First Vacation

It's my first day of vacation in 2020, though I use that word loosely.

Last Wednesday was a holiday in Québec, and so I had the day off. But my company also generously gives me a floater day off around that holiday, and I've chosen to use it today. My company provides yet another floater day to correspond with Canada Day, on Wednesday, and so I've applied it to tomorrow.

Starting this past Saturday, I'm enjoying a five-day long weekend. I don't return to work until Thursday, which is DW's and my 26th wedding anniversary, but because dining out is not an option these days, we've agreed to not book it off.

DW, making pancakes.

Currently, DW and I are in Algonquin Provincial Park, kayaking and camping on Grand Lake. In 2014, I told my family that I didn't want to camp anymore because I don't like sleeping on the ground, I like solid walls around me, and—with the exception of barbecues—I don't care to cook outdoors. But DW asked me to try one more time, so I'm considering this to be my anniversary gift to her.

Bugs included.

If I like it, who knows? Maybe she and I will relive our experience of paddling from Kingston to Ottawa, only in kayaks, instead of a long canoe?

That day that we arrived at the Chateau Laurier after a 10-day canoe odyssey.

Don't hold your breath.

But this is certainly our first vacation of the year and our first overnight getaway since the COVID-19 lockdown. Seeing that our vacation to Europe has been cancelled, we're going to have to get imaginative for future vacations. I still have 20 days to use up, and I'm considering taking Fridays off until September, to have long weekends all summer.

How about you? How are you going to spend your vacation time during this pandemic?

A Great Vintage

It was an idea I had in March, 2001.

When my first child was born, I decided that I wanted to celebrate, years down the road, when she would be able to share a drink with me. In Ontario, that meant that she would be legally able to buy and consume alcohol in 2020, when she was 19.

Of course, DW and I let her try booze, off and on, long before then. When she was about 5, we let her have a sip of wine. She didn't care for it. When we took a vacation to Italy, in 2009, we let her sip our wine, once again. She didn't mind it, so when we returned home, we'd occasionally pour her about an ounce of wine when we all sat down to holiday dinners (Christmas, Thanksgiving, Easter).

When she was in high school, we talked to her about underage drinking. We suspected that she would be invited to parties where alcohol would be involved. We let her know that experimenting with booze was a right of passage, and that if she was to be presented with alcohol, that we would be there for her if she ever drank too much or needed a lift home. We encouraged her to be open with us, that we wouldn't judge her.

She actually didn't drink at a party until just a couple of weeks before her 19th birthday. (She had tried some alcohol when she and her best friend travelled Europe, in the summer of 2019, when they were 18.)

In late 2003, I went shopping for a bottle of vintage port, hoping to find one from 2001. Vintage port is bottle-aged for two years or more before it is released. Also, not every year is declared a vintage year: the harvest must yield exceptional grapes and the Portuguese vintners do not like to have subsequent vintage years: maybe two years in a row can produce vintage ports, but rarely could you declare a vintage port three years in a row.

In 2001, which was an exceptional year, most port producers did not declare the year to be a vintage, but I did find one, by Cockburn's. When I found a bottle in the LCBO, I picked it up and placed it at the bottom of my wine rack, in my basement.

Every so often, I would check the bottle to ensure that none of the liquid made its way out of the top. With each inspection, I noticed more and more dust accumulating over the top. That was the only change that could be discerned from my inspections.

As my daughter's 19th birthday approached, last March, I reminded her that I had this bottle, and that on her birthday, I'd like to make a Brown Knowser video of us opening the bottle, sharing the first sips. She wasn't keen on being in a video (she doesn't often like having her picture taken) but she told me that she'd like to open the bottle with her grandma and grandpa over, so that we could share it with more people who matter.

Unfortunately, by the time that her birthday arrived, we were at the start of the COVID-19 pandemic and everybody was in lockdown. Her grandparents couldn't come over, and so she asked if we could wait until things improved and we could have company again.

Last Saturday, my folks came over to my house for the first time since February. It was a beautiful evening, so we set chairs at a safe distance in the back yard, got our propane fire pit started, turned on our fountain, and had a lovely visit.

About halfway into the evening, my daughter said, "Hey, can I open my bottle of port?"

"Of course you can," I said, "it's your bottle."

She asked me to open it and stated that she didn't want to document the occasion with photos or video. She just wanted to share the bottle with family.

