The Brown Knowser

This evening, I'm packing up my family and leaving Ottawa. Bright and early, Tuesday morning, we're leaving Canada. It's been more than a year since we've taken a real vacation and, because of my impending foot surgery, we can't take the chance that I'll be mobile in July or August. If we are to get away, somewhere, this year, now is the time. And so, we've booked a last-minute vacation and are gearing up to fly out tomorrow. I need a break. And not just from work: I'm taking a break from The Brown Knowser . This will be the last post until I return from vacation. Depending on how I feel when I return home, the next post will be next Wednesday, June 7, or Thursday, June 8. This also means that for the month of June, there will be no Where In Ottawa photo challenge. This popular contest will return Monday, July 3. Not only am I taking a break from my blog, I'm also going off the Internet grid. As a way to strengthen this resolve, I'...

When I drive home from work, I often pass west of the Byward Market, taking Mackenzie Avenue on my way to Colonel By Drive. Sometimes, the exit from the Macdonald-Cartier Bridge to Boteler Street can be a little backed up—with drivers wanting to turn right, onto Sussex, to make their way, eastward, to the Sir George-Etienne Cartier Parkway—so I go straight, onto Dalhousie Street, where I cut across on George Street, to Sussex, and then on to Colonel By. So, several times a week, I pass through the Byward Market, but seldom do I stop anymore, as I used to when I rode the bus, when I used to assume the role of Roland Axam. At the time of day that I drive through this old area of Ottawa, the light is hard and is only broken by the stark shadows, created by the old, low-rise buildings and new, towering condos. It's not particularly conducive to photography. As Canada celebrates its 150 th anniversary, the open parking space on York Street has been taken over with an exhibit th...

It was the glow before the coming storm. The wind had eased, only slightly, and there was a stillness that slowed all senses. There was electricity in the air that moved through the humidity and set the fine hair on my arms to stand on end. The sun was setting somewhere on the horizon. It also set the clouds on fire. The spring growth had begun. Buds on trees had already burst open, but the leaves would be some time before they expanded and obscured the branches from which they clung. The black silhouette against the orange sky created an intricate weave, like roadways on a map. Like blood vessels, seen across inner, closed eyelids that faced a bright light source. A spring sunset, marking the coming storm. Happy Friday!  

The first time that DW and I travelled overseas together, in 1991, we saw a lot in a two-week vacation: England, Wales, and Paris. We spent a few days in London, travelling with friends, before DW (who was just GF at the time) rented a Ford Fiesta and headed up to Stratford-Upon-Avon, Birmingham, and then into Northern Wales—Valle Crucis Abbey, Conwy, Caernarfon, Beaumaris—through Snowdonia, down the western coastline, Cardiff, crossing back into England via Tintern, Bristol, Bath, Stonehenge, Salisbury, and back to London. That was just the first week. In the second week, we flew to Paris and stayed with GF's sister, who had an apartment in the 5th arrondissement . Boat tour on the Seine, up the Eiffel Tower and Arc de Triomphe. Museums and art galleries. Montmartre. Père Lachaise Cemetery. The list went on. Every morning, we'd leave the apartment and visit the nearby bakery for a baguette, cheese shop for a small wheel of Brie or Camembert, and wine shop for a half-bo...

Ever since DW and I renovated our kitchen and family room , we've tried hard to keep this most-used living space clean and clear of clutter. With our old vinyl flooring and carpet, maintaining a dirt-free floor with two young kids—now teens—was an uphill battle. But with hardwood floor throughout the main floor, keeping crumbs and dust to a minimum isn't a daunting task, especially since we bought a little helper to do the work for us. Enter the iRobot Roomba. This little machine has been programmed to activate and suck up particles once a week in this area: on the weekends, we move it to the other half of the main floor to do the other side. Our only job is to ensure that all furniture and belongings are lifted off the floor so as not to impede the Roomba's journey. There have been times where we've forgotten to do this, only to find the device stranded on the base of the Poang chair. This is the only vacuum that the cat isn't afraid of. It's quiete...

I miss Roland Axam. I mean, I miss being Roland Axam. He's not gone anywhere: you can read about him in my novel and I'm slowly working on bringing him back in my next novel. But I miss being Roland, when I took on his persona and, for six years, pretended to be him in a downtown Ottawa bar. As convincing as my portrayal was, it was a fraud, a fiction (pun intended). I deceived people for years, only to be revealed and sent packing. Pierre Brault has portrayed many characters over his decades in theatre, but in his one-man show, Portrait of an Unidentified Man , Pierre portrays many characters at once, and does so in such a convincing way that the story of the infamous Elmyr de Hory , a Hungarian painter who could not be successful as an artist in his own right but who was flawless as a forger of paintings by Matisse and Picasso, among others, and the people who encourage, befriend, and intersect de Hory's life—including the Gabor sisters and Orson Welles—come...

