Throwback Thursday: Leisure Shirt

I still have this shirt. I still wear it.

When I put it on, it usually sends the message to all who see me sporting it that I'm relaxing, taking it easy.

Don't ask any work of me.

I bought the shirt in 1998, on the island of Pha Ngan, in the Gulf of Thailand. It was the first purchase when our long boat reached the southwest village of the same name. I held the shirt against my chest and told DW, "This is my perfect island-retreat shirt. When I wear it, it means 'I'm on vacation: leave me alone.'" With it, and a pair of swim trunks, and a cap from an Ontario winery, it was the perfect outfit for being a beach bum.

Our hut, on the north end of the island, was literally 20 steps from the water, right on the beach. The Star Hut restaurant, less than a dozen steps. I could wake up, step over to the patio, eat breakfast, and then wade into the surf in fewer than 40 steps.

DW took this photo of me from outside our hut.

Standing in the same spot, I took this photo of DW. That's how close we were to the beach.

I did that every day.

Now, I put that shirt on when the summer sun bakes our back yard. When my chores are done and I need to change out of a sweat-soaked shirt, I grab this memento from Thailand, grab a cold beer, and find a shaded area in which to sit.

And do nothing.

Happy Thursday!

Wordless Wednesday: Run!

Cheatin' Rebel

If truth be told, I didn't want to do the challenge almost immediately after I started it. In fact, on the first day, I almost forgot about the challenge altogether, remembered it just as I was getting ready for bed.

I was brushing my teeth when I thought about the Rebels United Photo of the Day challenge for May, known by the hashtag #RebelsUnitedMay2018POTD. When I was finished, I wiped down my sink, pulled out my smartphone, and photographed a flowing tap.

The theme for the day was Water.

The objective for this project was simple: a theme was provided for each day of the month. You had to post the image on Instagram, with the day, theme, and the hashtag. For my first day, with the water and faucet shot, I wrote Day 1: Water #RebelsUnitedMay2018POTD. That was all.

I'm used to a POTD challenge. Last year, a camera never left my side. I never missed a day in shooting something new. With the exception of my week in Cuba, I posted to Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, and Flickr every day, on the day that the photo was shot.

By January of this year, I needed a break from my D-SLR, and didn't touch it for several weeks. By the end of April, when I saw the May POTD challenge, I thought I was up to it.

But I really wasn't. And so, for most of the month, I cheated.

On Day 2, Urban Scapes, I didn't have time to shoot any photos. Instead, I searched my photo database and came upon a photo of the Ottawa skyline, which I had captured several years ago. Only a careful eye could tell that the trees in the foreground were too full for May.

No one seemed to notice.

I made sure that any of the photos that I chose were not previously used on Instagram. I didn't want to duplicate my work. (I have some scruples.)

Day 3, Looking Up, was a photo that I had shot more than a month earlier.

Day 6, Abandoned HDR, was taken a couple of years ago but had now applied an HDR effect.

Day 9 was a black-and-white version of a photo I had previously shared on Facebook and Twitter.

Day 11 was also a black-and-white version of a photo I had shot more than five years ago.

Day 13 had been shared on Instagram, before, as a Mother's Day tribute. Not only did I not take that photo, but I was also about one year old at the time. It's not even one of my photos.

Day 15 was several years old.

Day 16 had been shot on the same day as the Day 6 POTD.

Day 18 was a photo that I've used on a Wordless Wednesday, years ago. I applied a Prisma filter to it and cropped it, this time.

Day 19 is old.

Day 20 was shot in May, 2015, in NYC.

Day 21 had also been shot in New York, but in 2010, at the Bronx Zoo. Lots of people asked me if the bird was spotted in Ottawa, and whether I knew what it was. To date, it's my most-popular shot for the project.

I chose this bird, a southern African racket-tailed roller, because it was pretty and because it seemed different from the ducks, geese, chickadees, and other birds that are in my Ottawa database. Of course, folks love birds and people had to enquire.

I'm such a fraud. Or, who knows? Maybe I wanted to be caught in my charade, be called out for not using current photos.

It didn't stop me.

Day 25 was shot at least five years ago.

Day 28 was posted last night. I took it in August, 2012. The theme was Service, no doubt in recognition of Memorial Day in the United States. What did I show? One of the lads at Cassel Brewery, serving a beer, at a summer festival.

Today's theme is Celtic, and I have no idea what I'll do. Should I get off my ass and capture something, or will I search through my archives for someone in a kilt?

The latter, most likely.

Half of this month's photos for this project weren't captured this month. I skipped Day 24, Insects, though I did haphazardly search for bugs. I have one great insect shot from a few years ago, but I've already shared it on Instagram. As the sun set on the 24^th, I said, "Fuck it," and called it a day.

I seem to work best when I have my own photo challenges. I should have stopped this one when I was brushing my teeth, and realized that I was only going to capture moments of desperation. None of the shots that I actually took for the challenge show any real creativity.

Rebels United will most likely not be impressed. I've cheated for most of their challenge.

I'm a different kind of rebel.

If you're interested in viewing my treachery, go to my Instagram page.