Because we had all been drinking before then, we agreed that each of us just wanted a small glass. I pulled out our dessert wine glasses, which are also perfect for drinking port. I slowly poured equal measures but also decided to decant the rest of the bottle. Nineteen years of resting on its side was going to mean that there would be a lot of sediment.

As I poured, I could smell the rich, intense fruit. Cherries and plums, with a bit of toffee hit my senses. In the glass, the colour was a deep garnet. Not a speck of sediment made it into a single glass, nor in the decanter. About a half-cup of the fortified wine was wasted, about half of which was a silty sediment.

On the palate, rich cherries and prunes brought the mouth alive. This vintage port was at its prime, could have even held on for another year. I loved it but my main concern was to know what DD19 thought of it.

"I'm going to have to sip some more of it before I decide," she said. That was a good sign: whenever she sipped beer, she handed the glass back, saying, "Yup, that's beer." Her face screwed up, it was obvious she wasn't a fan.

As her port glass went down, she asked me, "Can I save the rest and invite my friends over tomorrow?"

"Of course, it's your bottle," I said again. "Can you save me one more glass when you and your friends enjoy it?"

She saved me two ounces.

I've decided to keep the bottle. Apart from the neck, which I cleaned off before pouring, it's still caked in dust and dirt from the sixteen-and-a-half years that it lay at the bottom of my wine rack. Like the first tooth that she lost, it's a milestone worth keeping.

The More You Know

This post is mostly directed to those of you who live in Ottawa with young kids. I hope that this situation applies to other cities.

With our city in Stage 2 of the COVID-19 lockdown, I am more stressed than ever when I'm out in public. I see so many people in stores who are not wearing protective masks and lots of people who do not respect the two-metre physical distancing. So when my youngest daughter had an issue where we needed to seek immediate medical help, not only was I worried about her condition but I was more worried about taking her into the hospital.

I don't like sitting in an emergency waiting room in the best of circumstances, but with COVID? Yikes!

Coming out of the experience (my daughter is better, by the way), I thought I would let those of you with similar fears know what to expect, should you need to take your young one to the Children's Hospital of Eastern Ontario (CHEO).

Photo: Rhonda McIntosh, CHEO Media House.
Used with permission.

First off, if you need to take your kid to CHEO, don't bring a mask. Passing through the emergency entrance, you are assessed immediately at the door. If you're wearing a mask, they ask you to remove it and they issue you a fresh medical mask. They ask you if you've experienced any symptoms or have been near someone who has. They ask you if you've crossed over into Québec. They ask you if you've experienced a runny nose, sneezing, coughing, and sinus irritation.

I told them that I suffer from seasonal allergies, and that I have those symptoms, but I'm fine when I take my allergy meds.

You are given a sticker that indicates that you have been assessed, and you are sent to the triage line, which was empty when we arrived at about 9:30 in the morning. We were met immediately by triage staff, who took my daughter's health card, weighed her, and took her temperature and blood pressure while asking the reason for her visit.

The staff placed a wrist band on my daughter and we were sent down the hall, toward the examining rooms and waiting area, but by the time we reached the end of the hall, my daughter's name was called and we were sent straight into an examination room.

A nurse came in within a couple of minutes and asked my daughter a bunch of questions related to her reason for coming in. She was asked if she had taken any medication and when she said she hadn't, was offered some for her pain.

There was a bit of a wait before the doctor came in, but the wait seemed shorter than had we waited in a common area, as had been the norm for previous visits. At one time, I was asked to leave the room so that the doctor could have a private conversation with my daughter (asking about drugs and alcohol, my daughter told me when I returned). The doctor ordered blood tests and I asked for a spot ultrasound, as was suggested by my daughter's private doctor (we had spoken to her over the phone, and it was she who told us to go to CHEO).

We waited in the examination room until we could be escorted to the imaging section. I learned that the examination room would be ours until we were finished, when it would be disinfected for the next patient. Walking through the halls, we saw few people but passed no one. Everyone had masks anyway, and the nurses even had face shields. I felt comfortable and assured that my daughter was in good hands.

The ultrasound was performed right away, and then we were asked to wait in the imaging room until the doctor said he was satisfied with the images. With his thumbs up, we were escorted back to our examination room, where a nurse was waiting to take the blood samples.

The longest period was after the blood samples. We were told that it would take about an hour for the results to be ready, and we were instructed to stay put. My daughter played some games on her smartphone and texted her friends; I edited videos from a weekend kayak trip and texted DW with our progress.

