My Favourite Photos of 2023

Looking back at my favourite photos that I shot in 2022, I was surprised that only half of the images that I shared were taken with a D-SLR. The remaining photographs were either captured with my smartphone or with one of my 360-degree cameras.

When 2023 started, I knew that I had to get off my ass and make more of an effort to get back into the swing of what is my favourite hobby. The pandemic made me lazy and I was getting rusty. I vowed that at the beginning of this year, I would get out more often and put some thought into my craft.

Three months into this year, my D-SLRs continued to gather dust.

It wasn't until April that I actually made more of an effort to capture images. Initially, I had planned to take as many photos in a month and then choose the best of that month to share with you. But because I only went out one time in January and practically stayed home through February and March, rarely even taking photos with my smartphone, I've gone back to simply choosing the photos that I shot through the year and like enough to think that you would like them, too.

Fingers crossed.

Let's get straight to the images that I thought were my best of the past year: to kick things off, I can actually start with a photo that I captured on the one evening in January where I actually set out with my camera gear.

The photo was shot as a storm was approaching, with fog and impending snowfall, mixed with the light trails of passing cars.

As I said, I didn't get fully back into photography until April. The snow was quickly melting and the temperatures were climbing, and I didn't mind heading out of the house.

I decided to jump back into my photography meetup group and signed up for a workshop on projection photography, where the model poses in darkness, illuminated only by a projector that shines an image on the subject. Here is my favourite shot from that meetup.

The month of May saw more activities where I was sure to bring my camera with me. And I also made use of my 360-degree cameras, trying to capture stills. When I participated in the CN Cycle for CHEO, a fundraising event for children's cancer research, I clipped my Insta360 X3 to the neck of my steering column and let it do its thing.

All I had to do was capture the angle that I wanted in post-processing. This photo summed up the ride, and I headed for the home stretch.

Of course, May also marks the Tulip Festival in Ottawa, and I never miss an opportunity to go downtown or to Dow's Lake to capture the lovely flowers. Here's what I think is my best shot of that festival.

May was the earliest that I've ever gone camping. And last May marked the last time I would ever camp again. Because DW and I were stuck hanging around our site because of the wind gusting across the lake, we gave ourselves a photo challenge. Not only did I take one shot that I am truly proud of but it's one of my best photos of the year.

As May drew to a close, I attended another model meetup with my photo club. The theme of the event was "Fifty Shades of Kelsey." Kelsey is a Goth woman who wanted to dress in lingerie and a bit of BDSM garb. The shoot had an edginess to it, for sure, but there is one photo that I took that gave it a softer edge. The more I look at this photo, the more I like it. The simplicity of it makes it one of the best model photos I've ever captured, let alone one of the best photos of 2023.

June was a busier month, with me making a concerted effort to take a D-SLR with me whenever I left the house (with the exception of grocery shopping--although, I did sometimes keep the camera in the car). DW and I made regular visits to Mud Lake and we were fortunate enough to spot some black-crowned night herons, which were uncommon for the Ottawa area. And as luck would have it, we were able to get close enough to capture some great images.

July was a rough month, health-wise, and because of that, I tried to stay close to home. But I did get out to Fletcher Wildlife Gardens a couple of times, using my 70–300mm zoom lens to get some closeups of flowers, with a bokeh effect. Here are a couple of my faves.

August saw the annual Casino du Lac Leamy fireworks show, which actually takes place on the Ottawa River, between Parliament Hill and the Museum of Civilization, rather than on Lac Leamy. I'm glad for that, as it gives me the opportunity to capture the event from more angles. As some of you may know, I don't like to photograph fireworks from the same place twice. This year, I captured the action from Richmond Landing, a point along the river just to the west of Parliament Hill.

August also saw a photo meetup where we met at a sunflower field near Ashton Station. We were hoping for spectacular sunset shots, but the weather didn't cooperate, so I used some AI to enhance one of my photos that originally had a blank sky. The more I look at this photo, the more I like it.

