Pooched

I'm going to be miserable for the next few days, possibly weeks.

Do you remember that camera I purchased a couple of months ago? I pooched it.

It was a silly mistake, one that, in retrospect, the designers should have taken into consideration. You see, my Insta360 One R video camera is waterproof up to five metres. I've only taken it underwater twice: the first time was when I was chasing turtles, as DW and I were kayaking along the Mississippi River, near Pakenham. I stuck the camera into the river but the dense growth of underwater plants prevented me from seeing much.

Still, it was cool that I could plunge my camera into water without a care.

My Insta360 One R mounted onto my kayak, on the Mississippi River.

The second time that I placed the camera under water was last Friday, on the Madawaska River, near Burnstown. And this time, things didn't go as planned.

Because I hadn't used the camera in nearly a week, I thought it would be a good idea to plug it into one of the Niro's USB ports, to charge up to its fullest. When we reached the kayak launch area at Burnstown Beach, I saw that the charge had completed, and so I unplugged the camera and snapped on the waterproof cover, which keeps the charging port and microSD card dry.

DW and I paddled just a short distance when I spied two turtles jump off a partially submerged tree and into the Madawaska. Here, the water was clear and there was no underwater growth, so I extended the selfie stick and plunged the camera nearly a metre below the surface.

When I pulled the camera back out, I pressed the button to stop recording, and noticed that the blinking, red recording light would not shut off. I pressed the button a second time, and then a third time, but there was no response. Is was then, as I looked a little closer, that I noticed the cover to the charging port was slightly ajar. When I touched it, it fell open and drops of water flowed out.

And then the light went out.

I pressed the button a second time, and to my relief, the small display showed the Madawaska River. I thought I was lucky, so I tried to start recording again.

No response.

I tried a second time, and when that didn't work I thought it was best to shut the camera off. When I pressed the power button, the red light returned but remained solid, which is not the state that indicates it's recording.

I could not get the camera to respond to anything, but after a minute the light went out and the screen went black.

I decided to not touch the camera any more. I left the cover door open, to let air get in and help the camera dry, and DW and I continued our paddle.

When we returned to Burnstown Beach, after paddling to a dam, about five kilometres downstream, and back, I carefully placed the camera in the back of the car, and when we returned home, I took the modules apart, removed the microSD card, and placed them all in a sealed container, with rice, hoping that the rice would absorb all of the moisture.

This may have been mistake number two.

The next morning, I pulled the modules and data card out of the rice and began to reassemble them. I noticed that a grain of rice had become stuck between two of the battery contact points. As I swept the grain away, I noticed that it was moist and had some green colouration from where it touched the contact points. I took a tissue and wiped the contact points, and continued building the camera.

I tried turning it on, figuring that it must have had enough charge in it. Nothing happened, so I plugged the camera, once again, into a charger. The red light came on, indicating that it was charging, and I sighed a bit of relief.

And then I heard a sizzling sound. Mistake number three.

I immediately unplugged the camera and the red light went out. I retrieved the box in which the camera came, and searched the instruction manual for some troubleshooting advice. In the box was a small ziplock bag with a piece of paper and two silica gel packets. The paper said that if there was suspected moisture, to place the modules in the bag, with the packets. They would turn from blue to red when moisture was taken from the camera.

I cursed, having forgotten about this bag. I shouldn't have added the camera to rice.

I now disassembled the camera, yet again, and this time I could smell smoke on the core module. My heart sank but I sealed up the bag with my fingers crossed.

More than 12 hours later, I opened the bag, the packets now a pinkish-red. The moisture was out of the camera but it was too late. Reassembling the camera for the last time and plugging it in, no light came on the camera. I pressed the Power button: nothing. I left it for a couple of minutes, still plugged in, but nothing happened.

The camera is pooched.

Less than two months after receiving the camera, it's now useless. I'm going to contact Insta360 to see what they can do: my fingers are crossed but my hopes aren't high.

Yeah, I'm going to be miserable for some time to come. I loved that little camera. In the short time that we were together, we had a lot of fun.

Photo Friday: Cinque Terre in Prisma

It has been a long time since I played with the filters in the photo-editing app, Prisma. In fact, I was considering removing the app from my smartphone because the tool has limited the number of free filters and I find that I'm using it less and less.

I like applying effects to some of my photos but I don't like to overuse effects. They become boring after a while.

I began following a local weatherman on Instagram after he got more and more into his photography. I would find myself liking almost every photo that he posted. But then he discovered an app that applies motion to his images, such as moving the clouds or putting the flowing water into motion. It was great, at first, and I would show my appreciation by liking the image.