It took just over an hour for the doctor to come back. For our case, there was nothing serious and the doctor told us that we could go home. Had the results been different and had more testing been required, I believe that my daughter would have been treated with the same care and that thorough precautions would have been in place throughout the hospital.

(Actually, we've always had a great experience at CHEO. The care givers really have a child's best interest in mind and they work tirelessly to ensure that the kid is made to feel comfortable, and to assure the parents that their child is in exceptional hands.)

The barriers in the parking lot were up, and there was no charge to park. Ironically, with free parking, there were far fewer cars in the lot than when we had to press the button to get a ticket. (Ammendment: apparently, parking has become pay-access since June 29.)

No parent likes to be in a situation where their child needs medical attention. In this time of pandemic, we want to further protect our kids. But if you have to go to CHEO, you can rest assured that your visit will be met with safety measures in place.

Day of the Saint

If you live in Québec and you believe that Québec is a nation unto itself, today is Fête nationale du Québec.

I was born in Québec and I also work there, but it's not my 'national' day. That one comes exactly one week from today, on July 1.

But I will say "Happy Saint-Jean-Baptiste Day!"

It's a statutory holiday so I don't have to work. That's great news; however, during these days of a global pandemic, what am I supposed to do? I can't really go anywhere, unless, possibly, I take my kayak for a solo paddle.

I suppose I can do some chores around the house. That'll make DW happy. Or, perhaps, I can do some writing or make a Beer O'Clock review for my Brown Knowser YouTube channel.

I could also take my camera and find a place to capture images.

For my Québec friends and family who celebrate on this day, profites de ton jour de repos et rester en sécurité et en bonne santé!

So Long, Sir Ian

Image by source, fair use, Wikipedia.

I first saw Ian Holm on the big screen in Chariots of Fire, and soon after in Time Bandits and Brazil, but it wasn't until I watched the 1988 TV miniseries, Game, Set, and Match, based on the series by my favourite spy novelist, Len Deighton, that Sir Ian became my favourite actor.

Ian Holm was perfectly cast as the central character, Bernard Samson, the SIS British agent who must find a Russian double-agent within the organization. The series was brilliantly adapted for television and superbly acted by the well-rounded cast, including Mel Martin, Michael Culver, Michael Degen, and others.

Deighton went on to create two more trilogies, based on the Game, Set, and Match series: Hook, Line, and Sinker, and Faith, Hope, and Charity. A tenth book, Winter, sets up the city of Berlin—but from a German family's perspective, from 1899 to 1945—and introduces characters that are carried forward into the modern-day spy stories.

When the TV series aired, I was patiently awaiting the first book in the second series, Spy Hook, and as I read it, I could picture Ian Holm reprising the role of Samson as he pulls himself together after the crushing outcome that was set in the first trilogy (no spoilers, here). And indeed, I hoped that another TV miniseries would spawn from the new stories, and that Holm would once again play our hapless hero.

By the time I saw the movies Robin and Marian and Alien, I was already a huge fan of Sir Ian Holm, who passed peacefully away on June 19 at the age of 88. But I also delighted at seeing him in Kenneth Branagh's Henry V, Naked Lunch, Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, The Madness of King George, The Sweet Hereafter, The Fifth Element, and finally, the Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit films.

When Hamlet was released in 1990, I chose to go mainly because Holm was in it, playing the role of Polonius. Mel Gibson, in the lead role, was not a determining factor in me viewing the film (I went in spite of Gibson's appearance).

Last month, I decided to pick up Winter from my book shelves and read it again. Immediately after, I read Berlin Game and am currently halfway through Mexico Set. I have been putting Holm's face on Bernard Samson, and even imagined similar looks to Samson's father, Brian, in Winter.

I'm going to continue to read the entire series, again, only now I will do so with a bit of a heavy heart.

Source: unknown, via Twitter.

Photo Friday: Where's Ross?

Because I try to stay at home as much as possible, I'm not going out with my camera as much as I'd like to. Typically, I go out to run errands, so it's basically a get there, get what you need, and get home exercise.

Not much opportunity to go wandering with my camera.

And because my planned trip to Europe was cancelled, I find myself looking through old photos of vacations, reliving the good times gone by (hence, my reliving my trip to Scotland, 10 years ago, and an upcoming series of blog posts of a family vacation to Italy—stay tuned).

