Not All Perfect

Every day up to Thursday, we checked the weather. And every day, up to Thursday, the weather was the same: sunny and a temperature in the mid 20s.

Perfect.

Before we left the apartment, each morning, we checked that we had the essentials: money, keys, transportation cards, and water. Almost every day, I packed my hat, though there were some days that were so windy, especially when we went up in the mountains, when I left my hat behind, afraid that it could blow away.

At least one camera would usually come with me, as well as a video camera.

"It's a bit overcast," I said, as I looked out the window. It was before sunrise but there was enough light in the sky to see that it wasn't clear.

"Hopefully, it'll burn off when the sun comes up," said DW.

I grabbed my backpack—this time with two D-SLRs and my Insta360 One R, on a three-metre monopod. The backpack was heavy but it wasn't the first time I had travelled with so much gear.

A few blocks from our apartment, I told DW I was a bit cool. I was only wearing a short-sleeved, button shirt over a t-shirt, and slacks. DW had the forethought to grab her sweater on the way out the door, but I could have used my jacket.

The train at Rossio Station was warm. I hoped that DW was right, that once the sun rose, the clouds would burn away and we'd be back to warm sunshine. But as the train pulled out of the station, I checked the weather forecast for our destination, Sintra.

"There's a 70-percent chance of rain this afternoon," I said. "Looks like it'll start around 2 pm."

"Let's hope we're through most of the sites by then," said DW. "We can do Pena Palace last: that way, if the rain comes, we can be indoors."

It's about a 45-minute ride from Lisbon to Sintra. The train passes through the outer neighbourhoods of the capital city, passing Roman aquaducts and modern apartments. Throughout the ride, though, the clouds showed no signs of clearing out.

But we did feel a bit heartened as we approached Sintra. We could look up the mountains and see both the Pena Palace and the Moor Castle on the hilltops.

"Surely," I said, "if we can see both of them from down here, we'll be able to see each of them from the confines of the other." My imagined photos were to capture closeups of the Moor Castle, from Pena Palace, and Pena Palace, from atop the ramparts of the Moor Castle.

We went straight to the office for the Hop On, Hop Off buses that drive a circuit to the major stops. We also wanted to visit the Quinta da Regaleira, an early 20th-century palace and gardens that also has underground passages and an inverted tower. In fact, that was going to be our first stop, as we suspected that everyone was going to race to Pena Palace, a 19th-century, fantasy-styled palace that sees a lot of tourists.

As we waited for the first bus to arrive, I could feel a few drops of rain. "Let's go to Pena Palace first," I said."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. There don't seem to be a lot of people. I think we can get in and avoid the rain."

The bus took about half an hour to reach Pena Palace, having first stopped at the Moor Castle for anyone who wanted to hop off. No one did. We were able to use our Lisboa Cards to get a 15-percent discount on tickets to both the Pena Palace and the Moor Castle, but Quinta da Regaleira was not part of the package. We had a steep climb for about half a kilometre before we reached the palace gates, and we had to stand in a line for a 10:00 tour.

While I grabbed us a spot in line, DW went to find the washroom. That's when the rain started.

I could hear an English couple, standing behind me, pitying me for being underdressed. I smiled and said, "This is what I get for not checking the weather before catching the train."

When DW emerged, she had two thin rain ponchos with her, and I gratefully covered myself up, though that meant that I had simply trapped the dampness inside. A wind picked up and turned the poncho into a large, yellow balloon, which thankfully helped dry me, though I was starting to feel cold.

The line moved and we were able to walk through the palace. It is quite an ornate and decadent display of 19th-century luxury. But all I could think of was thank goodness I'm out of the rain.

The tour takes about an hour and by the time we were back outside, it was raining in earnest and the wind was blustering. Visibility was reduced to about 100 metres, and my heart sank. So much for getting photos of the Moor Castle from the palace.

Normally, I love taking photos in the fog but when I had my mind set on capturing certain photos, I couldn't help but be disappointed. I made the best of the situation and captured a few images of the palace. We wandered through the gardens but the rain was steadily dripping on us from the trees, so we decided to get to our next destination.

Because the buses run in only one direction and we'd have to wind our way back to the town before climbing up again, We decided to walk from the palace to the Moor Castle. As it turns out, it's only about a 10-minute walk.

There is a lot of lush vegetation on the path that leads up to the walls, and I took some more photos of the forest in the fog (I'll share those photos in a future post). Passing through the wall, the wind was so fierce that our rain ponchos were trying to blow off of us. Several times, the thin plastic would cover my face and I'd have to pull it off me so that I could breathe. We worried about how we would fare on the ramparts of the castle.

