Wednesday, January 31, 2018
Tuesday, January 30, 2018
Return to Honfleur
It's a port town that evokes memories of wonder and dread.
The Norman town, from where Samuel de Champlain set sail, in 1608, and ended up founding Québec City, was a highly anticipated stopover on our family vacation, through France, in the late summer of 2014. I couldn't wait to photograph the harbour, enclosed by tall buildings that housed shops and restaurants, which hadn't changed in centuries. My family and I couldn't wait to dine at one of the many seafood restaurants that overlooked the ships.
This town also reminds me of our first night, camping, on a site that had no quiet hours and where our neighbours were loud and obnoxious Russians who drank until five the next morning.
But on that afternoon, after we set up our tent, we explored the beautiful, famous port, and I snapped as many images as I could.
As with every trip my family and I take, we look at our photos upon our return and claim that we're going to print some to hang on our walls. In reality, picture space in our house is at a premium because of how we've arranged our rooms with book shelves and other furniture. There simply isn't enough wall space, unless we're willing to fill every blank space.
Maybe, we'll do that.
But once we agree on our favourite pictures, we never follow through and print them. That is, until this weekend.
DW and I decided that enough was enough, and we were finally going to blow up one of our photos from France. And so, I plugged my photo hard drive into our television and ran a pseudo-slide show. Because our TV has a 55-inch screen, anything that looked good on the display would look good as a smaller print.
There were lots of photos from which to choose: Paris, Rouen, Bayeux, Mont St-Michel, the Loire, le Perigord, Dordogne, and Provence.
We settled on Honfleur because of the reflection of the boats and town, and after narrowing down all of the images, we decided on this one:
The first image was fine, but I felt that the colours weren't true to what was visible to the naked eye, so I called up the RAW file and processed it again, this time using the latest version of the photo-editing software (at least two versions newer than when I first processed the image). I made the colours truer to the RAW image and I also cleaned up some of the debris in the water. The resulting edit is what we sent to the printer.
Eventually, we'll print even more photos. I'd like to enlarge some photos from our various trips to Italy, my images from Scotland, and from our vacation in Arizona.
The Norman town, from where Samuel de Champlain set sail, in 1608, and ended up founding Québec City, was a highly anticipated stopover on our family vacation, through France, in the late summer of 2014. I couldn't wait to photograph the harbour, enclosed by tall buildings that housed shops and restaurants, which hadn't changed in centuries. My family and I couldn't wait to dine at one of the many seafood restaurants that overlooked the ships.
This town also reminds me of our first night, camping, on a site that had no quiet hours and where our neighbours were loud and obnoxious Russians who drank until five the next morning.
But on that afternoon, after we set up our tent, we explored the beautiful, famous port, and I snapped as many images as I could.
As with every trip my family and I take, we look at our photos upon our return and claim that we're going to print some to hang on our walls. In reality, picture space in our house is at a premium because of how we've arranged our rooms with book shelves and other furniture. There simply isn't enough wall space, unless we're willing to fill every blank space.
Maybe, we'll do that.
But once we agree on our favourite pictures, we never follow through and print them. That is, until this weekend.
DW and I decided that enough was enough, and we were finally going to blow up one of our photos from France. And so, I plugged my photo hard drive into our television and ran a pseudo-slide show. Because our TV has a 55-inch screen, anything that looked good on the display would look good as a smaller print.
There were lots of photos from which to choose: Paris, Rouen, Bayeux, Mont St-Michel, the Loire, le Perigord, Dordogne, and Provence.
We settled on Honfleur because of the reflection of the boats and town, and after narrowing down all of the images, we decided on this one:
The first image was fine, but I felt that the colours weren't true to what was visible to the naked eye, so I called up the RAW file and processed it again, this time using the latest version of the photo-editing software (at least two versions newer than when I first processed the image). I made the colours truer to the RAW image and I also cleaned up some of the debris in the water. The resulting edit is what we sent to the printer.
Eventually, we'll print even more photos. I'd like to enlarge some photos from our various trips to Italy, my images from Scotland, and from our vacation in Arizona.
Monday, January 29, 2018
Mama, Ohh... I Wanna Burger!
It started with some binge TV and developed over a bad experience at a fast-food joint.
Ever since my family and I dropped our cable-TV service and I was too lazy to install a digital antennae before the snow came, we've been watching a lot of programs on Netflix and through Plex. We finished watching Shameless and The Walking Dead, as far as Netflix would allow, and then caught up on more recent episodes of both through the other streaming feed.
Before we gave up cable TV, DD16 was hooked on the Fox cartoon, Bob's Burgers. For those who haven't seen the show, it centers on a family in a small town on the northeaster American seaboard—possibly, New Jersey—and the burger shop that is less-than successful. Bob and his wife, Linda, have three highly dysfunctional kids, Louise, Gene, and Tina.
The show is well done and can give The Simpson's a run for its money.
When we abandoned cable, DD16 went through a bit of withdrawal from this cartoon, but now that it has made its way to Netflix, all of us will sit and watch the episodes. The problem is that when I watch the show, I develop a craving for a burger.
One night, in December, I had been running errands after work and into the early evening, and I didn't get a chance to come home for dinner. Because everyone at home had eaten, I decided to stop in at a fast-food spot and pick up a burger. Barrhaven doesn't have many burger joints where you can grab and go. There are a couple of MacDonald's restaurants, but I swore off them decades ago. There's DQ, but I've never been a fan of their burgers. I also find that eating their buns is akin to gorging on a thick sponge.
There's an A&W that recently opened near the new Costco, but it's way on the other side of Barrhaven from my home, which defeats the purpose of a quick food run.
There's Five Guys and Burgers & Shakes, but those aren't particularly fast. At best, from the time you place your order until you're seated with it, you can count on 10 minutes or longer.
And then, there's Wendy's.
I've always liked Wendy's because I find that their beef is pretty hard to beat for a fast-food chain. It's the closest you'll come to a homemade patty that you can pick up at a drive-through.
On this particular night, I decided to skip the drive-through window and went inside. At this hour, the dinner rush had ended at least an hour earlier, and there was no one in line. A cashier was behind the counter, looking at something on the computer monitor, so I waited until I was called.
After about 30 seconds, or so, the cashier turned and walked to the back of the restaurant. She never looked at me, but because I was standing no more than six to eight feet away from her, there was no way that she could not have known I was there.
So I stood, and waited.
About a minute after walking through the front door, another employee came to the counter area and went to the register. As with the first server, this young woman was looking at a display on the register and never made eye contact with me. This time, I sensed that she was extra-focused on the screen, as though to say, "I'm busy. I don't have time for you." After about a minute, she too disappeared.
I wasn't bothered that they were busy, that they were unable to serve me right away. But I was feeling ignored, invisible, like my business didn't matter to them.
I told myself that I would count down from 60 seconds, and that if, by the time I reached zero no one had acknowledged me, I was going to leave. I was hungry but now, I was feeling unwelcome.
In that final minute, I saw several employees moving about, assembling meals for the customers who had opted to stay in their vehicles. I wondered if I should have done so, myself. A young girl moved to fill an order of fries and, as she did so, scanned the restaurant. Her eyes never met mine, even though she looked beyond me.
Five, four, three, two, one, zero. I turned around and walked out the door.