I was recently looking at vacation photos from September, 2010, when my family and I spent a week in New York City. As I clicked through my Google Album photos, I saw one photo that made me stop and almost click the trash can to delete it. The photo shows a billboard somewhere near Times Square that was showing what looks to be a live video shot of a crowd of people below.

"Why would I take that shot?" I asked myself. "Let alone, why keep it?"

I looked closer and then saw why. I was taking a photo of myself. Can you see me? (Don't scroll down until you do.) ▼

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Here I am:

I guess I'll keep it.

Happy Friday!

Throwback Thursday: Old Family Portrait

There was a time when we used to take our kids to Prince Edward Island for summer vacations. From 2006 to 2008, we would rent a cottage for a week and spend all day on Cavendish Beach, until we would take the kids for ice cream at Cows, pick up some fresh seafood, and cook an evening feast.

In 2008, we spent one afternoon at Avonlea Village, reliving the stories of Anne of Green Gables. And naturally, we had to get in period costume and pose for a family photo.

Guess which one of us didn't use sun screen on the beach?

Happy Thursday!

Wordless Wednesday: Rideau Canal

Newbie Mistakes

My fingers are killing me.

I know I've been writing about my kayak a lot over the past week, but considering that COVID-19 is keeping me from travel (my airline cancelled my September flight to Belgium), visiting with friends and family, or hanging out in bars, my weeks seem to be filled up with binging on TV, going for walks around my neighbourhood, the occasional bike ride, and kayaking.

Kayaking is relaxing. I had maybe done it a dozen times, before DW and I bought our own, and we've always enjoyed being out on the water. In the previous times where we've borrowed or rented the kayaks, we had only been out on the water for a very short time.

This Sunday was a first. We covered about 12 kilometres in under two-and-a-half hours, and it was great. It made me want to get back out on the water the very next day. Only, a handful of things prevented me from doing so, and it will likely be a few more days before I climb into my cockpit and start paddling again.

It all comes down to newbie mistakes.

In the past, DW and I have puttered around in kayaks. We spent nearly as much time in a craft, just getting used to it, as we did paddling around once we figured it out. We also didn't have a destination: we'd just cruise around the river, bay, or lake, exploring the wildlife, knowing that we'd eventually drift back to the shore or dock.

Sunday's paddle had a plan: head from Jessups Falls to Plantagenet, in northeastern Ontario, and back. We didn't know how long it would take but we planned three hours. Because I wanted this to be a workout as much as a recreational jaunt, I used the health app on my phone to record stats. For the most part, that meant to keep moving.

For much of this trek, I used my arms to pull my paddle toward me with each stroke. I should have focused on my form, slightly turning my body into each stroke and pulling with my torso, as well as my arms. If I had done that, my shoulders wouldn't have ached later that evening, and into Monday.

I should have worn my neoprene gloves. They serve two purposes: one, they protect your hands from the sun; two, and most importantly, they protect the crook of your hand between the thumb and index finger from abrasions and blistering. About halfway into our ride, I could see red spots where my paddle was rubbing me. By the time we reached Plantagenet, my hands were downright sore.

I also started gripping the paddle too tightly as we made our way back to Jessups Falls. I did it because when I held the shaft with a firm grip, it didn't rub on the areas that I feared were starting to blister. I noted that I had gripped the paddle firmly on the occasions when I decided to dig in and pass DW, but now I was hanging on for dear life to alleviate the pain.

And that's why my hands are killing me now. The pain is particularly acute when I hold my hand flat with the fingers pointing straight out. My hands also ache when I try to make a fist.

Wear gloves: loosen grip.

Finally, because of the late spring we've had this year, I have discovered that there's still plenty of pollen in the air and on the rivers. When I pulled my kayak out of the South Nation River, back at Jessups Falls, I could see a yellow film lightly coating the red deck of my kayak. And all Sunday night, into Monday, my sinuses made me suffer.

Allergy meds: I need to take allergy meds before and after a kayak ride.

DW and I have only owned our own kayaks for a couple of weeks, and we're making all kinds of rookie mistakes. Just as we're getting better each time at loading and unloading our kayaks and gear onto our car, We'll remember our gloves, improve how we stroke and hang onto our paddles, and make sure allergy season doesn't get the better of us.

I'm sore and suffering, but I still love my kayak. And I hope you don't mind if I share our adventures.

That's How It Goes

It was one of those weekends where, when I had time to relax and think about blog posts for this week, I should have actually gone to my computer and banged out those thoughts. But time got the better of me.