In September, DW and I got away for a vacation down to Toronto and Southern Ontario, where we stayed in Stratford for a few days, got to revisit St. Marys for the first time in almost 30 years, and spent some valuable time with good friends in Guelph. I took a lot of photos on that trip but I think my favourite photo of them all was when I stood on Dundas Street, near the AGO in Toronto, and captured a reflection off the glass of the art gallery of the houses on the other side of the street.

We returned to Toronto a couple more times, in October and November, and each time I tried to up my photography. My best shots were actually captured with my smartphone.

I started getting out of the house more often, in October, and though the weather wasn't great on most of the days that I took my camera out for some exploration, I did manage to capture some interesting images.

I hope you've enjoyed these photos and, as always, thank you for visiting my blog and for all of your support. As a reminder, if you like this blog and the content that I provide, why not consider buying me a 'coffee'?

And if you really liked these pictures, you can see them again in a YouTube version of this blog post. Head to my channel, like the video, and subscribe so that you can catch my other content.

May 2024 bring you good health and joy. Continue being awesome!

Popular Blog Posts of 2023

I think there be bots afoot.

When I post a blog entry, it usually hums along and picks up a few viewers each hour, and gradually winds down in viewership as the days go by and new blog posts come along. In the course of a month, I used to see about 50 to 60 views for that blog post.

And then, every once and a while I'd see a couple of hundred views in a single hour. Usually, this number would happen in the middle of the night, while I slept, and would be a shock to me when I checked my stats in the morning, while I would be setting up a link to the post, to share on social media.

Sometimes, I'd see a thousand views in less than an hour.

Bots. It's got to be bots.

This year has been a tremendous one in the number of viewers to The Brown Knowser. For all of you real people who have supported by blog, I thank you warmly and deeply. You are the reason I keep going.

Whether real or artificial, there are some blog posts that have stood out as being more popular than others, and so once again, here are the list of the top 10 Brown Knowser posts of 2023. And because I don't know if the numbers are legit or not—they're in the hundreds of views, after all—this might very well be the last time that I post this list.

If you've seen these posts, perhaps you'd like to revisit them; if they're new to you, I hope you enjoy them.

10: Paddling Plaisance — this was a fun paddle and one of the fastest kayaking videos that I've put together. People on YouTube seem to like my kayaking videos so I'll continue to make them in the coming year.

9: Kitties in a Doorway — who doesn't like kittens?

8: World of Kayaking — it's a simple post, with just a single photo, and I love using the tiny-planet feature on my 360-degree cameras.

7: Me, The Grinch — I still don't know why this particular version of my annual blog post is so popular but I've cleaned it up and retitled it for 2023. If you haven't read that version, I suggest that you do. I don't plan to revise it anymore and Grinchy will be the defining post, going forward.

6: Lost and Found... and Lost Again — losing my smartphone isn't as scary as losing a child at an event but it's still stressful.

5: The Last Virtual Challenge — since I've stopped using The Conqueror app, I've also stopped getting on my spin bike. I may have to give myself a new challenge in 2024.

4: Back to Ruins — Wordless Wednesday is one of my most-enduring posts on my blog and I'm glad it's still popular. Thanks for supporting my pictures.

3: The Apple Doesn't Fall Far — drinking soju with my kid, especially when she discovered the Korean liquor on her own, warmed my heart. (Not that I'm encouraging drinking: please drink responsibly.)

2: If I Had 10 Million Dollars — the popularity of this post surprised me. And no, I still wouldn't move to Toronto.

1: Black and White and Red — this is also one of my favourite posts that I shared, but not for the writing. I really like the photo: it's one of my favourite of this year and you'll see it again in tomorrow's blog post.

So those are the most popular Brown Knowser blog posts of 2023. Have you read them before? What do you think? Was there a blog post that you saw this year that you liked but didn't make the list? Leave me a comment.

And again, I thank you for reading my blog posts and supporting my work. It really keeps me inspired to continue writing, to continue sharing photos and videos. Best wishes for a happy 2024.

Operation: Christmas

I first posted this story in 2011 and have made it my holiday tradition ever since. For its tenth anniversary, I've made some minor edits.

If you haven't read it before, I hope you enjoy it. If you have read it before, I'm hoping that you make it your holiday tradition in reading it again.