In my car, I was furious. I blamed the manager, who had poorly trained his or her employees, if they were trained at all. I would think that the first rule of customer service, as it was when I worked in retail, all those decades ago, was to treat a customer as though you were glad they stopped by. If someone had merely said to me, "I'll be with you in just a minute," I would have waited longer than the two minutes or so that I stood in front of the counter. Instead, I was ignored, treated like I didn't matter.
I was still hungry, so I thought of where I could go, nearby, and my mind fell to Mexican food. Mucho Burrito was just across the street.
When I walked through the door, the two employees behind the counter immediately looked at me and, in unison, said "Welcome." One of the employees was ringing through a sale and the other was preparing a burrito for another customer.
No sooner had I walked up to where the order line starts, when the young man who was building the burrito said, "I'll be with you in a moment, sir."
"No problem at all," was my response.
I was trying to decide on whether I wanted to have chorizo in my wrap or wait a little longer, and have them prepare some shrimp for me, when the young woman, who had been at the cash register, came to me and said, "Sorry for the wait, sir. What can I get you?"
I had waited less than 30 seconds. Like, maybe 15.
As I finished paying and started for the door, I told both the servers, who helped make my burrito (I was the only one left after the person ahead of me was gone), "Tell your manager that he or she has trained you well. You were awesome."
I swore I wouldn't go back to the Wendy's in Barrhaven again. Not when I had Mucho Burrito so close by. I also ate much healthier that night: no fries, no soft drink, no greasy burger.
But I still love burgers, and every time I watch Bob's Burgers, I want one.
I'm not one to make New Year's resolutions. In fact, more than 20 years ago, I resolved to never make another New Year's resolution, and I've kept that promise. However, as 2017 drew to a close, I promised that I would avoid fast-food burgers at all cost. If a burger is made for me, it should be made well, even if it takes longer and costs more.
This month, I decided that I would try several burger joints around the Ottawa area and seek out the best burger. I already have a few that I love and have gone to for years. But over the next couple of months, I'm going to really focus on why I love those burgers and I'm going to seek out new places where I can enjoy a good burger.
Sometime in March, I'll post my top five burger places in the city.
Do you know of a great burger joint? Let me know and I'll check it out.
Ever since my family and I dropped our cable-TV service and I was too lazy to install a digital antennae before the snow came, we've been watching a lot of programs on Netflix and through Plex. We finished watching Shameless and The Walking Dead, as far as Netflix would allow, and then caught up on more recent episodes of both through the other streaming feed.
Before we gave up cable TV, DD16 was hooked on the Fox cartoon, Bob's Burgers. For those who haven't seen the show, it centers on a family in a small town on the northeaster American seaboard—possibly, New Jersey—and the burger shop that is less-than successful. Bob and his wife, Linda, have three highly dysfunctional kids, Louise, Gene, and Tina.The show is well done and can give The Simpson's a run for its money.
When we abandoned cable, DD16 went through a bit of withdrawal from this cartoon, but now that it has made its way to Netflix, all of us will sit and watch the episodes. The problem is that when I watch the show, I develop a craving for a burger.
One night, in December, I had been running errands after work and into the early evening, and I didn't get a chance to come home for dinner. Because everyone at home had eaten, I decided to stop in at a fast-food spot and pick up a burger. Barrhaven doesn't have many burger joints where you can grab and go. There are a couple of MacDonald's restaurants, but I swore off them decades ago. There's DQ, but I've never been a fan of their burgers. I also find that eating their buns is akin to gorging on a thick sponge.
There's an A&W that recently opened near the new Costco, but it's way on the other side of Barrhaven from my home, which defeats the purpose of a quick food run.
There's Five Guys and Burgers & Shakes, but those aren't particularly fast. At best, from the time you place your order until you're seated with it, you can count on 10 minutes or longer.
And then, there's Wendy's.
I've always liked Wendy's because I find that their beef is pretty hard to beat for a fast-food chain. It's the closest you'll come to a homemade patty that you can pick up at a drive-through.
On this particular night, I decided to skip the drive-through window and went inside. At this hour, the dinner rush had ended at least an hour earlier, and there was no one in line. A cashier was behind the counter, looking at something on the computer monitor, so I waited until I was called.
After about 30 seconds, or so, the cashier turned and walked to the back of the restaurant. She never looked at me, but because I was standing no more than six to eight feet away from her, there was no way that she could not have known I was there.
So I stood, and waited.
About a minute after walking through the front door, another employee came to the counter area and went to the register. As with the first server, this young woman was looking at a display on the register and never made eye contact with me. This time, I sensed that she was extra-focused on the screen, as though to say, "I'm busy. I don't have time for you." After about a minute, she too disappeared.
I wasn't bothered that they were busy, that they were unable to serve me right away. But I was feeling ignored, invisible, like my business didn't matter to them.
I told myself that I would count down from 60 seconds, and that if, by the time I reached zero no one had acknowledged me, I was going to leave. I was hungry but now, I was feeling unwelcome.
In that final minute, I saw several employees moving about, assembling meals for the customers who had opted to stay in their vehicles. I wondered if I should have done so, myself. A young girl moved to fill an order of fries and, as she did so, scanned the restaurant. Her eyes never met mine, even though she looked beyond me.
Five, four, three, two, one, zero. I turned around and walked out the door.
In my car, I was furious. I blamed the manager, who had poorly trained his or her employees, if they were trained at all. I would think that the first rule of customer service, as it was when I worked in retail, all those decades ago, was to treat a customer as though you were glad they stopped by. If someone had merely said to me, "I'll be with you in just a minute," I would have waited longer than the two minutes or so that I stood in front of the counter. Instead, I was ignored, treated like I didn't matter.
I was still hungry, so I thought of where I could go, nearby, and my mind fell to Mexican food. Mucho Burrito was just across the street.
When I walked through the door, the two employees behind the counter immediately looked at me and, in unison, said "Welcome." One of the employees was ringing through a sale and the other was preparing a burrito for another customer.
No sooner had I walked up to where the order line starts, when the young man who was building the burrito said, "I'll be with you in a moment, sir."
"No problem at all," was my response.
I was trying to decide on whether I wanted to have chorizo in my wrap or wait a little longer, and have them prepare some shrimp for me, when the young woman, who had been at the cash register, came to me and said, "Sorry for the wait, sir. What can I get you?"
I had waited less than 30 seconds. Like, maybe 15.
As I finished paying and started for the door, I told both the servers, who helped make my burrito (I was the only one left after the person ahead of me was gone), "Tell your manager that he or she has trained you well. You were awesome."
I swore I wouldn't go back to the Wendy's in Barrhaven again. Not when I had Mucho Burrito so close by. I also ate much healthier that night: no fries, no soft drink, no greasy burger.
But I still love burgers, and every time I watch Bob's Burgers, I want one.
I'm not one to make New Year's resolutions. In fact, more than 20 years ago, I resolved to never make another New Year's resolution, and I've kept that promise. However, as 2017 drew to a close, I promised that I would avoid fast-food burgers at all cost. If a burger is made for me, it should be made well, even if it takes longer and costs more.
This month, I decided that I would try several burger joints around the Ottawa area and seek out the best burger. I already have a few that I love and have gone to for years. But over the next couple of months, I'm going to really focus on why I love those burgers and I'm going to seek out new places where I can enjoy a good burger.