The weather for this part of June is unseasonably cooler than it should be. I actually put on a sweater, on Saturday, as DW and I started purging junk from our garage, to try to make some room where we can store our kayaks, out of the way. Since they were delivered, a few weeks ago, we've had them on the floor, on top of the bubble wrap that had encased them, and they are occupying the spot where one of our cars should be.

We're one of those couples who usually keep both cars out in the driveway, during the summer, anyway, as bikes, gardening carts, and other seasonal gear tend to spread out. But we figured that we'd make room for them now, before the autumn weather comes and we have to scramble to find spots.

Saturday was full of chores and errands, and by the time the evening came, I was too tired to write. And DW and I planned to rise early, on Sunday, to go on a little kayak expedition.

No writing on Saturday.

We were out of the house by 8:00, Sunday morning, with our kayaks on the roof of the car, heading for a friend's farm, near Plantagenet, along the South Nation River. We were there, last weekend, welcoming into his new digs (he only moved there at the beginning of June), and were hoping to get our crafts in the river, but after the tour of the farm grounds (I shared some photos in last week's Wordless Wednesday), the afternoon was almost at an end, and so we drove home without removing the kayaks from the roof.

So here we were, again, back at our friend's place, for a little breakfast with him and two other friends, who were visiting the farm for the first time. We ate from a safe distance, everybody constantly washing hands and only touching our own food.

After a few hours, DW and I said our goodbyes and drove about three kilometres, to Jessups Falls, where there is a conservation area with plenty of easy places to put our kayaks in the South Nation River. Our goal was to paddle from this area to Plantagenet, and back.

DW, as we passed our friend's farm from the South Nation River.

The trek took about two-and-a-half hours, and with my 360-degree camera mounted on a quick-access hatch, I recorded this little adventure. I've started editing some of the video footage and hope to have something worth sharing later this week.

By the time DW and I made it back to Jessups Falls, got the kayaks firmly mounted onto the roof, and drove home, it was after 4:30. We unloaded the Niro, made ourselves a bite to eat, chatted by video with yet another buddy, and then crashed.

On Saturday, I had a lot of ideas for blog posts this week, but when it came time to write something, late last night, my head didn't want to put those ideas to words. So this is all I could come up with.

Sorry about that, and if you actually read this post all the way to the end, thanks. Sorry for babbling, but sometimes that just how it goes.

Photo Friday: Long Verticals

When I replaced my old smartphone, in April, I was impressed with the quality of the photos that I was able to capture with the three rear lenses. And as I set up my phone, I configured the built-in camera to capture the entire screen area, known as full aspect.

Taking horizontally oriented shots, I was happy with the angle of view and how much I could fit in the frame. I saw the same results with vertically oriented shots, but when I wanted to share my images, I came across a problem.

I like to share my photos on Instagram. Sharing horizontal shots is no problem, as the entire image appears; but when I want to share a vertical shot, Instagram is severely limited, as the aspect ratio is 5:4.

I was aware of this shortfall with my old camera, with which I liked to shoot a 9:16 aspect ratio. Sharing verticallyally captured images, I would have to trim almost 20 percent off the image. But with my new phone (a Samsung Galaxy S10), vertically captured images in full-screen mode takes almost half the photo.

(I'm not a math wiz, so I don't know the exact numbers: if you do, please let me know in the Comments section.)

Now that DW and I are spending time in our new kayaks, I like to bring my smartphone along to capture images of our little adventures. If you saw yesterday's post, all of those photos were taken with my S10. One of my favourite shots, so far, was taken early Monday evening, when DW and I paddled from the Manotick boat launch to Watson's Mill, paddling around the southern tip of Long Island.

The time of day, just after 6, meant that the sun was on its way toward the horizon but it was still high enough to cast shadows over Watson's Mill. To capture the mill, I had to move close to shore and under a large tree, to place the sun in shade.

Some post-processing was also required. But I really liked the full image when I was done.

On Instagram, this photo is cropped such that the sun is out of the frame and the reflection of the mill on the water is cut off just at the tip of the chimney. Too much, in my opinion.

It looks like if I want to share the entire photo, I'll either have to share it on Twitter, on Flickr, or on The Brown Knowser. I guess I can live with that.

Happy Friday!

On the Water

It's something that DW and I have wanted for a long time.

Any time that she and I have been somewhere that kayaks were available to use, either through a resort or campsite, whether included with the cost of the resort stay or available to rent, we've taken advantage of them and gotten out on the water.