But then I found that he applied this motion effect to every one of his photos, and I found that the effect started taking away from the natural beauty of the still image. I stopped liking the photos, and soon I wouldn't even pause to look at his shots. It's as though he's relying on the app to make his photo pop.

It's too much, I find.

The same was for me and Prisma. I found that the more I used it, the less I liked my images, and so I slowed down, and eventually stopped.

Because my travel has been greatly curtailed, as it has for most of us during this pandemic, I find myself looking at photos of trips gone by. I recently went back to 2004, before I had a D-SLR, when DW and I joined some friends in Italy. My photos were captured with my Minolta X-700, on 35mm film.

When my eyes fell on the small seaside town of Manarola, in the Mediterranean region of Cinque Terre, Italy, I sighed, thinking that the multicoloured buildings, set into the hillside, made for a natural painting. My photo was good, but because it was shot with an overcast sky, the colours of the building didn't pop as they did in photos I saw when DW and I were planning our trip. It's hard to take a bad photo in Cinque Terre, but my photo wasn't great.

And then I remembered Prisma, the app that, only days earlier, I thought about removing from my smartphone. What if I ran this 35mm photo through the app, I asked myself.

I used the Watercolor filter. What do you think?

Maybe I'll keep the app a little bit longer.

Happy Friday!

Beer O'Clock: Globetrotting Without Leaving Home

In a few weeks, I would have been heading on vacation through Europe, had a global pandemic not gotten in the way. DW and I were supposed to travel through Belgium, the Netherlands, and all over Germany, with a couple of bicycle trips along the way. I was also going to visit some of the breweries in these countries, tasting the various beer styles of these great countries.

Instead, we're stuck at home, and I can only look back on vacations gone by, and sigh.

I can't wait to start travelling again, globetrotting around the world. In the meantime, I'll just have to drink locally crafted brews (hey... that part isn't so bad).

Fortunately, thanks to the good folks at Spearhead Brewing Company, I can virtually enjoy some flavours from around the world with their Globetrotter Series of unique craft ales.

To start their series—which began a couple of weeks ago—Spearhead went to two places: the UK and Germany.

Their August selection is called India Wheat Ale and is a blend of a classic IPA, which originates in jolly ol' England, and a German Hefeweizen. And, for full disclosure, I have to say that the kind Marketing Manager (and Director of Fun), Amanda, sent the samples that I reviewed. Thanks, Amanda!

Let's take a closer look:

India Wheat Ale (6% ABV, 55 IBU)
Spearhead Brewing Company
Kingston ON

Appearance: I don't usually comment on the appearance of the can or label, but seeing a stamp of India threw me a bit. I get that Spearhead wants us to virtually travel the world, but IPAs weren't made in India; rather, they were brewed in the UK and shipped off to the troops, in the British colony. The bitter hops ensured that the beer would last for the length of the voyage. But I'm splitting hairs. Suffice to say that this is a British-German mashup of styles.

In my glass, however, I see the golden amber of a classic IPA, with the slightly unfiltered haze of a Hefeweizen. The white head is foamy, bubbly, and pours thick, but settles to a dense lace.

Nose: ripe banana that I typically find with a good Hefeweizen, with a bit of malt coming through. Almost like banana bread. It's a beautiful aroma.

Palate: the banana carries through into the mouth and is accompanied with a flinty mineral that I associate with this German style of wheat beer. It's bright and bold. There's only a slight note of fruit, coming from the mango puree that went into the making of this mashup (hey, that's where the India connection comes in!). The lemon drop and warrior hops come next, adding to the spirit of the IPA, and the finish is a unique and balanced flavour. The mineral bitterness gives a long and pleasing finish.

Overall impression: the flavours in this ale are unique, with the classic malt and bitter hops of a classic IPA, mixed with the banana and flinty mineral of a Hefeweizen. India Wheat Ale delivers both, perfectly balanced and with an added touch of mangoes. This ale is a great, late-summer treat.

Beer O'Clock rating: 🍺🍺🍺 (scroll to the bottom of the right-hand margin to see the legend for my rating)

Spearhead has made a solid ale that makes me think of travel and I look forward to seeing what they come up with for the next beer in the Globetrotter Series, which is due out in October (hmm... Germany has already been covered...). The series will introduce a new brew every two months, wrapping up in June, 2021.

Hopefully, we can all travel freely by then.

Cheers!

Wordless Wednesday: St. Lawrence Paddle

Exhausted

I think it's a sign that I'm getting old.

On Saturday, after learning that the forecast for the region in which DW and I were set to go camping involved severe thunderstorms, leading us to cancel our reservations, we decided that we would take our kayaks back to the St. Lawrence Seaway, to paddle from Ivy Lea Bay to Hill Island, and back. The weather for this area on this day promised to be perfect, and it was.