Like Me But Different

There's a film producer, best known for his work on National Lampoon's Vacation, among other titles. A Formula One Managing Director of Motorsports. A software manager. An Australian rower. A comedian-writer-actor. A Belfast Green Party councillor.

There's even a gorgeous British actress.

All of these people have one thing in common: they all have names that are variations of my own.

It's something that I haven't done in years, but this weekend I decided that I would perform a Google search of my name, just to see what came up.

Ever done it, yourself?

What I found most disturbing was that the first auto-prompt, when I started typing my name, was "Ross Brown obituaries." I couldn't help myself: I had to look. Hauntingly, the first Ross Brown on Legacy.com was a man from Massachusetts, who was a year younger than me.

The images that appear when I search for my namesake are diverse. None of them looks like me.

Lucky them.

I guess that if you want to find me, you should add the name of this blog with my own.

What is the strangest result you've discovered when you've searched your name online?

Black and White Project: Week 21

Third Time's a Charm

Surgery is the next step.

Tomorrow, I return to the Ottawa Hospital for my third round of steroid injections for my feet, and I have my fingers crossed that they'll be as successful as the last round, which haven't quite worn off but are just—oh, so very slowly—starting to.

It's a vast change from the first round.

When I received my first shots, in September, I was told that they could last for as little as six weeks and as long as six months. I was hopeful that they'd fall somewhere in the middle, lasting me as much as three months. Three months is, by the way, the minimum period I had to safely wait between shots.

They started to wear off at the seven-week mark, and were completely spent at week eight.

Through a communication issue with my surgeon, who will eventually treat the secondary problem, my Köhler Disease, I had to wait until January 19 to receive my second round of arthritis-numbing shots. By then, my feet were unbearably painful. I had picked out my bridge, just in case.

My January shots scared the hell out of me. Two days after my very first injections, I experienced zero pain for the first time since my late teens. It was euphoric. Two days after my second shots, however, the pain in both feet was more severe than when I had entered the hospital to receive the injections.

I remembered one of the assistants, for the first shots, saying to me that in addition to the six-week to six-month duration, the injections might also not work at all.

The conditions under my bridge were perfect: dozens and dozens of metres below, the ice was frozen solid.

It took two weeks for the meds to kick in. When I had told the surgeon that her first round of shots had lasted only eight weeks, she informed me that she could double the dosage, to the maximum allowed.

I said "go for it."

Perhaps, in changing the amount of steroid that she admitted that she had to "pack in," the time that was required for the active ingredients to kick in was altered?

So, once again, by the end of January, my feet had become pain-free.

Except for the Köhler Disease, in my left foot, and a third factor, two bones grinding together, also in my left foot. The pain that these conditions inflict are unaffected by steroids.

My arthritis, hopefully, will be dealt with again, tomorrow. With fingers crossed, they'll last the four months, or more, that the last round lasted. I meet with my other surgeon, who will operate on the Köhler's and whatever is making those bones rub, mid-June.

"Surgery," I'll tell him: "get on with the surgery."

That bridge isn't going anywhere, and it's calling me.

Wordless Wednesday: leMeow

Like a Scab

I have a perfect cure for hiccups. Perfect for me, that is.

I take a deep breath, as much as my lungs will hold, and I hang on. I keep that air inside my lungs for as long as I possibly can, even if a hiccup comes while my diaphragm is tense.

Slowly, evenly, I let the air out. I keep my lips together but slightly pursed, as though I'm about to plant a small peck on someones cheek. The air flows until I have to push with my diaphragm to get every bit of it out.

Immediately, I swallow another huge gulp of air and repeat the process.

If I hiccup at any time while I'm exhaling, I start the process again. I have to be able to let the air out without any interruption.

If I'm successful, I make sure that I don't cough, sneeze, or belch for about five minutes. Nine times out of 10, this will cure my hiccups.

I have no cure for a migraine. If I'm lucky enough to catch it before it starts, I can take two or three Advil tablets to avert the storm. If I can't take anything in time, I have to simply ride it out.

For the first hour or so, I'm inconsolable. I thrash about. I shake. I yawn uncontrollably. I breathe hard and fast. I try to shield myself from noise and light, and any other stimulation.

Always, a song plays in my head in a perpetual cycle, usually only one line from a verse or the chorus.

Eventually, I become exhausted and fall into a deep sleep. As long as there's no stimulus, I will sleep until the migraine subsides, and I'll awake in a fog, but pain-free.

If my migraine hits on a weekday morning, I undergo the throws of agony while DW and the kids get ready to head out for their day. When they leave, the house goes quiet and I can wear myself out, and fall asleep.

When it's a weekend or holiday, I'm screwed.

Because DW is concerned for my well being, she'll check on me, to see how I'm doing. She'll ask me if she can do anything for me, and my answer is always the same: just leave me alone. Stay quiet.

When our room goes quiet, she'll come in, tiptoe to my side of the bed, and place a loving hand on my head. Which wakes me up and brings me back to my migraine. My breathing increases; I rock my head back and forth; I try to become comfortable.

And I tell her—often in a less-than-friendly tone—to leave me alone.