Sometime in March, I'll post my top five burger places in the city.
Do you know of a great burger joint? Let me know and I'll check it out.
Friday, January 26, 2018
Thursday, January 25, 2018
Throwback Thursday: Party Crashers
DW and her best friend, Kitty, have been close for as long as I've known either of them, and I knew Kitty before I even really knew DW. Kitty was the younger sister of one of my high-school friends, and when she started attending my school, I would often say hello to her when she passed in the halls.
DW swears that she was always standing right next to Kitty, but I never noticed her.
When DW and I started dating, in March of 1989, we would often hang around our respective friends. Today, it's hard to say whose friend is whose, we're all so intertwined. And, in early spring, DW, Kitty and I found ourselves downtown, enjoying a sunny afternoon.
At the War Memorial, we spied what looked like a group of important dignitaries or ministers, flanked by RCMP officers in their ceremonial garb. (If you every see Mounties dressed like this on TV, on regular duty, it's not authentic.)
"Hey," I suggested, "if you run up and pose in front of this group, I'll take a picture."
They didn't need further prompting.
DW and Kitty: photo-bombing before social media made it a thing.
DW swears that she was always standing right next to Kitty, but I never noticed her.
When DW and I started dating, in March of 1989, we would often hang around our respective friends. Today, it's hard to say whose friend is whose, we're all so intertwined. And, in early spring, DW, Kitty and I found ourselves downtown, enjoying a sunny afternoon.
At the War Memorial, we spied what looked like a group of important dignitaries or ministers, flanked by RCMP officers in their ceremonial garb. (If you every see Mounties dressed like this on TV, on regular duty, it's not authentic.)
"Hey," I suggested, "if you run up and pose in front of this group, I'll take a picture."
They didn't need further prompting.
DW and Kitty: photo-bombing before social media made it a thing.
Wednesday, January 24, 2018
Dusting Off
A few years ago, I purchased a digital scanner for my old slides and negatives, which I planned to organize on a hard drive as part of my photo archives.
For weeks, I madly pulled apart albums, sliding the E-6 frames and C-41 strips through the scanner, filling the SD card to near capacity. In my eagerness, however, I forgot to take in one important factor: I wasn't doing any organizing.
At the end, I was left with a digital storage device that held random images over several years. Knowing that I would have to someday organize them but was paranoid of losing the work, should something go awry with the SD card, I decided to copy the images, once more, onto a larger data-storage drive.
In the past couple of weeks, as I have started reorganizing all of my digital images, I have once again come across this trove of the past. And, if you'll indulge me, I wish to share some of these old photos as I clean them up and place them in their new home.
I have a folder for images of boats. I have another folder with images of reflections. This digitized, slide photo now resides in both.
Tomorrow, for a Throwback Thursday blog post, I'll have another memory from 1989.
For weeks, I madly pulled apart albums, sliding the E-6 frames and C-41 strips through the scanner, filling the SD card to near capacity. In my eagerness, however, I forgot to take in one important factor: I wasn't doing any organizing.
At the end, I was left with a digital storage device that held random images over several years. Knowing that I would have to someday organize them but was paranoid of losing the work, should something go awry with the SD card, I decided to copy the images, once more, onto a larger data-storage drive.
In the past couple of weeks, as I have started reorganizing all of my digital images, I have once again come across this trove of the past. And, if you'll indulge me, I wish to share some of these old photos as I clean them up and place them in their new home.
I have a folder for images of boats. I have another folder with images of reflections. This digitized, slide photo now resides in both.
Tomorrow, for a Throwback Thursday blog post, I'll have another memory from 1989.
Tuesday, January 23, 2018
Storm's Verge
It was at this point, on my homeward commute, that I thought it might be a good idea to turn around, to drive back to the office, to retrieve my computer. This storm was coming in strong, was only going to get much worse, before it got better, and it might be best to work from home.
Instead, as soon as I reached the Ontario side of the river, as soon as I took the exit for Dalhousie and Sussex, I decided to pull over, grab the two old cameras that accompany me and my smartphone, and walk back, along the Macdonald-Cartier Bridge, to the point where I thought I shouldn't continue home without a means of working from there.
The first photo was shot with my Canon pocket camera. The snow hadn't yet mixed with ice but with the strong wind, the flakes pelted my bare face. Three shots, and then the camera went back into it's case and into my pocket.
I wouldn't want to drop it, see it slip off the walkway and onto the frozen Rideau, below.
Next, came the Ricoh. Manual focus, manual aperture and shutter speed. I set the speed to 1/60 of a second and the meter told me that an aperture of f/8 was required. I overexposed, a little, dialing the lens opening to f/5.6.
I didn't want grey snow.
One shot. That was it.
With the Ricoh safely tucked in it's case, I slung the thin, plastic strap around my neck, and reached for one more device.
The snow was coming down in greater density, blocking out nearly all of Parliament Hill. The rest of my drive was going to be a challenge if others had the same idea and left work early. Already, it was nearing 3:30.
Three more shots with my smartphone. I zoomed in on Nepean Point and the back end of the National Gallery, to the Parliament buildings, hoping that the lens would see through the squall. My eyes, squinting to avoid being blinded by the pesky flakes, determined that whatever I had captured, it would have to be enough.
Phone in breast pocket, gloves back on, I made my way back to Dalhousie Street and my car, which was already covered in a light dusting of snow.
I'm not turning around, I convinced myself. I started my car just as Ian Black was announcing the coming storm and the freezing rain that would follow.
My computer remained on my desk, at the office. I'm sure it'll be waiting for me.
Instead, as soon as I reached the Ontario side of the river, as soon as I took the exit for Dalhousie and Sussex, I decided to pull over, grab the two old cameras that accompany me and my smartphone, and walk back, along the Macdonald-Cartier Bridge, to the point where I thought I shouldn't continue home without a means of working from there.
The first photo was shot with my Canon pocket camera. The snow hadn't yet mixed with ice but with the strong wind, the flakes pelted my bare face. Three shots, and then the camera went back into it's case and into my pocket.
I wouldn't want to drop it, see it slip off the walkway and onto the frozen Rideau, below.
Next, came the Ricoh. Manual focus, manual aperture and shutter speed. I set the speed to 1/60 of a second and the meter told me that an aperture of f/8 was required. I overexposed, a little, dialing the lens opening to f/5.6.
I didn't want grey snow.
One shot. That was it.
With the Ricoh safely tucked in it's case, I slung the thin, plastic strap around my neck, and reached for one more device.
The snow was coming down in greater density, blocking out nearly all of Parliament Hill. The rest of my drive was going to be a challenge if others had the same idea and left work early. Already, it was nearing 3:30.
Three more shots with my smartphone. I zoomed in on Nepean Point and the back end of the National Gallery, to the Parliament buildings, hoping that the lens would see through the squall. My eyes, squinting to avoid being blinded by the pesky flakes, determined that whatever I had captured, it would have to be enough.
Phone in breast pocket, gloves back on, I made my way back to Dalhousie Street and my car, which was already covered in a light dusting of snow.
I'm not turning around, I convinced myself. I started my car just as Ian Black was announcing the coming storm and the freezing rain that would follow.