Again, visibility was bad. Good for dramatic photos of fog but bad for scenic photos.

DW didn't want to climb the steep steps to get up to the top towers, afraid that she would get blown over, so she found some shelter from the wind and rain while I continued up. I reached what I thought was the highest point (there was no way to tell for sure but the walls led downward from either side of a lookout tower) and took a couple of snapshots.

The wind was so strong that I had to fight the poncho. Every time I raised my camera to my face, the yellow plastic would cover the lens and block my vision. It was at this point that I had had enough. It was time to call it a day.

When I returned to DW, she looked defeated. "Are you having fun yet?" I joked.

"What are your thoughts?" she asked, but I could tell that her tone said that she was done.

"Back to the bus. Back to Sintra."

"You aren't disappointed about skipping Quinta da Regaleira?" she asked. She knew that was the place that I wanted to see the most.

"Of course I'm disappointed but there's no point in going there and having bad memories. It's pouring and most of that visit is outside. And I'm chilled to the bone."

We were able to catch a bus that had just pulled up to the castle's main entrance and we scored two seats, even though the bus was largely full. But a minute later, when the bus pulled up to Pena Palace and almost everyone got off, we were able to move to seats that were closer to the exit.

When the bus pulled up to the train station, we hopped off and discovered that a train was heading back to Lisbon within minutes. We didn't hesitate to grab it.

Back in Lisbon, we walked straight to our apartment and flopped on the bed, where we slept for a couple of hours. If we escape a cold, it'll be nothing short of a miracle.

Thankfully, our last full day in Portugal is largely unplanned. I would like to wander the city, on my own, and capture some artsy photos that I really haven't done much of for this trip. DW wants to shop for souvenirs, so I'll leave her to that.

We'll meet up in the afternoon, for a port wine tasting, and then we're going to meet my best friend's wife, who just happens to be in Lisbon for a conference. We fly home on Saturday morning.

Overall, our trip has been ideal, though not perfect. We've done most of the things we wanted to do and saw nearly all of the sites on our list. The food has been incredible and the Portuguese people are friendly and welcoming.

For a vacation destination that wasn't our initial choice, Portugal has won over our hearts and we will definitely return. With any luck, we'll be able to see new places and do the things that we weren't able to accomplish on this one.

Happy Friday!

Belém

We found it so nice, we went to it twice.

Along transit route 15E, heading west, is the neighbourhood of Belém. It is the area of Portugal's capital that is long regarded as the landmark for the last part of Lisbon that a sailor would see, as he sailed to lands unknown, or as the first sign that he had finally returned home.

It is a testament to the riches that were amassed from the famous Spice Route, where the massive monastery of Jerónimos was built thanks to the taxes that were levied on merchant ships. It is home to the world-famous treat, Pastéis de Belém. And, as mentioned, the Torre de Belém bid sailors a bon voyage and welcomed them home.

DW and I started our Tuesday at the Praça do Comércio, in the heart of Lisbon. Our first mission was to pick up the Lisboa Card that we had ordered, online, from the tourist information centre in the plaza. From there, we hopped on the modern tram 15E, heading west, and got off between the Pastéis de Belém café and Mosteiro dos Jerónimos. The Lisboa Card, which is good for 48 hours, lets us take the tram for free.

Our first destination in Belém was the café. DW had already had one cup of coffee, but because I now limit my caffeine intake, I was saving up for this spot.

In business and family run since 1837, this shop makes the original pastel de nata, or custard tarts, and is the only place that is allowed to call them Pastéis de Belém. We had heard that the queue for takeaway was always long, but on this day, the line to get in to sit was even longer. We had also noticed that the lineup for the monastery was also getting long, so we took our coffee and pastries to go and had them in the queue for Jerónimos.

Those tarts are the best that I have ever eaten. Not too sweet, creamy, with a velvety vanilla flavour, and the crackle in the pastry, with how flaky it is, cannot be beaten.

I ate two and two was not enough.

The cloister of the Mosteiro dos Jerónimos is exquisite, with its intricate stone masonry. It took us nearly an hour, waiting in the sunshine, to get in, but it was worth the wait. We chatted with an elderly British couple and the time went quickly.

The church is also beautiful, but I sometimes feel that once you've seen a Medieval church, you've seen them all. the one difference in this church is that you can see the tombs of Portugal's greats: Luís de Camões, Portugal's greatest poet; and Vasco de Gama, the Portuguese great explorer.