She does, for a while, but just can't help herself after the bedroom goes silent. It's like she's worried that I might not be breathing.

My migraine is like a wound that bleeds. I fight to staunch the flow, and eventually a scab forms. If that scab is left alone, it will form a solid barrier for the wound and allows it to heal. Disturb that scab, and the blood flows again, and you have to restart the process.

Almost like hiccups. I have a perfect way to stop them, but I can't disturb the process for fear of ruining the whole thing.

 

Weekend Project

The video said that with three people, the assembly would take about six hours. After about three hours, our third person bailed on us, and the project was supposed to be about half-finished.

With two people, we worked for about two hours before the rain forced us to stop, and we were still only half-finished.

We started early on Saturday, while the sun was shining. We were trying to get the gazebo built before the forecasted rain, but we hit some snags. First, one of the corner pieces was bent, so I had to hammer it out without further damaging it. Then, one of the pieces was poorly cut and didn't fit into its place.

I owe a big thank you to one of the guys in the tool-rental department at my local Home Depot. I explained what needed to be cut, asked for help, and he took the piece into the back room. Five minutes later, he came back with the piece, cut and cleaned, and wished me a good day.

No charge.

When the rain started to fall, we decided to take a break for lunch, hoping the showers would lighten. The weather got worse, and so we called it a day. No roof, but at least the superstructure was in place. We had already spent about five hours on the project.

On Sunday, we slept in. It was a long weekend, after all. We had a late breakfast and then got to work, putting up the roof. With just the two of us, it took nearly five hours, but nothing got broken and none of us fell from our ladders.

(But my feet were killing me.)

DW wanted a gazebo because the kids didn't like to eat outside, because of the bugs. We'll just see how this works out.

How did you spend your weekend?

Black and White Project: Week 20

Beer O'Clock: Flora Hall Brewing

Where Ottawa's Flora Street meets Bank Street, in the lower part of Centretown, an unassuming building has been transformed from a repair shop for cars, trucks, and motorcycles to the city's newest brewery.

From the front, very little has changed: fresh paint and new doors (although, the original shop doorways are still apparent). On the inside, however, a full-fledged brew pub with a bar, tables, and store. The fermentation tanks are clearly visible, toward the back.

Flora Hall Brewing opened its doors a little more than six months ago, and I finally made my way to it last week. On a sunny, early Friday afternoon, its centre door was wide open to welcome in the patrons. Already, several people were crowding the bar and a few tables were filled. The doors to the left of centre led me to the shop, where refrigerator cases displayed several varieties of cans and bottles through glass doors.

Because I was alone and because I had another place to be before making my way home, I didn't stop for a pint. Instead, I grabbed a few bottles and cans, made my purchase from the woman behind the bar (who told me how long the establishment had been open), and left.

I will be back.

At home, I tried my new-gotten gains. I started with the Brett Saison, which is a flavourful take on a classic farmhouse ale. I also poured myself their West Coast IPA and have to admit that while I enjoyed it, I found it less typical of a WC IPA: there were good hops and a nice, floral scent, but I would have liked to have had more fruit. And, while a WC IPA need not be cloudy, I have come to prefer that style.

When I opened the WC IPA, I was hosting my folks, so naturally I offered my father a beer. I held out the WC IPA and another, Flora Hall's East Coast IPA: because my father had had WC IPAs before, he chose the other.

When I cracked open his can and started to pour it into my father's glass, I was met with a beautiful aroma of ripe tropical fruit. This ale poured much like what I expected from the WC IPA, and I told my father, as I continued to top up his glass, that I thought he was in for a real treat.

He was blown away.

I didn't get a chance to try it, myself, until yesterday. Here's my review.

North East IPA (6.5% ABV)
Flora Hall Brewing
Ottawa ON

Appearance: cloudy, pale orange-grapefruit with a creamy-white head that settles thick and clings to the inside of the glass as the beverage goes down.

Lots of effervescence in the initial pour, with large pearls that cling to the inside glass but quickly dissipate.  The overall effect in the glass is a frothy grapefruit juice.

Nose: fresh fruit—peach and mango, with a touch of pear—and mild hops.

Palate: a creamy mouthful of grapefruit, mixed with slightly astringent hops, gave me a faintly sour impression. It's quite complex but leaves a gentle but lingering finish. It's like it makes to punch you but then stops, says it's kidding, and pats you on the shoulder.

Translation: it's a friendly, although cheeky, ale.

Overall impression: this is almost what I expected from the WC IPA but also with much more tropical fruit in the mouth. There are good hops that don't overpower and a good mix of fruit, and a pleasing finish that makes you want to drink more of it.

I don't want to say that the WC IPA isn't an enjoyable ale. I liked it and would easily recommend it. But given the choice between west and east, I'd reach first to the east.

Beer O'Clock rating: 4 

Now that we're into warmer weather and we can open our windows, the next time you're in Centretown, pop into the open doors of Flora Hall Brewing. I know I'll be back: I'm looking forward to seeing what else they have to offer.

Cheers!

Wordless Wednesday: From the Ground Up