My computer remained on my desk, at the office. I'm sure it'll be waiting for me.
Friday, January 19, 2018
Thursday, January 18, 2018
Beer O'Clock: Riding on a Brew Donkey
Alcohol and weapons: what could possibly go wrong?
Absolutely nothing. In fact, everything went right, thanks to the friendly folks who organized this beer tour, which included a stop at an axe-throwing venue.
Brew Donkey has been operating for four years to whisk craft-beer-loving and adventure-seeking folks as far away as Whitewater Brewing, up the Ottawa Valley, to Beau's Brewing, in Vankleek Hill, to try new beer or solidify their love of favourites. Recently, this brew-touring company has expanded into the Kitchener-Waterloo area, and offers tours to Guelph, Elora, and other neighbouring towns.
I tagged along, last weekend, to see what many people have enjoyed over the years.
Brew Donkey's Web site is extremely easy to navigate and find the tour that suits your schedule and needs. A typical tour includes two or three breweries, with as many as four, if the breweries are in close proximity. The tour provides lunch, water, and snacks on the bus, and includes beer samples at the breweries. Prices range from about $72 to $98, plus tax, depending on the package.
It is highly recommended that you don't drive to their Wellington Street location: first, there is limited street parking in this Hintonburg neighbourhood, and you risk a ticket and possible tow, when you exceed the two-hour time limit; second, there is potentially a lot of beer samples, plus any pints you purchase, and it would be unwise to try to drive home when you return from the tour.
Get a lift or take public transportation, and enjoy the tour responsibly.
I joined the Sip, Axe & Relax tour, which took us to Dominion City Brewing, in Beacon Hill, to BATL Ottawa, near Walkley Road and the 417, and finally, to Stray Dog Brewing, where we wrapped up.
Our bus left Hintonburg at 12:45 and make a stop along O'Connor and Sparks, to pick up more folks. Our tour guide, John, handed out tasting sheets and explained some simple rules about where we were going and expected conduct. Basically, leave the bus clean and treat each other with respect. We didn't want to be the tour that made future tours at peril.
Our group was far from one of those tours.
John explained to me that many tours included folks who were already craft-beer lovers, but also included companies that were taking employees on team-building excursions, folks from out of town, and even those who would take their fathers on a tour.
Keep that in mind for Fathers Day, folks.
We had 23 people in our group, including myself but not counting John or our driver, Don.
At Dominion City, we sampled four different brews: their wet-hopped ale, a gorgeous IPA (I'll be reviewing it, next week), a Yule ale, and a delicious milkshake stout (again, see my next review). We also were taken on a tour, where we were shown how the brewers crafted their beer.
The next stop was to BATL Ottawa, where we were shown how to throw hatchets at wooden targets, about 12 feet away. There is a definite skill in throwing these axes: you must stand in a particular way and move your whole body as you follow through. the axe is held at the bottom of the handle, and you must bring it right behind you, with your arms fully bent. You must also release the axe when your arms are fully extended.
It's a lot to think about but when everything works out, the axe will find its way to the target.
After we had some practice time, we started a competition. We had three rounds of three attempts, with five throws for each attempt. You would be paired with an opponent, where you would throw your axe five times, adding your points before you moved to your opponents spot, and throw five more times. Finally, you would go back to your original spot and throw your last five axes.
I won my first round, lost the second round, and tied my third. In a tie, things change. You are provided a firefighter-sized axe and must stand further from the target. Half-points are awarded if the axe lands outside the target but sticks anywhere on the board.
On my opponent's first toss, the axe hit the floor, as did my first throw. Again, on the second toss, my opponent failed to get his axe to stick. On my second attempt, the unthinkable happened: my axe found the target and landed in the bullseye circle.
This activity is a lot of fun and I'm determined to take my family for an outing sometime soon.
Lunch was provided, while we threw axes, courtesy of Farm Boy and Suzy Q. Tasty sandwich wraps and decadent donuts kept us energized.
By the time we left the axe-throwing venue, it was dark and bitterly cold outside, but our bus was warm and waiting for us. We climbed aboard and headed for our final venue.
I had visited Stray Dog when they held their grand-opening party, last summer. I was already a big fan of their brews and have kept a supply of Shaggin' Wagon and Jeanne D'Ark in my basement. It was good to chat with brewers Marc Plante and Justin MacNeill, and sip a few more samples.
One of the reasons that I chose this particular tour was because both Dominion City and Stray Dog are outside of my general driving zones. To visit these breweries is a major detour to my work route. It made sense to go where I rarely get to go, especially since I like both of these breweries. Brew Donkey was the best solution to getting out to the east end of the city.
The magic of Brew Donkey is that they offer great tours to all of Ottawa's emerging breweries while keeping you fed, hydrated, active, and—most importantly—safe. And all of this at an extremely reasonable price.
Would I do Brew Donkey again? Absolutely. In fact, as I said earlier, it sounds like a great way to treat my father on Father's Day. But Brew Donkey is something that you should do at any time.
Thanks to Brad Campeau for inviting me to join the tour, to my friendly and knowledgeable guide, John, and to our safe and sober driver, Don.
Alcohol and weapons: a perfect combination when you're with a group that knows what it's doing.
Absolutely nothing. In fact, everything went right, thanks to the friendly folks who organized this beer tour, which included a stop at an axe-throwing venue.
Brew Donkey has been operating for four years to whisk craft-beer-loving and adventure-seeking folks as far away as Whitewater Brewing, up the Ottawa Valley, to Beau's Brewing, in Vankleek Hill, to try new beer or solidify their love of favourites. Recently, this brew-touring company has expanded into the Kitchener-Waterloo area, and offers tours to Guelph, Elora, and other neighbouring towns.I tagged along, last weekend, to see what many people have enjoyed over the years.
Brew Donkey's Web site is extremely easy to navigate and find the tour that suits your schedule and needs. A typical tour includes two or three breweries, with as many as four, if the breweries are in close proximity. The tour provides lunch, water, and snacks on the bus, and includes beer samples at the breweries. Prices range from about $72 to $98, plus tax, depending on the package.
It is highly recommended that you don't drive to their Wellington Street location: first, there is limited street parking in this Hintonburg neighbourhood, and you risk a ticket and possible tow, when you exceed the two-hour time limit; second, there is potentially a lot of beer samples, plus any pints you purchase, and it would be unwise to try to drive home when you return from the tour.
Get a lift or take public transportation, and enjoy the tour responsibly.
I joined the Sip, Axe & Relax tour, which took us to Dominion City Brewing, in Beacon Hill, to BATL Ottawa, near Walkley Road and the 417, and finally, to Stray Dog Brewing, where we wrapped up.
Our bus left Hintonburg at 12:45 and make a stop along O'Connor and Sparks, to pick up more folks. Our tour guide, John, handed out tasting sheets and explained some simple rules about where we were going and expected conduct. Basically, leave the bus clean and treat each other with respect. We didn't want to be the tour that made future tours at peril.
Our group was far from one of those tours.
John explained to me that many tours included folks who were already craft-beer lovers, but also included companies that were taking employees on team-building excursions, folks from out of town, and even those who would take their fathers on a tour.
Keep that in mind for Fathers Day, folks.
We had 23 people in our group, including myself but not counting John or our driver, Don.