The Lisboa Card allowed us to see the monastery and church for free. We also visited the Maritime Museum, at a discount, and the exhibit is also well worth the fee.

After lunch, we walked to the Coach Museum (also free with the Lisbon Card), and that too is well worth a visit. The exhibit houses royal coaches and other transportation from the 17th century to the early 20th century.

By the time we had visited these sites, we were pretty tired. I also was hoping to capture the Torre de Belém at sunset and blue hour, and that wait would be too long, so DW and I vowed to return the next day. We headed back to the downtown centre for the evening, where we had dinner and went up to the castle to watch the sunset.

On Wednesday, after spending most of the day in Lisbon, we took a train back to Belém and headed straight for the tower, hoping to be on the top in time for golden hour. Unfortunately, our travel book had the wrong hours listed and we had just missed the last admission. The ticket office closes at 5 and the last admittance is at 5:30. (Our Lisboa Cards would have admitted us for free but it was not to be.)

We took some photos but then rushed to the Padrão dos Descobrimentos, or Monument to the Discoveries. We feared that we would have the same problem there, as I wanted to climb to the top as well.

Fortunately, as described in our tour book, it closes at 7. We bought our tickets (at a discount) and took an elevator up six flights, and then climbed the remaining stairs to a commanding view of Belém.

Back below, we returned to Belém Tower for sunset and blue hour. I had envisioned taking pictures at this time of day since we had first planned our vacation.

It did not disappoint.

It took two visits to see everything we wanted in Belém but this famous neighbourhood is a must-see spot for anyone who visits Lisbon.

Our next stop is a day trip to Sintra. Stay tuned.

Obligatory Lisbon Photo

Foreign Friends

DW and I were just looking for a drink on one of the many lookouts that overlook Lisbon. We had just finished a wonderful meal at a great restaurant in the Bairro Alto neighbourhood, and we wanted to unwind.

DW had also seen Pina Coladas, served in fresh pineapples, and she craved one.

We walked to the Miradouro de São Pedro de Alcântara, which is only a six-minute walk from our apartment, and where DW and I had seen a lot of discarded pineapple carcasses when we went to that lookout, the previous morning, to photograph sunrise.

We learned that a Pina Colada from a pineapple was 15 euros, to which DW said "no thanks," and we continued walking along the various kiosks in search of other drinks. A young gentleman approached me and asked if I smoked, as he was hoping to get a cigarette from me.

When I said I didn't smoke, he said that I was wise for not developing that nasty habit, and we started talking about life in general.

He said his name was Roman Villa (his artist name) and was an artist who had a studio in the neighbourhood, just beyond Belém. He lived in Bairro Alto (the area where DW and I were staying).

We spent hours just talking about life from an artist's perspective. 

It doesn't matter how far you travel from home. There's always a friend around the corner, where you least expect one.

Happy Tuesday!

Layover

"There's nothing in Tunes," she said.

I groaned. We had a two-and-a-half-hour layover in the Algarvian town of Tunes (pronounced Too-nesh) and I was already hot and tired.

And hungry.

I envisioned us at the cheap and nasty café at the station, fighting to keep one another awake while we awaited our transfer to Lisbon. Our train from Portimão had taken us to this hub town, where we were scheduled to take a first-class berth on an express train to Portugal's capital city, the second-oldest European city, after Athens, Greece.

"There's no way I'm staying in the station," said DW.

She consulted Google for restaurant recommendations and found a place, just 400 metres down the road from the train station. It seemed to have favourable reviews, so she suggested that we check it out. If there was nothing to see in Tunes, the best we could hope for was a decent meal.

As the road came to a bend, we could see a small patio that was already occupied by what appeared to be locals at a couple of tables. At one, three men, apparently on a lunch break; at another, three women, having a leisurely lunch date.

A man who seemed to be the owner motioned for us to take a table on the patio between the two occupied tables. As we sat down, we ordered a bottle of white wine that seemed to be the choice of the tables to either side of us.

We had two hours. One bottle of wine was nothing.

The owner of the establishment, Zig Zag, indicated that the special of the day was an assorted meat platter. We saw that the gentlemen at the table to one side of us were eating it, and it looked amazing, but there was so much meat on the platter.

"No," the owner said, in French (he didn't speak English but was fluent in another language we could speak, "that platter is for three people."

"We'll have the same, but for two," we told him. We also ordered a salad and a plate of fries.

The platter for two was generous. The salad was plentiful. The fries, more than enough.