In 2013, DW and I packed up our kids, rented an ultralight canoe, and paddled the Rideau Canal system from Kingston to Ottawa. During that 10-day trek, we passed several people in kayaks, and more than a few times we would be passed by a kayaker, gliding gracefully past us as though we were standing still.

"Just imagine how quickly we could do this in a kayak," I told DW.

A couple of years ago, we attended a kayak test drive that was held by Trailhead, one of Ottawa's outdoor outfitters. We tried several crafts—some with a retractable skeg; others, with a rudder—but fell in love with a particular set of light touring kayaks. Unfortunately, our budget just couldn't handle the cost at that time, so we held off.

This year, DW was determined to get kayaks: "We've been talking about them for a long time and I want one before we're too old to enjoy them." DW had come into some money, recently, and said that this was the year that we'd commit.

We sought the advice of several people, including neighbours and folks on social media. We received great recommendations, and based on those we began doing some research. We decided on a couple of Canadian-made crafts, and we pulled the trigger a little more than a month ago.

Ten days later, we had our kayaks.

While we waited for our order to be delivered, we had more work to do: we had to order crossbars for the roof rails on our car; we had to order J-bars to hold our kayaks to the crossbars; we needed paddles, and once again researched and went shopping. We already had a throw line and PFDs, but we needed a bilge pump. We acquired headband flashlights, for occasions when we were on the water after sunset.

When we first budgeted for kayaks, I don't think we had really taken full stock of what we truly needed. More than $4,000 later, we were ready to hit the water.

Our maiden voyage started from the dock at the Chapman Mills Conservation Area, along the Rideau River, just before sunset. We paddled south, under the Vimy Memorial Bridge, and to the Jock River, just shy of where it flows under Prince of Wales Drive, and back.

What amazed DW and me immediately was how easy it was to control our Delta kayaks. Their design, which has neither skeg nor rudder, stays so straight. Though we didn't have the opportunity to test drive these crafts before buying them, they were a great choice.

Our next kayak ride was on a Friday morning, early enough to get some paddling in and make it back home before our work day began. This time, we put our kayaks in the Jock River, where we had turned around a couple of nights earlier. We had noticed that this small-boat launch (that is, for small boats—those that were rooftop-carried only) was easily accessible and not as crowded as the conservation area when we paddled up to it, and decided it was worth a try.

We put in and continued south, along the Rideau River, to see how far we were from the Long Island Lockstation, which is actually part of Nicolls Island on the north end of Manotick, immediately north of Long Island. We weren't that far, at all, and within about 10 minutes we had reached the bottom of the locks and the adjoining basin.

We decided to go around the northern tip of Nicolls Island and head up the western branch, to see how far we could go before we hit rapids and would be forced back. We paddled perhaps another 10 minutes before we could see a bend in the river and mild rapids. We probable would have been able to traverse these rapids, but about 100 metres before them, we encountered shallow water and rocks. I actually came upon one rock that stopped me in my tracks. We turned around and headed back to the car.

Our most-recent trip was back on the Rideau (we are 10 to 15 minutes from three launches, so it's an easy outing). This time, we drove into Manotick and put our kayaks in at the boat launch off Bridge Street (where the Santa Corona was launched in March). Again, heading south, we paddled around the southern tip of Long Island, to see how close we could get to Watson's Mill before barriers—warning of the drop of the dam—would force us to turn around.

On this outing, we encountered lots of large boats and their wakes, and our kayaks handled them like knife cutting through butter. Seven years ago, in our fully loaded canoe, we would have to turn toward the waves to avoid being tipped over.

Off the Rideau Canal channel, we passed the multi-million-dollar homes and made our way to the mill. As we saw the warning buoys, the water became calm. The large weeping willows protected us from wind, and we were easily able to stop and take photos.

We're hoping to take our kayaks further afield for some full-day trips. DW is looking at Barron Canyon, in Algonquin Park, and we've also planned to head to Perth, and paddle the Tay River. We have a friend who lives along the South Nation River, and we're going to paddle from Jessups Falls to Plantagenet (we planned to do that last weekend but ended up meeting up with our friend and visiting—from a safe distance, instead).

In the days of COVID-19, where maintaining a safe physical distance is what the cool kids are doing, DW's and my love of cycling and kayaking will ensure that we don't get too close to anyone.