At Dominion City, we sampled four different brews: their wet-hopped ale, a gorgeous IPA (I'll be reviewing it, next week), a Yule ale, and a delicious milkshake stout (again, see my next review). We also were taken on a tour, where we were shown how the brewers crafted their beer.
The next stop was to BATL Ottawa, where we were shown how to throw hatchets at wooden targets, about 12 feet away. There is a definite skill in throwing these axes: you must stand in a particular way and move your whole body as you follow through. the axe is held at the bottom of the handle, and you must bring it right behind you, with your arms fully bent. You must also release the axe when your arms are fully extended.
It's a lot to think about but when everything works out, the axe will find its way to the target.
After we had some practice time, we started a competition. We had three rounds of three attempts, with five throws for each attempt. You would be paired with an opponent, where you would throw your axe five times, adding your points before you moved to your opponents spot, and throw five more times. Finally, you would go back to your original spot and throw your last five axes.
I won my first round, lost the second round, and tied my third. In a tie, things change. You are provided a firefighter-sized axe and must stand further from the target. Half-points are awarded if the axe lands outside the target but sticks anywhere on the board.
On my opponent's first toss, the axe hit the floor, as did my first throw. Again, on the second toss, my opponent failed to get his axe to stick. On my second attempt, the unthinkable happened: my axe found the target and landed in the bullseye circle.
This activity is a lot of fun and I'm determined to take my family for an outing sometime soon.
Lunch was provided, while we threw axes, courtesy of Farm Boy and Suzy Q. Tasty sandwich wraps and decadent donuts kept us energized.
By the time we left the axe-throwing venue, it was dark and bitterly cold outside, but our bus was warm and waiting for us. We climbed aboard and headed for our final venue.
I had visited Stray Dog when they held their grand-opening party, last summer. I was already a big fan of their brews and have kept a supply of Shaggin' Wagon and Jeanne D'Ark in my basement. It was good to chat with brewers Marc Plante and Justin MacNeill, and sip a few more samples.
One of the reasons that I chose this particular tour was because both Dominion City and Stray Dog are outside of my general driving zones. To visit these breweries is a major detour to my work route. It made sense to go where I rarely get to go, especially since I like both of these breweries. Brew Donkey was the best solution to getting out to the east end of the city.
The magic of Brew Donkey is that they offer great tours to all of Ottawa's emerging breweries while keeping you fed, hydrated, active, and—most importantly—safe. And all of this at an extremely reasonable price.
Would I do Brew Donkey again? Absolutely. In fact, as I said earlier, it sounds like a great way to treat my father on Father's Day. But Brew Donkey is something that you should do at any time.
Thanks to Brad Campeau for inviting me to join the tour, to my friendly and knowledgeable guide, John, and to our safe and sober driver, Don.
Alcohol and weapons: a perfect combination when you're with a group that knows what it's doing.
Wednesday, January 17, 2018
Tuesday, January 16, 2018
Farewell to Dolores
It was news that ruined my whole day.
I didn't get into The Cranberries until 1999, shortly after I had returned from Korea. My brother had a few of their CDs—No Need to Argue and To The Faithful Departed—and because I hadn't yet retrieved all of my music from storage, I would throw these discs onto the player when DW and I stayed with my folks, while we searched for jobs and a house.
I was familiar with this Irish band, instantly recognized the lead singer's wailing, haunting voice. There is no voice quite like that of Dolores O'Riordan: the power and the softness. Strength and beauty.
The shock of Dolores' sudden death at a far, far too young age, currently surrounded in mystery, caught us all off guard.
I was late in falling for The Cranberries but I was hooked. I downloaded Dolores' two solo releases and was excited when she and her band reunited.
With the tributes that came on the radio and TV, it was inevitable that someone would play my favourite song. I heard it, on the radio, with DD16 in the back seat. She couldn't see the tears welling, didn't know about the lump in my throat, preventing me from saying a word.
For my blog post, I lost my inspiration to write creatively. Instead, I'll lament the loss of Dolores, and honour her by sharing the video of my favourite song, "Ode To My Family."
I didn't get into The Cranberries until 1999, shortly after I had returned from Korea. My brother had a few of their CDs—No Need to Argue and To The Faithful Departed—and because I hadn't yet retrieved all of my music from storage, I would throw these discs onto the player when DW and I stayed with my folks, while we searched for jobs and a house.
I was familiar with this Irish band, instantly recognized the lead singer's wailing, haunting voice. There is no voice quite like that of Dolores O'Riordan: the power and the softness. Strength and beauty.
The shock of Dolores' sudden death at a far, far too young age, currently surrounded in mystery, caught us all off guard.
I was late in falling for The Cranberries but I was hooked. I downloaded Dolores' two solo releases and was excited when she and her band reunited.
With the tributes that came on the radio and TV, it was inevitable that someone would play my favourite song. I heard it, on the radio, with DD16 in the back seat. She couldn't see the tears welling, didn't know about the lump in my throat, preventing me from saying a word.
For my blog post, I lost my inspiration to write creatively. Instead, I'll lament the loss of Dolores, and honour her by sharing the video of my favourite song, "Ode To My Family."
Friday, January 12, 2018
Thursday, January 11, 2018
Getting Organized
When Tuesday evening came around, I thought that I should put together a Wordless Wednesday post for this week. Then, I remembered, I haven't really used my cameras, much, since New Year's Eve.
I took my last POTD picture, processed it, shared it on social media, and put my D-SLR down. I used the photo in a blog post that I never shared on social media because the message that would announce the blog post would use more words than were contained in the post, itself.
I was only wishing you all a Happy New Year, which I did anyway.
So, when it came to a Wordless Wednesday post, this week, I had nothing. I haven't used my D-SLR. I have taken a couple of snapshots with my friend's Ricoh, but I'm far from filling the roll and sending it off for processing.
I've taken a few snaps with my Canon point-and-shoot, but nothing that could be used for a Wordless Wednesday. I like those images to share a common theme or tell a story.
In fact, apart from two images that I captured with my smartphone, I haven't shared any new photographs at all on this blog. Every other image was either captured in 2017 or earlier, or were images that I took from Google searches.
My drought of photo taking will come to an end, tomorrow (Friday), when I post my next photo from my black-and-white project.
I spent the better part of yesterday afternoon and evening, organizing my photo library. I'm highly disorganized when it comes to keeping track of my photos. When I have pulled the image files from my camera and have processed them, I create a file folder with the date that the photos were shot—say, 20180111, for today—and would then provide a brief description of the subjects on the files. That way, my photos would be in folders that displayed in chronological order.
Filing photos by date is not a good way to organize photos. I have to remember when I took the image and hope that the description that accompanies the date helps. But the problem is that as the years go on, I can't remember when I took a photo: Did I shoot my Bate Island Project in 2012 or 2013? When was I in Scotland?
I tend to spend a lot of time looking for photos with this system.
So, when I finished work, yesterday, I went into my files and created a folder structure that works more like a database. Folders are listed according to the subject, not the date. For example, I have a Travel folder, which contains subfolders for destinations my family and I have visited, such as Cuba, Montreal, or Arizona. Some folders, such as France, contain more folders, for Paris, Loire, Juno Beach, and other towns or regions.