The meat platter was a mix of beef and pork, perfectly cooked and seasoned. The salad was fresh, and the oil, vinaigrette, and fresh herbs were delicious. And the fries were the best we had had since one small tapas bar in Lagos.

As there was no menu, we had no idea how much the meal cost but we didn't care. We knew that it wouldn't be as costly as Porto or Lagos, which at this point hadn't been unreasonable. Certainly, no more than what we'd pay at a restaurant in Ottawa.

For dessert, I sent DW inside, following the owner, to see what was on offer. "You know what I like," I told her, "and please order me a coffee with it."

Apparently, when our dessert plates arrived, neither of us had ordered the house specialty, so the owner added a small sliver of it to DW's plate. It was a tart that was essentially a pie version of our favourite pastry, a pastel de nata. It was incredible.

DW had ordered a sort of creme brulée, while I received an almond pudding. All washed down with fabulous coffee.

The owner emerged from the restaurant with two bottles and two tiny glasses in hand, and placed them on our table. "A complementary drink," he told us.

One bottle held a grappa-like liqueur: the other, a small, ceramic-like jug, held a cocktail that he had mixed, himself. The mixture, on our first sip, was strong with cinnamon. It was sweet and delicious.

The grappa-like liqueur was good but burned the back of our throat, the cinnamon concoction was incredible, and we pushed our welcome by filling our glasses, no larger than a dram in size, several times.

We took up more than two hours at Zig Zag. With 20 minutes left until our train to Lisbon, we settled our bill.

With all we had to eat—the meat, the salad, the fries—a bottle of wine, and dessert, our bill only came to 38 euros. We had one of the biggest meals of our vacation and paid so little for it. Plus, the owner was kind, courteous, and generous.

Tunes may not have much, but it does have this gem of a restaurant. We were the only foreigners at the establishment, at the time, and we were treated like special guests.

If you're ever in the Algarve and find yourself at the hub town of Tunes, I can't recommend enough this wonderful find to kill the time during a layover.

Days later, in Lisbon, we're still talking about our layover meal.

Our vacation continues, tomorrow.

Lagos

So many photos.

The only downside that I find to coming home from a vacation, apart from the sadness that my leisure time is at an end, is that I have so much work ahead to go through my photos, cull the bad shots or ones that are duplicates, and edit the ones that are real keepers. On a vacation that lasts weeks, the culling and editing process can sometimes take longer than the vacation itself.

I know: first-world problem.

By the end of the sixth day of our trip to Portugal, I have captured more than a thousand images and have recorded more than two hours of video. And we still have 10 days to go.

I'll be lucky if I've finished editing before our next vacation, in January.

We're currently in the city of Lagos, on the southern coast of Portugal, in the Algarve region. We started our visit with a three-hour kayak tour of the jagged rock formations that form the cliffside coast. It was a great way to see these structures and gives you a wonderful perspective.

The next day, we walked along a trail that follows the top of the cliffs and also leads down to the water in some places. We covered more than 10 kilometres before we ordered an Uber ride back to our hotel.

Our hotel, by the way, is amazing. It's a family-run establishment that has a rooftop patio and offers a great view of the oldest part of the city (the hotel is within the old fortified walls). In fact, I wrote this post and yesterday's post while sipping some flavoured water on the patio.

Later today, we'll leave the Algarve for Lisbon, where we'll stay for eight days, with side trips to Sintra and Cascais. But in the meantime, here are some highlights of Legos: just a couple of the many photos that I'll have to sift through when I get home.

Happy Friday!

Gratitude

A little more than four years ago, I came close to ending my life.

I chose the place, ahead of time: took a photo from where it was going to happen. I even wrote a short, somewhat dark blog post and shared the photo but did not state my intentions. I wasn't looking for someone to figure it out and try to intervene.

I didn't want intervention: I wanted to simply check out.

This time, next year, I told myself. If I still feel this way, I'm going to jump off the Macdonald-Cartier Bridge on an ice cold winter's day. The solid ice will guarantee that I don't survive.

I used to live with incredible pain in my left foot. I've written about it enough times in The Brown Knowser that regular readers will know about my ordeal. I had the same issues with my right foot and had corrective surgery for the disease that had afflicted both feet, but I also dealt with acute arthritis.

My left foot was getting worse, and I was seeing a specialist about the corrective surgery, but I also had arthritis in this foot, and I was wondering how I'd fare with two arthritic feet as I grew older.

Living in constant pain can drive you to considering an exit from life.

When I finally saw a surgeon, Dr. Brad Meulenkamp, he looked at the three-dimensional images of my bones and the arthritic inflammation of my joints.