We paddled for a little more than four hours through some swift-moving currents and some challenging swells, only to paddle upstream to return to our vehicle. When we returned home, my shoulders were so sore that I even agreed to do yoga with DW to stretch out my body.

Neither of us did much more on Saturday night.

On Sunday, the weather in Ottawa was still decent, although hot and humid, and DW convinced me to cycle to Manotick, which is only about 10 kilometres away from home. I've only been on my bike a handful of times this summer, so a 20K ride is about my speed. We also stop at the Morning Owl coffee shop when we reach Manotick, and the breakfast and coffee is a bit of an incentive.

When we returned home, I was hot and tired, but my lawn needed mowing. Though I knew I was going to work up a sweat, I decided to shower before I pulled out the mower.

DW and I have been talking about our aging home computer and how it has been sluggish over the past couple of months. Even though we don't keep any files on it—choosing to store everything on external drives—it takes a long time to process photos and video. Especially, video. We agreed that our system was getting long in the tooth, so before I mowed the lawn, we went shopping for a newer, faster laptop.

Shopping at lunchtime on a Sunday is a stressful endeavour for me. I was tired by the time we returned home, but that lawn wasn't going to cut itself.

It takes about an hour to mow the front lawn, which is shared by the neighbour whose front step faces mine, the narrow strip to the side of my other neighbour's house, and my backyard. By the time I was finished, sweat was dripping from my forehead and into my eyes, and my clothes were stuck to my skin. Back in the house for a second shower, but when I redressed, I was still sweating profusely.

And I was spent.

I had no energy. For the rest of the day, I sat and processed the video footage from our kayaking trip, closing my eyes and nodding off every once and a while. Thankfully, I had a blog post prepared for Monday: my brain was running down.

There was a time, not too long ago, when this kind of activity wouldn't have slowed me down. Now, in my mid-50s, it's exhausting. On Sunday, I also had plans to record a beer review for my Brown Knowser YouTube channel. I didn't even have the energy to drink a beer, opting to consume water and juice, instead.

When I don't have energy to drink beer, it's serious.

I've decided that I've put off this review for too long, so this Thursday, I'll actually have it written up to post here, on The Brown Knowser blog.

As long as I'm not exhausted.

Getting My Font On

What about this font?

I'm not a fan of the new Blogger.

The new look and feel for the behind-the-scenes tools takes a bit of getting used to and I find that the interface makes it more difficult to control, which I'm sure is not Blogger's intent.

As some of you who are regular readers of The Brown Knowser may have noticed, the size of the font has varied from post to post. It's settled down, somewhat, for the last few posts, but that's only because I've given up.

Before the new layout of Blogger, I would write my posts using Verdana as the font and setting the size to Large. The layout didn't allow me to specify a precise font size and I thought that Large was a bit too big, but a couple of regular readers told me that the Normal size was too small and they had trouble reading it.

I aim to please.

In the new layout, if I specify the body text font size as large, it appears as big as the title of the post, and that's just no good. I tried going into the custom settings, where you can now specify a font size in points, so I changed the Normal size, which was 12 points, to 14 points, and finally, to 16 points. I also changed the font from Verdana to Arial.

Sometimes it works; other times, it doesn't.

How does it look to you?

I can read it fine, but I could also read the old size before I made it larger. I'm afraid to say that if this font is a bit too small for you, I suggest you magnify it through your browser.

There are enough things with the new format of Blogger that annoy me: font size just isn't going to be one of them.

Photo Friday: Another Sunset

It was just last week that I lamented how I don't get out to photograph sunsets very often, this year. The very day I wrote that blog post, I went out and shot one.

In truth, I hadn't set out to capture the Senate building (formerly, the old Ottawa train station) and the Chateau Laurier as the sun sank below the horizon. I was attending my first Ottawa Photography Meetup shoot since January. Five photogs gathered—at a safe distance—to capture images of a model as she struck dance poses around the NAC. If you saw this week's Wordless Wednesday, you saw some of my work.

But as she changed outfits, I was drawn to the sunset.

I was surrounded by beauty that night.

Happy Friday!

The Storm Atop Tantallon

One of the hardest parts about writing Gyeosunim, the sequel to Songsaengnim: A Korea Diary, is that I'm working with three separate timelines and I'm trying to make them fit, so that they make sense. One of the storylines, which is set in 1988, seems to be the most difficult to work in because it's a separate story: it fits in because Roland is remembering a stressful time before the accident that the readers learned about in the first novel.