Photos can be in more than one folder: for example, a foggy image of Parliament Hill can be found in my Ottawa\Parliament Hill folder and in my Fog folder. I realize that duplicate files will take more storage space but I think this will make it easier for me to find images.
And storage space is cheap.
So, while I'm not shooting as much as I used to, I'm working with my photos a lot more as I get them organized.
Do you have a tried-and-true system for organizing photos?
I took my last POTD picture, processed it, shared it on social media, and put my D-SLR down. I used the photo in a blog post that I never shared on social media because the message that would announce the blog post would use more words than were contained in the post, itself.
I was only wishing you all a Happy New Year, which I did anyway.
So, when it came to a Wordless Wednesday post, this week, I had nothing. I haven't used my D-SLR. I have taken a couple of snapshots with my friend's Ricoh, but I'm far from filling the roll and sending it off for processing.
I've taken a few snaps with my Canon point-and-shoot, but nothing that could be used for a Wordless Wednesday. I like those images to share a common theme or tell a story.
In fact, apart from two images that I captured with my smartphone, I haven't shared any new photographs at all on this blog. Every other image was either captured in 2017 or earlier, or were images that I took from Google searches.
My drought of photo taking will come to an end, tomorrow (Friday), when I post my next photo from my black-and-white project.
I spent the better part of yesterday afternoon and evening, organizing my photo library. I'm highly disorganized when it comes to keeping track of my photos. When I have pulled the image files from my camera and have processed them, I create a file folder with the date that the photos were shot—say, 20180111, for today—and would then provide a brief description of the subjects on the files. That way, my photos would be in folders that displayed in chronological order.
Filing photos by date is not a good way to organize photos. I have to remember when I took the image and hope that the description that accompanies the date helps. But the problem is that as the years go on, I can't remember when I took a photo: Did I shoot my Bate Island Project in 2012 or 2013? When was I in Scotland?
I tend to spend a lot of time looking for photos with this system.
So, when I finished work, yesterday, I went into my files and created a folder structure that works more like a database. Folders are listed according to the subject, not the date. For example, I have a Travel folder, which contains subfolders for destinations my family and I have visited, such as Cuba, Montreal, or Arizona. Some folders, such as France, contain more folders, for Paris, Loire, Juno Beach, and other towns or regions.
Photos can be in more than one folder: for example, a foggy image of Parliament Hill can be found in my Ottawa\Parliament Hill folder and in my Fog folder. I realize that duplicate files will take more storage space but I think this will make it easier for me to find images.
And storage space is cheap.
So, while I'm not shooting as much as I used to, I'm working with my photos a lot more as I get them organized.
Do you have a tried-and-true system for organizing photos?
Tuesday, January 9, 2018
Cat People
Great. Now I have that horrible 1980s film in my head.
I've only ever had one pet in my family at a time.
Actually, that's not true: when the kids were very young, we bought a betta fish and a couple of minnows. I think you can see where this is going. The employee in the store said these fish could co-exist. Maybe he didn't realize the size of the fishbowl we were putting them in.
We should have separated the fish as soon as we saw the little bite taken out of one of the minnow's tails. We should have realized that a compromised tail fin would impede the speed at which the minnow could swim.
The message came loud and clear, one morning, when I entered the kitchen to make breakfast, and found nothing but a head and spine lying at the bottom of the bowl. It was next to the miniature, gold treasure chest, but this was no booty. I used our kitchen tongs to retrieve the remains and dispose of them before the kids came down for their oatmeal.
The second minnow followed shortly after. Apparently, I didn't learn from the first lesson.
When DW and I moved in together, before we married, we adopted a kitten from the Humane Society. Leo was an adorable grey and white cat who was social and would always jump on someone's lap when we were on the sofa. We had Leo for 11 years when he developed kidney disease and had to be put down. I was with him right to the end.
It took a couple of years for us to decide to get a new cat, and that's when Edwin joined our family. Ed has been a laid-back dude who has made friends with many neighbours because of his friendly disposition and his ability to control the neighbourhood mouse population.
Sadly, he also bags a few birds, now and then, but the bell that we added to his collar has reduced his success.
Edwin was a solo family cat until he was about nine years old, when, on an impulse visit to a pet store, I walked out with a second cat, Jake.
Jake was cute, but he was hellish. He tore up the house. He tormented Edwin. He tried to dominate the entire family, and when his attempts failed, he'd take it out by crapping on DW's and my bed.
Jake had to go.
We found him a lovely Carleton University student who loved cats and fell in love with him at first sight. For months after she took him, this new cat owner sent us photos and updates of Jake, who thrived as an only cat.
Once again, we were a one-cat family. Edwin continued to be the centre of our family.
A couple of months ago, DD14, who had been asking me for a dog on a daily basis for years, finally told me that she would stop asking for a dog if we would get a second cat. She wanted a kitten, female, preferably a tortoiseshell cat. That weekend, we went to the Humane Society. I wasn't hopeful that we would find a cat to her exact expectations, but that if we found a female kitten that was friendly, it would fit the bill.
We walked out of the animal shelter, with a female tortoiseshell kitten. Her name is Lily.
Edwin didn't warm up to Lily right away, but never tried to hurt or dominate her. Lily was playful and would pounce on Ed, who would meow in protest, swipe at her with a clawless paw (he'd keep them retracted), or pounce back when she persisted. Now, they get along fairly well.
Two weekends ago, DW and DD14 got it in their heads that another kitten would be good for Lily. Edwin was 12 years older than her and he was an outdoor cat. DW and DD14 wanted a kitten close to Lily's age, someone who was as playful as she and would be a companion for when Edwin was outside.
Edwin tends to keep to himself and never seeks Lily out to play.
I said we really didn't need a playmate for Lily: we've always had one cat and they always did fine. I said no, but they could hear that my voice wasn't as firm as when I used to be asked for a dog.
The Humane Society Web site showed four potential kittens, all of whom were at a single Pet Smart store near Parkwood Hills. We drove over to check them out but by the time we got there, every one of them was gone. The last one had left the store less than an hour before we arrived.
It wasn't to be, I told the girls, let's just be content with Edwin and Lily.
This weekend, DW checked the Humane Society's site again, and another kitten was in the same Pet Smart. As we were planning to do some shopping, DW urged me to hurry out the door with her. This time, we took DD16, who loves cats but didn't think we needed a third in our family.
The kitten was in the store, and we learned that she had just lost her sister, the previous day, to another adoption home. This was a nine-month-old female Torby, a tortoiseshell and tabby mix. She was lean but solid, and was extremely affectionate. As soon as I picked her up, she didn't want me to put her back down.
She came home with us.
Our house has gone from a solitary cat to a household of three felines. All of them friendly, all affectionate. It'll be a couple more weekends before we can introduce the latest kitten, who we've named Camille, into the fold, but already she's tried to join the others. Edwin has seen her and has given one of his whatever turns of the head.
Fingers crossed that it works out.
Go ahead, call us cat people. Crazy, crazy cat people.
I've only ever had one pet in my family at a time.
Actually, that's not true: when the kids were very young, we bought a betta fish and a couple of minnows. I think you can see where this is going. The employee in the store said these fish could co-exist. Maybe he didn't realize the size of the fishbowl we were putting them in.
We should have separated the fish as soon as we saw the little bite taken out of one of the minnow's tails. We should have realized that a compromised tail fin would impede the speed at which the minnow could swim.