"I can certainly correct the Kohler's Disease in your foot," he told me, "but has no one ever treated you for your arthritis?"

"It can be treated?" I replied.

"Ross, I think I can get rid of all of your pain."

I cried.

Not just because Dr. Meulenkamp could get rid of my pain but because he had literally saved my life.

Nearly four years after my reconstructive foot surgery, where my Kohler's Disease was treated and all my arthritic joints have been removed, the only pain I get in my left foot is from over-exertion, which would afflict anyone.

Nearly four years later, I have been able to walk incredible distances and climb steep hills, where it wouldn't have been possible previously.

In Porto, DW and I walked more than 19 kilometres each day that we were in this beautiful Portuguese city. The very next day, when we took a train to the Douro Valley and visited a couple of quintas, we climbed up and around a steep hill in Pinhão, covering nearly 22 kms.

It was actually DW who ran out of steam throughout our trek and had to stop and rest. When we finally returned to Porto, late that evening, her ankles were swollen and throbbing, while my feet were simply tired.

On day five of our vacation, I have personally accumulated 84.6 kms, all on foot. Four years ago, that wouldn't have been possible.

And if Dr. Meulenkamp's office hadn't called me when it did, everything from February, 2019, would not have happened at all.

I am grateful for the new lease on life that had been afforded me. It has allowed me to enjoy this wonderful vacation.

And so much more.

(I'll have a lighter post, tomorrow.)

Random Porto and Gaia

From Gaia

On the other side of the Douro River from Porto is the smaller city of Gaia. This is the place from which the wines that are world renown are made.

It's also the best place to be to view the city of Porto.

I don't have much to say today because DW and I are flying from Porto to Faro, in the Algarve region, and then taking a train to the town of Lagos, where we'll be for three nights. I'll have more to say from there, on Thursday.

In the meantime, enjoy this photo of Porto, taken from the city of Gaia.

Not Enough Time

We're going to have to come back.

When DW and I originally planned our trip to Portugal, we initially thought that we could visit the northern city of Porto as a day trip from Lisbon. We'd take an early morning train, arrive in Porto by lunch, see the highlights, visit a port wine cellar, have dinner, and then catch the last train back to Lisbon.

But when we did the math and figured out the time, we just didn't have enough time to make a day trip worthwhile. So we thought we would arrange to stay overnight and ensure that we got a good day and a half to see everything without feeling rushed.

Problem solved.

But as we began to make more concrete plans and as we watched more travel videos on YouTube, we realized that Porto needed more attention and that we would start our Portugal vacation in this historic city. We would stay in the city for two days, take a day trip up the Douro Valley and visit a quinta or two (wineries).

It's still not enough time.

We arrived in Porto just after 1:00 in the afternoon. We were jet lagged and tired, having not slept much on our flight, from Montreal to Lisbon. And our hotel wouldn't let us check in until 3:00.

We spent a good part of our first couple of hours, looking for a shop where we could purchase a data card for our phones. The first two locations that we got from Google Maps, when we were using the WiFi on the train from Lisbon, were closed. The third location, which was thankfully open, was a long walk from our hotel (DW stayed outside our hotel with our bags and waited until we could check in while I wandered the city in search for a Vodaphone that was open).

By the time I returned with both of ou phones, set up with unlimited data, we were able to check in. We quickly freshened up and then rushed to City Hall, were we were meeting up with a free guided tour of the city.

The tour lasted for three hours and ended near the riverside of the city. DW and I rushed across the Luis I Bridge and to the monestary in Gaia, in time for sunset.

It's a photo that I've wanted to take since we planned our Porto visit.

We ended the day, sitting on a patio at Sandeman winery, enjoying the view of Porto, across the Douro River.

Sunday started with a stroll to Manteigaria, a chain cafe that specializes in the Portuguese custard tarts, pastais de nata. They are so incredible that I've vowed to start every morning in Portugal with one.

We strolled the Crystal Gardens, ate lunch, took a tour of Taylor's cellars, and had a great meal on the Gaia riverside. It doesn't sound like many things but we actually ran out of time for other things we wanted to see.

Today, we're in the Douro Valley, visiting two quintas: one, where we plan to stomp on grapes.

Tomorrow, first thing, we fly out of Porto and head to our next destination, on the southern coast.

So many things we wanted to do. So little time.

As DW and I sat down to dinner, last night, I told her that we simply have to come back. Porto may be a small city, where you can walk practically everywhere, but there are so many things to do that two days (a day and a half, actually) is not enough time.