Merry Christmas and best wishes for a safe and happy holiday season!

At first, we did it out of excitement for the season and impatience, unable to wait until morning. Later, it became a game about how far we could go, about how much risk we were willing to take. It was a test in organizational skills and stealth.

In time, it would become a ritual.

The first time we crept from our bedrooms and down the stairs, anxious to see what Santa had left us, my younger sister, Jen, and I faced our biggest obstacle: each other.

"Go to bed," I whispered, not wanting her to make any noise, thereby arousing the attention of our parents, who had only a half hour ago, or earlier, had gone to bed after placing our wrapped gifts under the tree. Our older sister, Holly, was sound asleep, seemingly able to contain her excitement and curiosity, and able to wait until the morning.

The first time that Jen and I met on the stairs, we got our parents' attention: "Get into bed," my mother called from her bedroom, "or Santa won't come." Reluctantly, Jen and I returned to our respective rooms, giving each other the stink eye for having spoiled the other's plans at checking out the cache of presents.

Later that night, after I had deemed that everyone was fast asleep, I slowly made my way downstairs once again. I would pause on the stairs every time a step creaked, waiting to hear if anyone had stirred at the soft noise. It took a couple of minutes to reach the ground floor and sneak to our living room, where our Christmas tree stood. I had reached my destination without arousing suspicion.

I was a stealth machine.

A faint light illuminated the living room through our sheer curtains from the outdoor street lights, casting a twinkling glow off the tinsel and glass balls on the tree. My eyes, which had already adjusted to the darkness of my bedroom, could easily make out the outline of the tree and the mound of boxes and parcels underneath it. I saw the stockings, filled to bursting, hanging off the edge of the shelf of our wall unit—our house having no fireplace or mantle. I slowly approached the tree, making my way towards the light switch underneath the tree, the one that would light up the tree and give me a clear view of the gifts.

I was so busy moving quietly, using my eyes to the best of their abilities, making sure that I didn't trip over a present, that I hadn't used my ears to detect another presence. Coming into the living room, equally quiet, was Jen.

"What are you doing here?" I whispered.

"The same thing as you," was the response.

"You're going to wake everyone up," I complained.

"Not if I keep quiet," she said. "You're the one making all of the noise."

I knew that by continuing to argue, we'd wake the rest of the household. We dropped our voices to a barely audible whisper. "What should we do?" I asked.

"Want to turn on the Christmas tree?" Jen suggested.

"I was just about to do that," I said, "but only for a second." I was afraid that somehow the light would make its way out of the living room, up the stairs and down the hall, through my parent's closed door, and up to their shut eyes. Such was the paranoid logic of a young kid who was not where he was supposed to be.

Our family Christmas tree.

I reached for the switch and the tree sparkled in the warm glow of the lights. Jen and I let our eyes wander over the packages and the brightly patterned paper, trying to see through the wrap and trying to discern the gift by its shape. We kept the lights on for only a couple of seconds, and before we felt that we could run further risk, we immersed ourselves once again in darkness.

We decided that it was too great a risk to remain downstairs any longer, so we agreed to return to our rooms. We further agreed that we shouldn't try ascending the stairs at the same time, so Jen went first, and when I knew that she was safely in her room, I made my way to my own.

Operation: Christmas was born.

The next morning, as Jen and I sat in our living room with our older sister and our parents, we gave each other a smiling look, silently communicating that we shared a little secret, that we had gotten away with a reconnaissance of our haul of gifts. No one else in the room knew what we had done. We had gotten cleanly away with this act.

Leading up to the following Christmas, Jen and I privately discussed going downstairs to take another sneak peek at the gifts under the tree. But this year, we agreed that we would be more organized. We synchronized our clocks so that we would have our rendezvous better-timed. Also, with the mystery of Santa Claus pretty much worn out on us, our parents told us that they had decided that they would put our stockings at the end of our beds before they went to bed themselves. They told us that if we were to awake to our stockings in our rooms, it would buy them a little more sleep by keeping us occupied with oranges, small toys, and other treats.