The message came loud and clear, one morning, when I entered the kitchen to make breakfast, and found nothing but a head and spine lying at the bottom of the bowl. It was next to the miniature, gold treasure chest, but this was no booty. I used our kitchen tongs to retrieve the remains and dispose of them before the kids came down for their oatmeal.
The second minnow followed shortly after. Apparently, I didn't learn from the first lesson.
When DW and I moved in together, before we married, we adopted a kitten from the Humane Society. Leo was an adorable grey and white cat who was social and would always jump on someone's lap when we were on the sofa. We had Leo for 11 years when he developed kidney disease and had to be put down. I was with him right to the end.
It took a couple of years for us to decide to get a new cat, and that's when Edwin joined our family. Ed has been a laid-back dude who has made friends with many neighbours because of his friendly disposition and his ability to control the neighbourhood mouse population.
Sadly, he also bags a few birds, now and then, but the bell that we added to his collar has reduced his success.
Edwin was a solo family cat until he was about nine years old, when, on an impulse visit to a pet store, I walked out with a second cat, Jake.
Jake was cute, but he was hellish. He tore up the house. He tormented Edwin. He tried to dominate the entire family, and when his attempts failed, he'd take it out by crapping on DW's and my bed.
Jake had to go.
We found him a lovely Carleton University student who loved cats and fell in love with him at first sight. For months after she took him, this new cat owner sent us photos and updates of Jake, who thrived as an only cat.
Once again, we were a one-cat family. Edwin continued to be the centre of our family.
We walked out of the animal shelter, with a female tortoiseshell kitten. Her name is Lily.
Edwin didn't warm up to Lily right away, but never tried to hurt or dominate her. Lily was playful and would pounce on Ed, who would meow in protest, swipe at her with a clawless paw (he'd keep them retracted), or pounce back when she persisted. Now, they get along fairly well.
Two weekends ago, DW and DD14 got it in their heads that another kitten would be good for Lily. Edwin was 12 years older than her and he was an outdoor cat. DW and DD14 wanted a kitten close to Lily's age, someone who was as playful as she and would be a companion for when Edwin was outside.
Edwin tends to keep to himself and never seeks Lily out to play.
I said we really didn't need a playmate for Lily: we've always had one cat and they always did fine. I said no, but they could hear that my voice wasn't as firm as when I used to be asked for a dog.
The Humane Society Web site showed four potential kittens, all of whom were at a single Pet Smart store near Parkwood Hills. We drove over to check them out but by the time we got there, every one of them was gone. The last one had left the store less than an hour before we arrived.
It wasn't to be, I told the girls, let's just be content with Edwin and Lily.
This weekend, DW checked the Humane Society's site again, and another kitten was in the same Pet Smart. As we were planning to do some shopping, DW urged me to hurry out the door with her. This time, we took DD16, who loves cats but didn't think we needed a third in our family.
The kitten was in the store, and we learned that she had just lost her sister, the previous day, to another adoption home. This was a nine-month-old female Torby, a tortoiseshell and tabby mix. She was lean but solid, and was extremely affectionate. As soon as I picked her up, she didn't want me to put her back down.
She came home with us.
Our house has gone from a solitary cat to a household of three felines. All of them friendly, all affectionate. It'll be a couple more weekends before we can introduce the latest kitten, who we've named Camille, into the fold, but already she's tried to join the others. Edwin has seen her and has given one of his whatever turns of the head.
Fingers crossed that it works out.
Go ahead, call us cat people. Crazy, crazy cat people.
Monday, January 8, 2018
Remembering the Ice Storm
When I lived in South Korea, from the beginning of March, 1997, to the end of February, 1999, my ties to home, to Canada, came through weekly phone calls to my parents and in-laws, through e-mail, and through my short-wave radio, which broadcast CBC's The World At Six as I was getting ready for work in the early hours of my day.
I heard about the ice storm, at first, on the radio. I didn't give it much thought: it's not uncommon for Eastern Ontario to receive freezing rain in late December or early January. I did think that the area that was being covered in this storm was larger than usual, but I didn't feel that there was any cause for alarm.
Besides, I had bigger problems where I was. South Korea was at the height of its economic collapse, and the value of the currency, the won, had plummeted. I was teaching English at a language institute and my director, who had based my pay on the American dollar but paid me in won, found himself paying out more than double the amount that he was used to at the beginning of my contract. On December 31, 1997, instead of receiving my pay, I was told that he couldn't pay me or DW (who was also teaching at the institute), and that he wanted us to leave Korea as soon as possible.
DW and I were in talks with the labour board, and we were trying to find living accommodations (thankfully, our friends, Jason and Jami, came to our rescue and put us up in their spare bedroom, in their apartment).
At the same time, DW and I were teaching privately—illegal, but done by many foreigners—and weren't about to abandon our students and that much-needed, supplemental income.
Later in the day, after I had heard the first report of the ice storm, I sent an e-mail message to my mom, to see if she was okay. Later that evening, she said that there was ice building up on the trees and the roads were slippery, but she and my step father were fine and he was planning to go into work.
Another typical ice storm, I told myself.
Over the next couple of days, CBC Radio reported that the storm was becoming worse as accumulating ice was knocking out power throughout the region. I called my folks, who lived in Kanata, in Ottawa's west end: they were fine, still had electricity. DW called her parents, but the story in the City View neighbourhood of Nepean was different. The power had gone out, that day, but her folks were fine. They had their fireplace going and were using DW's and my camp stove out the back door to cook meals. They expected the power to return shortly, and told DW to not worry.
DW and I searched the Internet and found stories and images of the storm. We saw images of Ottawa's Centretown, with streets filled with broken branches and Hydro Ottawa crews fixing felled power lines. The thickness of the ice seemed dangerous, at more than a centimetre thick, in some images. As the days went on, we saw that some electrical towers had collapsed under the weight, and power outages from Kingston to Montreal were starting to become dangerous as the days went by.
As DW and I learned that our hagwon director became less cooperative with the labour board and had shifted his records to reduce the number of employees, and how the labour board were at a loss to help us, we secured new jobs, thanks to our loyal Korean students. DW would start teaching at the national university; I would be teaching at a private university on the southern outskirts of our city, Chŏnju. Not wanting to overstay our welcome with our friends, and because we needed to leave Korea to renew our work visas, DW and I decided to return home.
The ice storm lasted six days but hadn't inconvenienced our parents. My folks never lost power for more than a couple of minutes; the power in my in-laws' neighbourhood was out for only a couple of days.
We wanted to surprise our folks with our return visit, so we didn't tell them that we were coming. When we arrived in Ottawa, a friend picked us up at the airport and brought us to her parents house. On the drive from the airport, we were shocked at the destruction of the storm. The trees on our route, particularly near the airport, were smashed, devoid of their branches or bent down to the ground. A week after the storm, cleanup crews were still tidying up.
During our stay, we watched the news as they reported the lasting devastation. Some areas were still without power, as tens of thousands of towers and poles had collapsed under the weight. Ottawa had some scars but, by comparison, had fared better than Montreal and some of the small towns and villages in the path of the storm.
While DW and I missed the storm, we still felt that we were part of it. From the reports, to conversations with our family, to seeing the destruction in the aftermath, the ice storm of 1998 is something that we won't forget.