One of the loose ends that I left in Songsaengnim happens when the main character, Roland Axam, talks to his friends about his previous career. I talk about it, and then don't bring it back. In Gyeosunim, I come back to it. As I've mentioned in previous blog posts, Roland Axam is one of my longest-running characters in my fiction, having been written about in lots of short stories and in a spy trilogy. All of that work has been lost over the past 30 years but I haven't forgotten it. In my new novel, Roland reflects on the year 1988 and how it changed his life, just as the accident of 1995 changed his life, and his experiences in Korea, in 1998 deeply affected him.

A third time line, in 2019, brings Roland back to Korea to tie up some other loose ends. It's always unfinished business with Roland.

A couple of months ago, I shared an excerpt from the prologue to Gyeosunim, which was unfinished until last week. I had wanted to introduce all three timelines, but didn't know how I wanted to include the 1988 timeline. Now, I have.

The prelude begins with a storm that is threatening to blow in on Roland. It now ends with a fully raging storm. Here's the rough draft:

Friday, June 3, 1988

The storm was upon us and there was nowhere to go. Nowhere but down, and that was not an appealing option.

Near-total darkness, save for the blinding flashes of lightning that offered only snapshots of the battlement and the man in front of me, his arm outstretched, the gun glinting in the torrent of rain. The wind was fierce, too, coming in pounding blasts: this was no place to be. At any moment, either of us could be swept over the side. He, over the wall and down more than 15 metres, into the grassy trench that ran from cliff edge to cliff edge, like an empty moat. Me, off the end of the battlement, down the sheer cliff, and onto the jagged rocks below, a drop of about three times as far and much more deadly as what could befall my assailant.

I had been born in North Berwick. It now appeared that I would die here, too. At Tantallon Castle, my favourite landmark of the whole area.

“Let’s talk about this,” I said, “you don’t have to do this.”

“Oh, on the contrary, I have no choice but to do this. You see, neither of us should be here. We should be in Berlin. You’re supposed to be in the East. I’m trying to get you back to the West.” Another flash of lightning. He was still standing about five metres from me. “I’m afraid I’m going to fail in bringing you back.”

“But how will you explain my body turning up in Scotland? In my hometown, no less.”

“By the time they find your unidentifiable body, there will be no ties to me. Everyone will think you’re in East Berlin. Now, slowly, with your hands where I can see them, move toward me.”

“I don’t think so. If you’re going to kill me, I’m not going to make it easy for you to dispose of my remains.” I could see just behind my assailant the dimmed headlights of a car pulling up near the outer gate before the castle. With the wind and rain, the sound of its engine was inaudible. It had taken them long enough. The man in front of me hadn’t noticed what was going on behind him. He was focused on me.

“Foolish. Yes, you can make it difficult for me but the result is the same. You’ll still be dead. Goodbye, Roland.”

The lightning must have struck the castle. Everything went painfully white and I was temporarily blinded. The gale-force wind struck the battlement at the same time that the thunder pounded my ears. I had to shift my feet to maintain my balance, as did the man with the gun. A second flash and crack immediately followed, but it wasn’t another lightning strike. I felt the blow against my chest as I saw the gunman lose balance and fall over the battlement. I dropped to my knees and then fell forward, onto my face, when everything went black.

Wordless Wednesday: Ottawa Dancer

 

Model: Maria Michelle Palomino

Not Going Over

 It was about this time, in 2016, when I vowed to never set foot in the United States again.

 Back then, when everyone was sure that the Orange Man-Baby would never become the next president of that country, I had seen the divisiveness and racism that had always existed explode to the forefront and I told myself that I had had enough with my neighbours to the south. I had a few very close American friends with whom I would still hold dear to my heart, but I was done with venturing across the border.

The closest that I came to that border was on August 10 of last year. DW and I had travelled to the Eastern Townships in Québec and had cycled from Ayer's Cliff to Stanstead, a town that lies directly on the Canada-U.S. border.

Smack-dab on the border sits Haskell Free Library and Opera House. As its name implies, it is part public library and part theatre, with seating for 400 people. It is open to both Canadian and Americans, though the entrance is on the American side of the border. Canadians who wish to enter the building can do so freely, without passing through border checkpoints or showing a passport, but must stay on the sidewalk that leads to the entrance.

Step off the curb, onto the street, and American border patrol agents will jump on you.

When DW and I arrived in Stanstead, we were famished so we ordered a take-out pizza from Pizzeria Steve and ate it on the benches at Place Henry Seth Taylor, a small square that is about 500 metres from the Canadian border services. We then cycled around the streets near the border and ended up at Haskell Free Library and Opera House.

