The Brown Knowser

I was relieved to hear CBC News call this a terrorist act. They called it exactly what it was. When peaceful people are mercilessly gunned down, especially in a place of worship, where there is supposed to be an environment of peace and community, of belonging, it was a cowardly act. I don't know what the perpetrators of this act of terror thought they were doing, or if they even thought at all. But no mistake: they are terrorists, and terrorists are not welcome in our country. Now, more than ever, Canadians have to come together to speak out against violent attacks that target any welcome group in our society. And no mistake: these poor victims were welcome. In a time when the government of our neighbours to the south have lost all sense of goodwill, of community, of justice, we have to show that we are a tolerant society. Just as are the good people who are fighting against the emerging tyranny in Washington. We must all stand, united. First, they came for the Muslims. ...

I used to be happy when more than 10 people visited my blog each day. Hell, I'm still surprised that anyone comes here in the first place. But in all seriousness, thank you for reading The Brown Knowser . I'm honoured to have a following. When I started with Brownfoot Journal , double-digit readership days were uncommon at first, and when those numbers seemed to suddenly double themselves, I was thrilled. You were reading me. Then, in the first month of The Brown Knowser , my daily numbers jumped again, with just over 50 visitors per day. And in every month that followed, the numbers tended to grow. Again, I'm honoured. But something has happened in the last couple of months and I'm not sure why, but my readership has nearly tripled, since last April, when I started to come off of my short-lived hiatus, and as of writing this post, January has seen the most visitors than any other month since The Brown Knowser launched, in June of 2011. Even when my viewershi...

It's a crossing that I pass a couple of times each week, but it wasn't until I started my Daily Photo Project that I really noticed it. It's those days when I don't bring a lunch to work, when I don't want to go to the cafeteria where the short-order cook seems to make preparing a club sandwich a chore. The food is okay, but expensive for what you get. So I jump in the car and head through the residential streets, down the long, steady, and bumpy road that is Chemin Freeman, in Gatineau, to the IGA across St. Joseph Boulevard. Halfway down that road, when the incline levels out, an abandoned railway line is marked only by the rails that are all but buried in the uneven asphalt and the crossing lights, battered by large vehicles or, perhaps, on purpose, to show that they are no longer in service. I took maybe a minute to pull over and jump out on that snowy day with my camera in hand. I took a few angles, captured the rails in the roadway. I knew I had my ph...

For this Throwback Thursday, I'm digging into the archives of my old blog, Brownfoot Journal , and am dusting off a post from January 31, 2011. Since I first wrote this post, I've not created any more polls: there certainly hasn't been on in The Brown Knowser . Also, I tend to change the look of this blog only once a year. If you've read it before, I hope you enjoy reading it again. I abbreviated the post, because it spoke of what was to come in future Brownfoot Journal posts and I didn't want anyone to think that those promises related to The Brown Knowser . Cheers! I love polls. Apparently, my readers don't. A couple of weeks ago, I did what I tend to do from time to time, when I'm bored with the appearance of my blog. I play around with it, changing the layout and adding gadgets. I'll rearrange the right-hand column, move my reading list, my archive list, and links up and down, providing prominence for some things, shoving others fur...

Their hair was cut in the same style, short, pixie-like, had been dyed a midnight black to match. Perhaps, maybe, they took turns colouring each other, covering the grey. The designer glasses were identical—sleek, modern, with a giraffe-skin pattern covering the arms. Both wore light turtleneck sweaters under bright hand-knitted ones. Different colours, perhaps each one made for the other, give n as gifts long ago . Both donned dark, polyester slacks. The New Balance running shoes were, possibly, pulled from the same store shelf. Same size. Same amount of wear. Interchangable, no doubt. They sat facing each other in the food court, enjoying their Subway sandwiches. Tuna. Lots of green and black olives. White bread. Tea. Cookies—chocolate-chip. They ate in relative silence, scratching the film from their lottery tickets, searching for winning numbers. Scraping the surface, methodically, with pennies (the only use for them, nowadays). Every so often, one would speak to the oth...

I tossed these pills out after I shot them. By god, they kept the pain away. I took pills so that I could walk without pain. They threatened strokes, heart attacks, at worst: at the least, there was a risk of upset stomach or diarrhea. I took them, and the pain went away. Not completely away. After a long day on my feet, after I got off the weight to sit and watch TV or to write, or once I was in bed, trying to sleep, the pain would creep in—dulled, but present. It was okay. I took the pills, upped my other dosages of pain medication, and carried on. I didn't suffer a stroke. My heart was as strong as ever. But the stomach upset came—the troubles , as I started to refer to my frequent trips to the washroom. At the same time, I began to listen to the urges from my health watch, at the office, when it reminded me that I had been sitting too long and should be mobile. The 150-some-odd steps to the kitchen, for coffee, or the 160-or-so steps to the washroom would become ...

I've driven along it so many times, but it isn't until you look at it, from high above, that you see the intricate network of lanes and paths. A 15-second exposure, where you can plot the courses of traffic by their lights helps too. But where the Ottawa River Parkway ends at Lincoln Heights, to join with Carling Avenue or to continue as the transitway is a complex work of pavement. And, my god, that IKEA certainly is huge! Happy Friday!