I hope we don't have the same issue in the Algarve region, but if we run out of time to do everything we want to do, it would be no great issue to return to Portugal.

Time will tell.

Destination: Portugal

Today's the day that DW and head to Portugal, and we couldn't be more excited.

We've had this trip booked since late March and I've been talking about it a lot since our bookings have been made. We're all packed and fly out this evening. I have all of my D-SLR equipment and video cameras with me so I plan to make some upcoming YouTube videos when we return.

Our first destination, after landing in Lisbon, is Porto, in the northern part of the country. There, we'll explore the beautiful city and take a trip up the Duoro Valley for some port winery tours.

I've brought my computer with me and hope to share some blog posts over the next two weeks. If I miss a day, I hope you'll understand: this trip will be action-packed and I might not always have time or Internet connectivity.

This is our first time to Europe since 2014 and this trip is long overdue. We still want to recreate the vacation that we had planned in 2020 but got cancelled because of COVID, but that has been pushed out another year or two.

So many places to visit. Too little time.

Fique atento...

Beer O'Clock: Coastal Wave

It's my final beer review for the summer. Autumn (my favourite season) begins next Thursday.

I'm also looking forward to my vacation, which begins tomorrow, and I'm anticipating trying various Portuguese beer (in addition to wine and port). I won't be reviewing any beer while I'm away but you can be sure that I'll include it in some of the video footage that I shoot while I'm there.

So, as the final Summer of '22 beer review comes upon me, I thought I would go with a hazy IPA, whose colourful label caught my eye as I wandered the aisles of my local grocery store. This IPA takes its inspiration from both the east-coast and west-coast styles.

Does it work?

Coastal Wave IPA (6% ABV; 40 IBUs)
Lost Craft Beer
Toronto ON

Appearance: pours a hazy, apricot-gold with a foamy, slightly off-white head that reminded me of the inside of an orange peel. It settled to a dense lace or very thin cap.

Nose: intense tangerine with a touch of lime and a slight hint of mangoes.

Palate: grapefruit and pine lead in the mouth with a follow-up of orange zest. There is very much a tropical feel to the mouth with a bitter pine that does not overpower. There is a medium finish that grows longer with successive sips.

Overall impression: this is a very good IPA, which gives the tropical flavours more often associated with an east-coast ale but with the grapefruit and hops that lend themselves to the west-coast style. I even detect traces of a classic, British IPA in the finish. Coastal Wave IPA is an IPA lover's beer.

Beer O'Clock rating: 🍺🍺🍺

I'm very glad that I spotted this can in the beer section of my local grocery store. I didn't go into the store to buy beer but that colourful, near-80's patterned can was hard to resist. It was a great find.

You can find Lost Craft in various grocery stores, in the LCBO, or you can order it directly from the brewery.

Summer might be winding down but that isn't the end of IPA season.

Cheers!

Bees in the Backyard

The Cheap Route

In the end, I just couldn't justify it.

I mean, if someone in our family was to spend big bucks on corrective eye surgery, it should be DW. Without her glasses or contact lenses, she is basically blind. If she drops her glasses on the floor, she is literally like Thelma, in Scooby Doo, on her hands and knees, feeling around for her specs.

After visiting a clinic for corrective eye surgery, I was leaning toward lens replacement surgery (Refractive Lens Exchange) over laser eye surgery because it was permanent and prevented ever having issues with cataracts—not that there's any history of that in my family.

But the $10,000 price tag is what ultimately got to me. That's a lot of great camera gear, or it would go a long way to paying off our Niro. It would be a nice vacation for our entire family.

It was even hard for me to reconcile the price of the laser eye surgery, which was half the price. I can be tight with a buck, and as I said, if anyone was going to pay this much to fix their eyes, it would be DW before me.

So I opted to update my eyewear with my new prescription. I would get myself a pair of progressive-lens glasses that would allow me to see my computer screen from a couple of feet away or read a book up close.

I returned to my optometrist's office to get a quote for glasses and to shop for frames. An eyewear specialist talked to me about the various types of lenses I could get: not just for reading computer screens and books, but ones that would be normal glass at the top, which I would use to see distances.

I wasn't looking to make glasses a permanent fixture on my face. I only wanted one pair of glasses for seeing things three feet away or closer.

When she quoted me the price for the lenses, I fought to conceal my shock. I was looking at $500 for the lenses and at minimum another $100 for the frames. The last time that bought prescription glasses, I paid just over $200 for the lenses and frames. I knew that progressives were more expensive and that it had been a long time since I had a pair of prescription glasses, but I wasn't prepared for a three-fold increase.