Our bikes at Place Henry Seth Taylor.

 

DW wanted to check out this unique building but I said that I wouldn't cross the border, indicated by stones across the lawn and a small obelisk that named the two countries. Instead, I used my 360-degree video camera, on its selfie stick, to venture over the line.

DW changed her mind about crossing over, and we cycled back to Ayer's Cliff.

 

There's a new election coming soon, but my resolve to avoid the United States stands strong. There are a lot of great countries out there.

I'm just not going over.

Date Night

 It was our first date since the pandemic, if not of the whole of 2020.

Since the lockdown, I've been living my life between stages 1.5 and 2, even though my province is at stage 3—which I maintain is far too early, as I've written before. I tend to stay at home or close to the neighbourhood, and rarely to I do the shopping. DW and I get out in our kayaks, which is a great social-distancing activity, and we have had friends and family in our backyard, where everyone sits at a safe distance from one another.

So it was a big leap for me, this weekend, when I agreed to go out with my wife for dinner and live music.

We went to the Brookstreet Hotel, in Kanata, where they feature a Backyard Dinner and Live Music promotion. On the lawn that is on the opposite side of the underground parking lot from the hotel, a large white tent is erected. Open on three sides, it offers lots of ventilation. Tables are spread well apart and the maximum capacity is 85 people. The servers all wear protective masks and gloves.

Our friend and Blues artist extraordinaire, JW Jones, had just released his latest CD on Friday—it was recorded and produced completely under lockdown, through video conferencing—and was celebrating with a live show. His band members, bassist Jacob Clarke and drummer Will Laurin, were with him and all three were behind plexiglass barriers to protect the people in the front tables.

 

When we arrived, I saw a table at the opposite end of the stage, at the out-most edge of the tent, and requested that DW and I be seated there. As all seats faced toward the stage, we both had a great view of the stage and yet I could feel the light breeze blowing into the tent, and so my anxiety was fairly low—we were upwind of the other diners.

Dinner started with a mixed-greens salad with prosciutto, watermelon, and cantaloupe—I haven't eaten cantaloupe in decades because of an allergic reaction: I gave it a try and was delighted that I didn't react at all (though the sweet, luscious taste brought tears to my eyes). The main course was chicken, scalloped potatoes , and vegetables with a beautiful jus. Dinner was followed with a summer berry Charlotte, with raspberry mousse, fresh raspberries, blueberries, blackberries, and currants, and lady fingers.

To top that off, just before JW's first set ended, everyone was given a glass of sparkling wine. When the set ended, Brookstreet owner and Ottawa high-tech giant, Terry Matthews, had us raise our glasses to JW and his band.

During the break, JW was selling his new CD, Sonic Departures, among other merchandise. I donned my face mask to pick up his latest release and chat with him and the band, with whom we know through the #613FutureBlues event that my drummer daughter has participated in for the past four years. My daughter was even a guest drummer at one of the band's shows, last fall.

It was a great evening.

This was my first time in a restaurant since the beginning of March and our first live show since the lockdown (on March 13, when the lockdown was announced, DW and I had a date night planned to see Sarah Slean and Hawksley Workman, but the show was cancelled at the last minute). And while I've been reluctant to venture out in public because of COVID-19, I have to admit that the folks at Brookstreet Hotel did everything they could to make this event stress-free and enjoyable. DW and I would certainly do this again.

The next Brookstreet Backyard Dinner and Live Music event is August 20. Other nights, so far, run on August 27, 28, and 29. If you have the chance, go.

Oh, and pick up a copy of JW's CD. Make that, all of his CDs. You're welcome.

Photo Friday: The Best Sunset

I haven't taken many sunset photos this year.

I am reminded of this fact every time I look out at a glorious sunset, in awe, and wish that I had my camera with me. Or that I was in a place that would do the sunset justice. Or that I wasn't driving. Or... or... or... .

The best sunset photo that I took was on August 13, 2014. My family and I were in Paris, and we decided to go to the Louvre in the evening, about an hour before it closed. The logic was that the majority of the crowds will have gone home, giving us a better chance to get close to the Mona Lisa.

Everyone wants to see Mona Lisa.

We entered the Louvre through the eastern entrance and through the inner courtyard. As we passed into the second, larger courtyard, where the glass pyramid stands, I was met with a beautiful sunset, casting the pyramid in shadow. The nearby fountain let water dance before the orange glow, created from a storm cloud that was making its way to the horizon but staying above the sun.

I told my family to go ahead. I would catch up with them.

The Mona Lisa was a disappointment, by comparison.

Happy Friday!

