ottawa bank. With the glowing yellow leaves on the other side of the doorway, it was impossible to ignore on this fall noon. Especially with the girls in ...

I miss my Korean friends. Their generosity knew no bounds and they were happy to take DW and me on day trips, to visit parts of their beautiful country. The Cho family primarily met with us to introduce their two sons to Westerners, so that they could become familiar with us and our language. We didn't teach them English: only the mother in the family could converse directly with us. But in time, they became good friends and we enjoyed our time together, sharing our varied cultures. One day, in the summer of 1997, the six of us ventured to a small fortress town, about an hour south of Chonju. The name was Gochang. Mr. Cho was an avid photographer, and captured this image of DW and me, was we walked along the top of the wall that surrounded this fortress. We saw the Cho family only once, after we returned to Canada. They took a Canadian tour with a busload of fellow Koreans, and their journey had them stop for only 12 hours in Ottawa. We met them when they stopped for d...