How about you? Where were you? How did you cope with the storm?
I heard about the ice storm, at first, on the radio. I didn't give it much thought: it's not uncommon for Eastern Ontario to receive freezing rain in late December or early January. I did think that the area that was being covered in this storm was larger than usual, but I didn't feel that there was any cause for alarm.
Besides, I had bigger problems where I was. South Korea was at the height of its economic collapse, and the value of the currency, the won, had plummeted. I was teaching English at a language institute and my director, who had based my pay on the American dollar but paid me in won, found himself paying out more than double the amount that he was used to at the beginning of my contract. On December 31, 1997, instead of receiving my pay, I was told that he couldn't pay me or DW (who was also teaching at the institute), and that he wanted us to leave Korea as soon as possible.
DW and I were in talks with the labour board, and we were trying to find living accommodations (thankfully, our friends, Jason and Jami, came to our rescue and put us up in their spare bedroom, in their apartment).
At the same time, DW and I were teaching privately—illegal, but done by many foreigners—and weren't about to abandon our students and that much-needed, supplemental income.
Later in the day, after I had heard the first report of the ice storm, I sent an e-mail message to my mom, to see if she was okay. Later that evening, she said that there was ice building up on the trees and the roads were slippery, but she and my step father were fine and he was planning to go into work.
Another typical ice storm, I told myself.
 |
| Photo: Monteal Gazette |
DW and I searched the Internet and found stories and images of the storm. We saw images of Ottawa's Centretown, with streets filled with broken branches and Hydro Ottawa crews fixing felled power lines. The thickness of the ice seemed dangerous, at more than a centimetre thick, in some images. As the days went on, we saw that some electrical towers had collapsed under the weight, and power outages from Kingston to Montreal were starting to become dangerous as the days went by.
 |
| Photo: CBC |
The ice storm lasted six days but hadn't inconvenienced our parents. My folks never lost power for more than a couple of minutes; the power in my in-laws' neighbourhood was out for only a couple of days.
 |
| Photo: uncredited |
During our stay, we watched the news as they reported the lasting devastation. Some areas were still without power, as tens of thousands of towers and poles had collapsed under the weight. Ottawa had some scars but, by comparison, had fared better than Montreal and some of the small towns and villages in the path of the storm.
While DW and I missed the storm, we still felt that we were part of it. From the reports, to conversations with our family, to seeing the destruction in the aftermath, the ice storm of 1998 is something that we won't forget.
How about you? Where were you? How did you cope with the storm?
Friday, January 5, 2018
Photo Friday: Black & White Project
So, here's the deal:
Last year's photo project was, for me, a colossal task, one that got me to think up a new subject each day for 365 days. Some, were good: others, not so much.
Since New Year's Eve, I haven't picked up my D-SLR. I'm planning to send my Nikon body away, to be cleaned, and I haven't decided when I'm going to use it again. I'm sure it won't be too long, but I have no plans when using it will be a major requirement.
In November and December, I noticed that some of my social-media friends had taken up various black-and-white photography challenges. Some took photos every day for one week; others, for 100 days; some brave souls, for a year. Most of these challenges had no explanation to accompany the photo: it was simply an image for others to observe and admire.
I don't want to take a photo every day, not even for as little as seven days. But I like the idea of capturing an image and displaying it with no explanation.
Not today, however.
Earlier, in 2017, I came across a camera that I learned belonged to one of my oldest and dearest friends, Stuart. It was found in a box of darkroom equipment that had belonged to his father but had been given to me after his passing. When I learned of the camera's origins, I promised Stu that I would return it to him, but that I had hoped to run a roll of film through it because I had never used such a camera, before.
It's a Ricoh 500 G rangefinder camera. It's basically a point-and-shoot camera but is not automatic. You must select the aperture and shutter speed, and you must manually focus your subject by using the rangefinder, which aligns bars when your subject is in focus.
I gave the camera a cleaning, replaced its battery (which operates the light meter), and loaded it with black-and-white, C-41 process film. Although the film is without colour, it can be processed in any machine that processes 35mm colour film.
Over the next few weeks, I plan to go through that roll of film and will hopefully capture some images that are worth sharing. But because it could take some time before I receive the processed images, I plan to bring another camera along.
I have another point-and-shoot camera, but this one is digital. I bought my first digital camera in 2003, in time for the birth of my second child. Since then, I have bought several compact digital cameras, as resolution improved and more features became available. I bought my last compact camera around the time that I bought my first D-SLR, in December of 2008.
My secondary camera, for the next while, is a Canon PowerShot SD1200 IS, a 10-megapixel device that can fit within the screen of my smartphone and is about twice as thick. I can easily tuck this camera into any pocket, and go.
I'll use the Ricoh to capture images that may or may not be used after the film is developed. The Canon will be used to capture other images, that will be used as part of my black-and-white project. I will share the best image, each week, on Friday, for the rest of the year.
Fifty-two images: I can handle that.
Last year's photo project was, for me, a colossal task, one that got me to think up a new subject each day for 365 days. Some, were good: others, not so much.
Since New Year's Eve, I haven't picked up my D-SLR. I'm planning to send my Nikon body away, to be cleaned, and I haven't decided when I'm going to use it again. I'm sure it won't be too long, but I have no plans when using it will be a major requirement.
In November and December, I noticed that some of my social-media friends had taken up various black-and-white photography challenges. Some took photos every day for one week; others, for 100 days; some brave souls, for a year. Most of these challenges had no explanation to accompany the photo: it was simply an image for others to observe and admire.
I don't want to take a photo every day, not even for as little as seven days. But I like the idea of capturing an image and displaying it with no explanation.
Not today, however.
Earlier, in 2017, I came across a camera that I learned belonged to one of my oldest and dearest friends, Stuart. It was found in a box of darkroom equipment that had belonged to his father but had been given to me after his passing. When I learned of the camera's origins, I promised Stu that I would return it to him, but that I had hoped to run a roll of film through it because I had never used such a camera, before.
It's a Ricoh 500 G rangefinder camera. It's basically a point-and-shoot camera but is not automatic. You must select the aperture and shutter speed, and you must manually focus your subject by using the rangefinder, which aligns bars when your subject is in focus.
I gave the camera a cleaning, replaced its battery (which operates the light meter), and loaded it with black-and-white, C-41 process film. Although the film is without colour, it can be processed in any machine that processes 35mm colour film.
Over the next few weeks, I plan to go through that roll of film and will hopefully capture some images that are worth sharing. But because it could take some time before I receive the processed images, I plan to bring another camera along.
I have another point-and-shoot camera, but this one is digital. I bought my first digital camera in 2003, in time for the birth of my second child. Since then, I have bought several compact digital cameras, as resolution improved and more features became available. I bought my last compact camera around the time that I bought my first D-SLR, in December of 2008.
My secondary camera, for the next while, is a Canon PowerShot SD1200 IS, a 10-megapixel device that can fit within the screen of my smartphone and is about twice as thick. I can easily tuck this camera into any pocket, and go.
I'll use the Ricoh to capture images that may or may not be used after the film is developed. The Canon will be used to capture other images, that will be used as part of my black-and-white project. I will share the best image, each week, on Friday, for the rest of the year.
Fifty-two images: I can handle that.
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