Throwback Thursday: Better Summers

Today's Throwback Thursday doesn't go back that far: it's from only a year ago.

The summer of 2019 was much better. DW and I travelled to Montreal for weekend getaways. We also went to the Eastern Townships of Québec, to cycle between the small towns and marvel at the scenery, and enjoy the food and beverages that the small, family-run restaurants and breweries had to offer.

I also often found myself downtown, among the crowds, photographing the city.

One year ago, tomorrow, I sought a spot to capture the sound and light show of the international fireworks festival.

This year, there are no fireworks. Nothing to bring people together. I haven't been out to any festivals or other social outings.

This evening, I'm heading out to my first photography meetup with a model since January, since before we kept away from each other. There are only a couple of us attending this meetup: it's outdoors, and we'll all respect the two-metre distancing.

Because, next year, I hope the summer festivals will come back.

Here's to better summers.

Wordless Wednesday: Mississippi Reflections

Junk Collecting

Pens.

Return-address stickers for envelopes.

Holiday greeting cards.

Calendars.

Key chains.

Note pads.

Fridge magnets.

Tote bags.

Mittens.

Socks.

It's got to stop.

Every year, DW and I—like so many people—make donations to various charitable organizations: the Red Cross, Heart & Stroke, the United Way, Plan Canada, CHEO, World Wildlife, Canadian Diabetes Society, Ottawa Food Bank, and many, many more worthwhile charities. We pick and choose a handful of charities each year, give what we can, and then choose another handful the next year and repeat the process.

We can't give to every charity every year, but we do our best to spread our donations around.

We never expect anything in return: we believe that these organizations should put every penny that they can toward the cause, including paying the hard-working people who work for these not-for-profit organizations.

Of course, once we give, we expect that we are entered in their databases so that they can contact us down the road to remind us that the cause is still just and for us to give what we can. A call for help is reasonable.

Lately, however, we are receiving huge envelopes, stuffed thick with many papers. Some envelopes warn the letter carriers and recipients to not bend them. And, more and more, some envelopes are stuffed with... junk.

Because these charitable organizations need to operate on thin margins, the so-called 'gifts' are of dollar-store quality, or lower. The pens are of cheap plastic and work for a short period of time, if at all. The key chains use poor-quality metals and feature tacky images. The calendars are small and feature images that just don't appeal to us.

Socks? Really? Like I'd actually wear them?

Of all the items that are sent from these charities, we might make use of the notepads. But because we also receive endless notepads from real-estate agents in our neighbourhood, we find ourselves flush with stationery, and so a lot of these pads end up in the paper-recycle bins, unused.

I use the tote bags to collect garbage, and they go out with the rest of my trash.

One of the charities also affix a nickel to the correspondence, and I simply peel the coin from the paper (before I put it in the shredder—it has my name and contact info on it) and put it in my pocket. Considering how many people this organization must send these nickels to, they must surely spend more on these coins than many people give.

Save the nickel. Put the money toward the people who really need it.

The junk that accompanies the call for donations is actually working against the charity, for me. Whenever we receive a thick package, filled with items that I suddenly find myself burdened with their disposal (pens, stickers, and key chains are destined for landfill), I am less inclined to want to send cash to the charity. I feel like contacting the organizations and saying, "Listen. Obviously, if you're buying all of this junk and spending more money on postage, you don't need my money. Please stop sending me anything more than a simple letter, with a return voucher and envelope. If you continue to send items that I neither need nor want, you're off my donation list for five years."

Maybe, I should just tell these charities to stop sending me correspondence of any kind. After all, they're already on my own list of organizations that I regularly give money. I've never used the return form and envelope to send my donation. I just go to their online site and give.

What about you? Do you find that you're collecting junk from organizations? What have you done to stop it? Leave a comment.

Now, excuse me: I have to take out the trash.

Out Front

For many years, I've never felt obligated to open my front door when the doorbell rings. Unless I'm expecting someone, I've often been faced with solicitors who leave me feeling disturbed for answering the bell for nothing.

I don't buy from anyone who I didn't ask to come to my home. Period.

When we first moved into our home, DW and I placed signs near the doorbell that clearly indicated that solicitors were not welcome but we often found that the sign was ignored. Yet, because we had a blind that covered the large window on our door, neither the visitor nor we could see who was at the door, so we inevitably opened it up, only to politely but firmly tell the person or persons to go away.

A few years ago, when our blind became yellowed, we replaced it with a one-way reflective film. Whenever anyone came to our door, they would see a mirror-like reflection of themselves, while we could clearly see who was there. The only time that someone outside could see us was when it was nighttime and we had our entrance and living-room lights on. I would strive to keep these lights off unless we absolutely needed them, and so we could safely view strangers without the need to open the door.