This is a post that originally appeared o n February 3, 2011, in my old blog, Brownfoot Journal . It was one of the top-10 posts for that blog, and it was because of the attention it garnered that I made the decision to separate family from the public, and The Brown Knowser was born a couple of months later. Reading this post again, I was reminded of this awkward memory, back in the days when I would make the long commute, by bus, from my Barrhaven home to my office, in Gatineau. I've decided to republish this post in this blog as a throw back to those days of my public - trans it commutes . If you've read it before, I hope you don't mind seeing it again. If it's new to you, enjoy. The following post is an open letter to my fellow passengers on a crowded OC Transpo bus. Dear Fellow Riders of the 95 bus that left Fallowfield Station around 8:40 this morning: I know that you don't know me. I don't usually catch the 95 that late in the morning. ...

I'm keeping my fingers crossed that I'll be dismissed early, if not right away. Not because I don't want to fulfill my civic duty: I do. I think that next to voting, participating in jury duty is something that makes living in our society civilized. We should be able to be judged fairly by our peers. I hope the case is an exciting one: one that is of a high profile, receives news coverage. I wouldn't be able to write about it, of course, not until it's over, if even at all. But it would be great to be a part of an important part of the justice system. If it's a simple case or dull (I'm thinking some petty, blue-collar crime), I'll be so disappointed. But I'm hoping that I can report to the Ontario court house early and either be accepted and told of the next court date, or be rejected or told I'm not needed, and be sent on my way. This is the fourth time that I've been summoned as a juror. The first time, the letter had been sent to...

I crashed in the first 30 seconds. My drone didn't cost me much. It retails for $200, but it was on sale, at 20 percent off, and I received a $100 gift card at my office holiday party, in December. For $60, plus tax, it was worth trying. I couldn't otherwise justify spending a lot of money on a drone: if I had that kind of disposable income, I'd much rather spend it on another lens for my camera. The weather, since Christmas, hasn't been that great for flying a drone. We've experienced both freezing rain and snow, and when the skies have been clear, it's either been exceedingly windy or cold. And so, I've done my test flights indoors, in the living room. I practiced lifting off from the floor and landing on the dining-room table or the coffee table. With an inexpensive drone, I learned that it won't simply hover in place, that I had to constantly keep my fingers on the joystick to keep it from drifting, constantly feather the throttle to maintain a...

Ever since I started this year's photo project —it's already day 13 and it feels like I only began a couple of days ago—I've had my camera on me, or very close by, everywhere I go. I never know if something is going to catch my eye, whether the moment or lighting will be fleeting, and I need to capture it before it changes entirely. It's been easy to come up with something different over the past 12 days. Only time will tell, as the year moves on, whether I'll be able to find 365 separate subjects. On the first couple of days, I had ideas of what I wanted to shoot, and I sought them out. An abandoned bus in a farmer's field; Black Rapids, the effects of light snow on ice-covered trees. I would have an idea or I would see the weather, and want to exploit it, somehow. The trouble was that once I was outdoors, capturing these images, I would see more photo opportunities on my way home or later in the day. My daily photo project is just that: one new image eac...

I'm lucky to have so many talented friends. Published authors, television personalities, actors, and musicians. High on the list of these gifted friends is Amanda Cottreau, who is a singer-songwriter with a voice that gives me goosebumps. She often plays at various venues in the Ottawa-Gatineau area, and if you ever get a chance you should go and see her. A couple of years ago, in anticipation of Christmas, she released a song, aptly named Almost Christmas . With the release of the song, she also put out a video. It contained a series of still images, which reminded me slightly of a slide show. It's a cute song: have a listen when you get a chance. A few weeks ago, Amanda released another video for her song, Sea & Sky . This video features Amanda, gingerly plucking her guitar strings, and follows the changing seasons. It was shot in Florida and the Ottawa-Gatineau area, and includes local artist, Lydia Pépin , who is a personal friend of the video's director, Luca...

I've been known to swipe things from pubs and restaurants , but I wasn't going to do it. Not this time. I had only been in the country for a couple of weeks, was only familiarizing myself with the culture, the language, and the people. I wasn't about to get myself caught in any shenanigans. I had only met her, briefly, a day or so before. She was the friend of a fellow colleague, and both of them were trying to be helpful, trying to introduce me to new places. In a few months, one would be leaving work, leaving the country, and starting a new chapter in her life. The other was going to explore Australia for a year, to see a new part of the world and to improve her English. But here, today, they were both with me and DW in Chŏnju, South Korea, and we were enjoying some 녹차 — nōk cha , green tea, in a modern-styled café in the district just outside the gates of Chŏnbuk University. Though we didn't need them, our place settings included little spoons, in case we wou...

It was already a year of gadgets for me, this Christmas, receiving a drone and a new tablet. I didn't expect a smart watch to be thrown in as an added bonus. It was DW who wanted a watch to monitor her exercise and her health. She had looked at a Fitbit, had tried one on at Costco. But some negative reviews made her reluctant to settle on this popular device. She wasn't going to get herself an Apple product, especially after she and I had moved away from iPhones and had become Android users. My new tablet was my final move away from Apple. (I'm allergic to them, after all.) DW finally settled on a Samsung Gear Fit2. On Christmas morning, one was waiting for her under the tree. (She had picked it out, price-shopped online, found a sale at Best Buy, bought it, and handed it to me. I just wrapped it and put it with the other gifts—like the drone and tablet I picked out for myself and the suitcase that she had ordered for herself, online.) When DW tried on her new gift...

I don't know what it is about winter, whether it's the frigid temperatures that cause them to stick together, searching for shelter or food. Maybe it's the stark contrast of pure white and the black, like night, making them stand out more. But I see crows. I see them everywhere. And what's more ominous than several, in the sky, above you? Or gathered on the bare trees? Above a solitary farm house, at sunset, they seem like the harbingers of something sinister. A mass murder. Happy Friday!