I thanked the woman for her time and asked for a printout of my prescription.

For several years, I've been wearing basic reading glasses and have several pairs around the house and in the car. I have magnifications for seeing the computer screen and another magnification for reading up close, but these reading glasses are the same magnification for both eyes.

My eyes are very different, with a 1.75 magnitude difference between them. My dominant eye takes over when I don these glasses. It could be why I get headaches after a long day at work, staring at my monitor.

I returned home from the optical shop feeling frustrated.

DW told me that for the past few pairs of glasses that she's bought, she has ordered them online. She suggested that I do the same. We measured the distance between my pupils and I took some information from the last comfortable pair of prescription glasses that I have, and we shopped on Zenni.ca.

I saw a couple of stylish glasses that I liked but I reminded myself that my glasses are only for reading up close and wouldn't spend much time on my face, with the exception of work, and who looks at me while I'm working from home?

I got simple black frames. Nothing fancy. Six business days later (yesterday), the glasses arrived in my mailbox.

They sit nicely on my face.

I can see fine while I'm in front of my computer and I can read off my smartphone with no problem. It took a couple of hours to get used to moving my head, not my eyes, to keep everything in focus. But so far (less than 10 hours as of writing this post), they're fine.

Total cost, including taxes: $169.

I may order another pair so that I have one in my home office and another in the car (I find that I often forgot to bring glasses with me when DW and I headed out to restaurants, and I would have to squint to read the menu or worse—have her read the menu to me).

I know I made a big deal about eye surgery a few weeks ago. But the stingy side of me came through. And considering that I've gone the cheap route for years, buying off-the-shelf reading glasses, this is actually a step up.

I still miss my old eyes but with these progressives, I won't have to muddle through when I'm trying to see things up close.

The Procrastinators

In a way, I'm kind of like this at my job, too. Kind of.

Our fence fell down in December. We arrived home from our vacation in Cuba to find that two panels from our backyard fence had toppled into our neighbours to the south's (literally), behind our house. At the time, there wasn't much snow on the ground and the fence landed in a bare spot of lawn that was largely protected by an evergreen in our neighbour's backyard, but being December, snow was immanent.

"I'm not going to worry about it until the spring," I told DW, "and besides, it looks like our neighbours are away, anyway."

As it had turned out, those neighbours had actually moved and the new owner hadn't yet moved in. And as we later found out, at the end of December and into January, the owner spent the first few weeks renovating the interior and hadn't even noticed the gap in the backyard fence.

DW and I also discovered, in late March, after the snow had melted, that the occupants of the home behind us were actually renting, that the owner/landlord lived in Toronto. We discovered this when the tenant left us a note on our door, wanting to reach out about fixing the fence. He left his contact info and the contact deets about his landlord.

The landlord agreed to share in the cost of repair but he had no idea about who to contact in Ottawa about doing the work. I told him that I'd look into it and let him know when I had a couple of quotes.

I couldn't find anybody who was available to do the work or find anyone who was willing to do such a small project (they'd want an arm and a leg, and still it was too little to make it worth their while).

DW and I decided that we would do the work.

But the weather was getting nice and we'd want to spend our weekends out in our kayaks, or visiting friends, or working on other projects.

When the derecho hit Ottawa, in May, we were surprised that more of the fence wasn't taken down, but what remained actually held in place. But it was still a couple of weeks after that storm (the beginning of June, actually) that we actually decided to start work.

The first task was to pull the old post stumps and concrete footing from the ground. This was, by far, the hardest part, as the soil in our part of Barrhaven is clay. It took me all weekend to just dig down to the concrete, which was two feet below ground level.

Reaching the concrete was traumatic for me, and I gave up. I had other projects that required my attention and summer weekends were made for getting out and enjoying life. Instead, DW and I would think of new strategies.

A friend had a handyman, who was willing to take a look at the work, but didn't have the ability to pull the old post stumps, nor was he able to drill new holes. He gave us other contacts but no one was available.

June passed. July came and went, as did August. But boy, did DW and I enjoy our weekends.

At the office, I can also be good at procrastinating. Because we work in an Agile environment, we break our project into two-week sprints, where we plan out required tasks and agree to have those tasks done within the sprint. I've never missed a deadline but I can waste time at the beginning of a sprint. I pick up steam as the two weeks comes to a close.

The problem with the fence was that I didn't have a deadline. I didn't break the required tasks into easily manageable chunks. But there was a deadline that eventually became imposed upon DW and me.