When a solicitor would be at the door, we would simply ignore them, knowing that they were unaware of being shunned.

A couple of weeks ago, I used some of my Aeroplan miles to acquire a Google Nest Hello doorbell. It takes our privacy from unwanted visitors to a whole new level. It also is a bit of a PITA*.

It took about an hour to install, including the time required to watch the installation video (I watched it twice to make sure I had it down pat). I also ended up having to chisel out a recess in our door frame to make room for the connector extenders. And I learned that my doorbell is not wired to its own circuit: I had to kill the power to the entire house while I hooked up the device to our electrical system.

Nest smartphone app.

The doorbell now has a motion sensor that notifies me, through my smartphone, when motion is detected, when a person shows up on my front porch, or when someone rings the doorbell. DW has also connected to the device, so she can also see who's at the door. The built-in video camera also records the activity for future viewing.

We've already taken advantage of our new doorbell when two solicitors, arriving together and donning bright-red vests, pressed the button. DW was at home, watching TV; I was in Pakenham, capturing images of the Five Span Bridge. Both of us received a notification and were able to see the two young men. One of them pressed the doorbell and then sat down on the bench on our porch, while the other moved down the steps. When they realized that no one was coming to the door, they moved on to our neighbours.

One night, when DD19 was out late, at a friend's house, she didn't return until after DW and I had gone to bed. As we were turning in, I texted my daughter to ensure that someone would walk her home, see her safely indoors. The next morning, as soon as I woke up and realized that I hadn't heard DD19 come in, I reached for my phone and checked the video.

The imagery showed DD19 ascend the porch, unlock the door, and wave to her friends before safely entering. Yup, this was a valuable tool, I told myself.

While I was writing this post, my phone let me know someone had rung our doorbell. The video footage showed a UPS delivery person place a package on the small table, next to a Muskoka chair, ring the bell, and walk away. Moments later, DW is seen coming outside and retrieving the package.

Although this Google Nest Hello doorbell has helped us identify unwanted visitors, assured us that our daughter was safely home, and let us know that packages have arrived, it's had its fair share of false alarms.

Several times during the day, it tells me that motion is detected. This is a different notification from identifying an actual person or letting me know that the doorbell has been pressed. This simply indicates that motion has been sensed.

This is a bit of a pain. So far, motion has included

• our outdoor lights coming on
• headlights from cars driving around our circle in the middle of the night
• a winged insect landing on the bricked wall, next to the doorbell
• a neighbour's cat, rolling around on our porch—okay, that was cute, but still...
• the late-day sun, shimmering as it moves between the leaves on our neighbours' tree
• shadows that fall on our porch, caused by clouds revealing the sun
• us, coming and going from the house or sitting on the porch
• other motion that must be there but I can't determine from the video

Sensor picks up the area in green.

We have created a motion zone, making sure that our next-door neighbours' porch, which is in our line of view, is excluded. I tried to exclude the neighbours' front lawn and the roadway, but we noticed that the narrow strip of walkway that leads to our steps was too small to notice motion until someone was right at our doorway, so I had to expand that zone. To our relief, we don't receive motion notifications when the next-door kids play on their swing, under their tree.

We want to make sure we're giving our neighbours as much privacy as possible, and so far, so good. The only time we see them is if they happen to be out when someone purposefully comes to our door.

Overall, I like our new doorbell. It lets me determine whether I have to get up to answer the door or whether I can ignore the unwanted visitor. It lets me know if a package has arrived. And, it shows me that my loved ones have safely returned home.

It's one of the best devices that I've never paid for.

* pain in the arse

Photo Friday: Waxing Storm

I can't believe the storm passed without a drop of rain.

Last week, I decided to try another time-lapse video on my Insta360 camera; this time, downtown, where I haven't been since March 27. Four months seems like a lifetime, ago, especially when you consider that I have to pass through the downtown core when I commute to and from work.

I parked under City Hall—it's free after 6—and walked to the Mackenzie Bridge. From there, looking north, you get what I think is one of the most iconic views of the city.

I came equipped with my Insta360 One R, with the 4K lens installed, rather than the 360-degree lens. Mounted on a Manfrotto mini-tripod, I planned to mount the camera on the protective railing of the bridge. And I was prepared: some duct tape made sure that tripod was going nowhere.

I also packed my Nikon D750 and my travel tripod to capture some stills while the video camera worked on the time lapse. As I had learned on my first attempt, it takes 75 minutes worth of video recording to create 30 seconds of time-lapse play.