I've always shown photographs of my mother, on and around Mother's Day, in scenes showing her with me as a young child. Holding me in a red snowsuit. Holding me on my first Christmas. This year, I thought I'd show an image before she was my mother, before anyone called her "Mom." Because I want to celebrate the special woman that she is, without children as a factor. Here's to the great woman who would become a great mother, who was, and continues to be, great.

We walked down the narrow concrete steps that hid the rain-soaked street. Below, a thick, dark door led into a tight entranceway. "This reminds me of a speakeasy," she said. "That's because it was, back during prohibition," was my answer. "Really? Cool! We studied these in school." My daughters had never been to Waller Street Brewing . For myself, it had been more than a year since I had been here, myself. The dust-encrusted mini-growlers that I was returning were a testament to how long I had held onto them. Each of my daughters carried one empty: I held the other two. The dimly lit bar area was busy, for a Saturday afternoon. People of all walks of life seemed to fill the seats and line the small bar. My daughters made for the youngest of the visitors: I was, by far, the oldest. I had come for two specific ales, but I also had a taste of two cask-conditioned ales. The brett was the most memorable, with the notes of lychee and pineapple on...

I miss my bike and for that, I blame the weather. Blaming something that cannot defend itself is easy, but in this case, one has only to look at how Mother Nature has treated us over the past couple of weeks to know that she has no defense. Cool weather, strong winds, incessant rain, flooding, and now snow. Snow in May. I don't think I've ever seen it. Or, at the very least, the trauma of the experience has been blocked from memory. But I miss my bike, miss riding on the open road, to Richmond, Manotick, Carlsbad Springs, Metcalfe, or Greely, either by myself, with DW, or in a group. I've been a slug since the pain in my feet has spread to my knees, making walking unpleasant and standing still even worse. But on my bike, I find, there's a bit of relief mixed with exercise, and, of course, I get outdoors. So, because of the weather, I decided to ride an indoor bike, take a spin class. I've been doing them for years, have been able to carry out whatever in...

Sometimes, it takes a lot of perseverance to solve a Where In Ottawa challenge. My friend, Becca, has that. I admit that the clues for the photo contest were cryptic, and that was no accident. I had to dig deep to come up with hints that would lead you to the Holy Ghost Chapel , along the Rideau Canal, and I actually ran out of ideas. I had to give a street name. Becca, ever-determined, went on Google Street View and took a virtual stroll down a road to find this building. Congratulations, my friend! Here are the clues, explained: No class —the bell in the photo looked more like it belonged in an old school, but it wasn't a school. It's an old church. No father, nor son —but there is a holy ghost in the name. Comunidade —this is the Portuguese word for community, and this church is the home of the Portuguese Community Centre. Main and... Main and... —did you hear an echo? That's because the Holy Ghost Chapel is located at Main Street and Echo Drive. I th...

It's a lens that I've neglected more than any of my other lenses. And yet, it's one of my best. I only own two prime lenses. They're nothing fancy: a 40mm micro f/2.8 lens, which I use for close-up shots and have used several times for my Photo of the Day (POTD) project, and a lens that I've had for many years, had used a lot more when I had my D80 body. My 50mm f/1.8 lens. A couple of days ago, as I was thinking of a subject for my POTD, I noticed that this tiny piece of glass was being neglected in my camera bag. I thought that I would try to use it in my next photo, but the magnification was too much for when I sat in my car, in the Byward Market, on a rainy afternoon . It wasn't wide enough to capture a neon sign and the glow that sign left on a wet road . On Wednesday night, as I prepared for my stand-up comedy bit at Absolute Comedy, I used my phone to capture a closeup of the microphone . Finally, last night, as I was letting my cat back into t...

For as long as DW and I have been together (more than 28 years!), we have loved to travel. Only a few weeks into dating, we saw a movie that was set in New York City and as the film ended, the camera sweeping away from the performers and scanning the Manhattan skyline from above, I turned to her and said, "let's go to New York!" A couple of weeks later, we were there. In our second year together, in 1990, we bought open-ended Greyhound tickets, packed up our backpacks and camping gear, and headed out east. We stopped in Montreal, Québec City, and then followed along the southern shore of the St.Lawrence River, toward the Gaspé Peninsula. We camped, found bed and breakfasts, and even slept on a bus. The highlight of the trip was a visit to Percé but, even back then, my feet were giving me problems and I was unable to walk across the sandbar to reach the great rock itself. We also joined a boat cruise in the Gulf of St.Lawrence, following the high cliffs of Forill...