Our neighbour to the south was extremely patient and never said a word. His giant evergreen did provide a lot of privacy from our backyard so DW and I could never see him when he was out there. But we did not want to get into autumn without fixing the fence, and as our vacation to Portugal loomed closer, we didn't want to leave that gap.

On the first September weekend—a long weekend—I decided that it was time to get serious about the fence. DW and I were going to get those posts out of the ground, no matter what.

I started with digging the hole to the first post a bit wider, so that I could get around the edge of the concrete. My folks also loaned me a long, heavy iron bar that had a chisel-like point on the end. I would raise the bar up high and let gravity do the work.

It cracked the concrete and I was able to pull out shards, almost like pulling teeth. It was a slow, heavy, and tiring task but it seemed to be working. At one point, we could feel the wooden post move a little, so we wrapped a heavy-duty chain around it, connected the chain to a tall jack, and, like a stubborn tooth, pulled it out from the surrounding concrete.

We were able to fit a new post into the vacant socket, pound it down as deep as it would go, and then used an expanding foam to fill the hole.

One post: done.

The next day, we dug out the ground over the second post stump, which had snapped off much deeper in the ground than the first stump. It was nearly a foot down before we reached the top of it. The clay also seemed more dense in this area, and digging deeper became a slower, more intense process. We went more than two feet through clay before we finally hit the top of the concrete.

Again, I used the rod to try to break up the concrete but the surrounding clay seemed to hold that concrete together. I would only be able to break tiny pieces off the surface, and sometimes, the concrete didn't seem to want to budge.

Also, the post itself was much more deteriorated than the first post stump. I had to be careful not to break it more.

By the end of that day, my back, arms, and shoulders hurt from trying to break up the concrete. I knew I needed something stronger to break up the concrete and one of my Twitter friends suggested that I get my hands on a demolition hammer. But because the next day was the Labour Day Monday, hardware stores were closed.

Our work for that weekend was done.

DW and I awoke early, this Saturday, and made our way to Home Depot. We were able to get our hands on a small but powerful demolition hammer but we were concerned that the bit might not reach to the bottom of our hole.

Luckily, it did, though the handles for the hammer were at ground level. I had to go down on my knees and bend down to operate it.

It wasn't easy. I'd manage to break some concrete but then the bit would hit clay, and it was all that I could do to pull the hammer out of the hole. I'd have to rock it from side to side and then heave with all my might.

After about 20 minutes, I was thoroughly exhausted. I had to get DW to help me lift the demolition hammer out of the hole, and I'd have to catch my breath while she scooped out the broken bits of concrete.

When I could no longer get the hammer any deeper into the hole, we had to make a decision: try pulling the post out of the concrete or widen the hole enough so that the hammer would fit below ground level.

We tried pulling the post out, first. My heart sank as the post began crumbling as we cranked the jack and I feared that we were making matters worse, and just as I was about to stop the jack, the post slipped out of the concrete sleeve.

The post also broke into hundreds of little pieces as we brought it to ground level.

We banged the new post into place, filled the hole with the expanding foam, and jumped for joy.

We spent the rest of Saturday disassembling the old fence panels, salvaging boards that were still in good shape, and taking inventory of what we needed to replace. We also had to disassemble the panel that had not toppled but had been attached to one of the posts that did topple. By the end of Saturday, that panel had been rebuilt and was in place.

I had wanted to go for a bike ride on Sunday morning. The weather was excellent and I was hoping to do a long ride, out to Oxford Mills and back. But my back was sore from the work we had done on Saturday, and I told myself that that 100-kilometre ride would have to wait until October, after our vacation.

We were on a roll with the fence and couldn't stop. We had a deadline that was looming fast. We had procrastinated for long enough. It was time to pick up steam.

As we reassembled the two fallen panels, we discovered that some of the slats that we thought were good were actually in worse shape than we had first assessed, and another trip to Home Depot was required. Our backyard neighbour came out to check on the progress and was impressed with our work.

But because he was a tenant, he didn't particularly feel a need to help (he didn't say that but he didn't offer to help, and in a way, I don't really blame him).

By dinnertime, the fence was done. DW and I even replaced post caps and top two-by-fours on parts of the fence that remained in place but were showing definite signs of deterioration. We shored up gaps under the fence so that critters couldn't get in, but mostly so that our 'outdoor cat,' Camille, could go outside again.

She was so happy to be back out in fresh air for the first time since December.

Yes, we procrastinate. We are the quintessential procrastinators. But when we give ourselves deadlines, boy, we meet them.