The sky was extremely cooperative: a dramatic sunset was on display at the end of the canal, where it steps down to the Ottawa River. To the east, storm clouds were reflecting pink, purple, and blue, and with a steady wind were rolling into my frame as the light faded beyond the Gatineau Hills.

A lot of drama, indeed.

About 15 minutes into recording, I saw a distinct reflection of lightning in one of the office towers to the left of me. Looking up, I saw towering storm clouds climbing over the Rideau Centre. Looking east, down to the far end of the Mackenzie Bridge and beyond, I could see that in the east end of the city, it was raining fiercely.

I made a mental check of what I was carrying to protect my equipment and planned out what I would do if it should start to rain, while more lightning, followed by loud thunder, raged overhead. In my camera bag, which was hanging from a hook on my tripod to add to the centre of gravity, I had a rain shell. The first thing to do was protect my D-SLR, so I would pack it inside my bag and cover the bag in the protective rain shell and sling it over my shoulder.

Next would be to fold up my tripod, which requires two hands. With the camera protected in the bag, the most-valuable piece of equipment was saved. The tripod can handle the rain.

I would be reluctant to stop the One R from recording. It's waterproof and has proven a couple of times already that rain is no issue. Depending on the severity of the rain, I would hold out as long as possible. If the rain was harsh, I would quickly seek shelter in the Rideau Centre: I came prepared with a mask, just in case.

As it was, my planning never became a reality. Though the lightning and thunder looked and sounded serious, no rain actually fell. Instead, I was treated to a great sound and light show, added with the dramatic clouds and waning sunlight.

Sadly, I captured no lightning with either camera, as it flashed directly overhead and behind me.

If you want to see the time-lapse video that I made, check it out on The Brown Knowser YouTube channel. Here's the best still of the night.

Happy Friday!

Throwback Thursday: Taunts

It still goes on to this day:

"You're stupid."

"You're ugly."

In truth, they love each other to pieces, and DW and I are happy for that. In a few weeks, DD19 will be leaving Ottawa to study at a school in the GTA, and DD17 will miss her terribly. Next year, our youngest plans to study music in Toronto, and they'll be closer, once again.

In the meantime, I hear them taunt each other with insults, not meaning a word of it.

Even when they left notes for one another, on their bathroom mirror or on each other's bedroom doors. When I saw these notes, in their bathroom, in early 2016, I was horrified. "Don't treat each other this way," I said.

Neither of them are offended. I don't get kids these days. But that, apparently, is my problem.

Happy Thursday!

Wordless Wednesday: Selfie in Pakenham

Birds at the Feeder

Because DW and I limit our time away from our home—shopping and kayaking seem to be the few exceptions—we've been spending more time in our backyard. Sure, a couple of years ago we added a gazebo and a fountain, and DW herself takes the time to beautify our backyard living space, but until this year, we've never really spent a lot of time in this little oasis.

DW added two bird feeders to the backyard: a hummingbird feeder, situated on a post right against the back of our house, next to the window where I sit to watch TV. So far, no hummingbird has found this feeder, and so DW has cleaned out the sweet nectar and it hangs merely as a decoration piece.

She's also hung a squirrel-proof seed feeder, which is hung on a lower branch on our chokecherry tree, just above the bird bath that has adorned our garden for nearly as long as we've lived here. This feeder has attracted all sorts of passerine creatures: chickadees, house finches, purple finches, goldfinches, cardinals, and even some downy woodpeckers.

The robins, grackles, and starlings have also tried to land on our feeder but their sheer size makes it awkward for them to reach the seeds. If a couple of them alight on the feeder, their weight closes the feed openings—the mechanism that is used to detract squirrels. A few starlings have landed below the feeder, where some seeds fall as smaller birds make a mess while eating, but a couple of them have fallen prey to our cat, who roams within this space.

DW loves to sit in the yard, particularly in the late afternoon, when most of the birds come for dinner. With her mirrorless camera, she has captured some outstanding shots—maybe, I'll see if she wants to do another guest Wordless Wednesday. I've also taken some photos with my DSL-R, but lately I've been capturing video.

I've placed a clamp on the same branch as the chain for the feeder, and I've hooked up my 360-degree camera on its invisible selfie stick. Connecting my smartphone to the camera, through WiFi, I can control the recordings. The camera is less than a foot away from the feeder, and some of the finches have looked at the camera suspiciously. But for the most part, they don't seem bothered.

Here's a video of a goldfinch, snacking away until another bird barges in.

We've observed some of the birds seemingly fight over a particular perch—there are four spaces from which to feed—but didn't have the video camera set up at the time. I'm hoping to capture more antics over the months: it's too bad that the birds don't take direction.