Wordless Wednesday: Down on the Farm

Near the Breaking Point

This week will mark three months since the global pandemic. And, as each week goes by, I feel more and more that I'm starting to buckle under the stress, that my mental and physical well-being is reaching the breaking point.

I'm quick to anger, especially when those around me play fast and loose with social-distancing guidelines. If I go shopping, I find that I can get so stressed that I fear that I'm going to snap. If anyone gets within three metres of me, my heart races as adrenaline flows through me. If somebody gets two metres from me, I vocalize my need for them to stay back.

And if anyone gets less than two metres away from me, I get pretty hostile. If that person isn't wearing a mask, I practically get in a stance as if I'm ready to do battle.

One time, in a grocery store, when someone was pushing her cart against the one-way direction that the store had clearly defined, coming toward me, I raised my voice, urging the shopper to turn around. As she continued toward me, I picked up a can of tinned fruit, ready to pelt it at her if she didn't stop and turn around.

Thankfully, for the both of us, the store manager showed up and turned her around.

The other week, while waiting in line, outside a grocery store, I was with several people, standing at the marked lines to keep us apart. The sidewalk that ran around the building was, at most, a metre and a half, and cars parked up to the sidewalk: if a driver nosed up over the sidewalk, the width of the sidewalk shrank. People who walked to get in line would walk around the cars, in the parking lot, to get to a safe spot in the line.

Wouldn't you know it that some elderly man, with a grumpy look on his uncovered face that said "I don't give a fuck about any of you," walked along the sidewalk, passing those in line. Not only did he not try to keep his distance, moving as closely to the parked cars as he could, but he tried to occupy the middle of the sidewalk, forcing people to flatten themselves against the wall.

When he was about four metres, heading toward me, I spread my arms wide, pointed to a gap between cars, and in a loud, determined voice, said, "Sir, you can't walk here. You have to go around."

This old prick, who was carrying a cane, began to swing the cane from side to side, as if he were cutting a path through an overgrown jungle. He neither slowed his pace nor tried to move around me.

And so, I had to join the others who flattened themselves against the wall. As he passed me, I said, "You're a fucking asshole."

Undeterred, he made his way to the back of the line. Zero fucks given.

I joined DW in our local Costco, and was shocked that people squeezed by each other, stood side-by-side at the refridgerator doors, and how so few wore masks. I cursed the whole time that we were in there.

It was the first and last time that I'm going into Costco until the pandemic subsides or a vaccine is found.

The mere thought of going shopping now stresses me out to the point that I just don't want to be around anybody. With the warmer weather, it feels that no one is taking this health risk seriously.

DW and I have started riding our bikes again, choosing routes that will see very few people. We've also purchased kayaks, so we can get even further away from people while still enjoying the great outdoors. Plus, my kayak is 12'10", which means that if someone gets too close while I'm carrying it to the water's edge, I can spin around, ensuring they come near me at their peril.

Where's that old man now?

Be safe. Stay a safe distance from others, and wear a mask to show that you care about the health of those you encounter.

And watch for the madman with the cane.

BLM

Last week was awful.

Two weeks ago, when a murderous Minnesota police officer willfully ended the life of George Floyd, it showed the world, once again, the deep-seeded racism that continues around the world, but specifically in the United States. The protests that followed were expected, but the brutality of police and the National Guard, spurred on by the deranged, orange man-baby who occupies America's highest seat, was simply disgusting.

It was too much to bear.

Many times, last week, I was tempted to say something, to join in the outrage. But I felt that I couldn't articulate my thoughts into meaningful words. Instead, I remained silent but listened, read, and learned.

As far as The Brown Knowser was concerned, I didn't want to write anything last week. I'm still of the mind to not say much (better to be quiet and be thought a fool than to open your mouth and remove all doubt...). Instead, I escaped by remembering happier times, 10 years ago.

On social media, I kept fairly quiet, only occasionally retweeting other people's thoughts, voices, and experiences that I thought poignant or pertinent.

As far as taking action, I'm almost ashamed to say I didn't do much. DW participated in a peaceful march, downtown, last Friday. I donated $100 to the Toronto branch of Black Lives Matter. These are small gestures but we continue to stand up for justice.

I don't want to say more. I feel that I don't have the right because I come from a position of privilege. But I'm still listening, still learning.

Last week was awful, and for some parts of the U.S., it will continue to be awful, as long as justice for those robbed of their basic civil rights—and their lives—continues.

Be safe. Be good to one another.