Before that Christmas Eve, Jen and I had decided that when our folks came into our rooms to put the stockings at the end of our beds, we would feign sleep. We would listen for them retiring to their own room, and then we'd wait a half hour. We would then give each other an additional 15 minutes to go through our stockings and check out our haul.

And then it was showtime.

We would quietly step out of our rooms and wait for the other to show up in the hall. We would then head down the stairs together. In the weeks leading up to the big night, we would make a note of the squeaks in the steps and either place our foot on a side of that step that didn't creak or, failing to find a safe spot, avoid that step altogether. We memorised the walking pattern, going up and down the stairs until we got it right. We were confident that we wouldn't make a sound on our way to and from the tree.

In the second year, I brought a flashlight. We would still turn the tree on so that we could marvel at the packages underneath, but would use the flashlight to better read the writing on the packages to find which of the gifts belonged to us.

On our way back up, we heard a stirring from my folks' room. We froze. We didn't know if one of our parents had simply moved or was on their way to investigate some sound we might have made. We stood, halfway up the staircase, remaining silent and motionless until we deemed it was safe to proceed.

That was year two.

In the years that followed, we continued the tradition. Jen and I got more sophisticated. We drew maps of the upper and ground floors, marked out a plan of where who should be at what time. We ran drills when we were home alone. Operation: Christmas became a finely choreographed exercise.

We became emboldened: we'd turn the lights on the Christmas tree and leave them on for as long as we were downstairs. We'd stay longer, counting up our presents and figuring out what each one was, based on what we had asked for versus the size of a package. We would get ourselves a snack from the kitchen and eat it, surrounded by wrapped boxes.

In our teens, we would unwrap the gifts, confirming what we suspected the package to be. If we could further remove the gift from it's casing or box, we'd do it. We'd play with our stuff. And then we would carefully re-wrap the present and put it back where our parents had arranged it. Some Christmases, we'd return to our bedrooms, knowing exactly what we we would be getting, for real, in a few short hours.

The thrill of Christmas morning came in the form of feigned surprise, both of us doing our best at keeping from laughing out loud. Sometimes, Jen and I couldn't make eye contact for fear of bursting out in hysterics.

We also enjoyed the surprise of seeing what our sister, Holly, had received under the tree. The thought of unwrapping her gifts during our operation wasn't even a consideration. Touching Holly's presents was clearly taboo.

Operation: Christmas went on for years, until Jen finally moved out of the house. Even though she was younger than me, she flew the coup first. Our game was over. I never went to check on the presents by myself. Operation: Christmas wouldn't have been the same without a partner in crime.

When we became adults, Jen and I confessed our crime. Our parents wouldn't believe us. They couldn't accept that we would have the capability of pulling off such a caper, that we'd be able to unwrap gifts, play with the toys, and put the presents back together. Not without our parents detecting anything was amiss. Jen and I just looked at each other, smiled, and shared our memories in silence.

For us, the magic of Christmas includes our scheme. For me, remembering Operation: Christmas was a ritual that brought me closer to my sister than any other game we played as kids during daylight hours. It was our special time together.

And isn't that what Christmas is all about?

Note: the photo that was used in this blog post was from a photo that I shot on the very last night that my sister and I carried out Operation: Christmas. I took this before going to bed, before starting 'the mission.'

The Secret Santa

First told in December, 2014, this Christmas tale is now a Brown Knowser holiday tradition. If you're new to my blog, I hope you enjoy it; if you've read it before, I hope that it puts you in the holiday spirit.

He never cared for Secret Santas in the office, or anywhere, for that matter. He didn't feel the need to pick a random name from a hat and then try to figure out something about that practical stranger (he just knew that, as luck would have it, he would pick the name of someone that worked in a distant part of the office, someone that he didn't know well), and he would then spend money and time choosing a gift that would not enrich the life of that individual, would not be something that would give that individual anything that he or she would truly want.

He used to participate in Secret Santa at work, feeling compelled by peer pressure. But over the years, he had become immune to peer pressure, would only participate in an office social activity if he truly wanted to.

And, usually, he didn't want to.

He wasn't a Grinch, nor a Scrooge, but especially, he wasn't a Secret Santa.

It was Christmas Eve and, as with every year, he did the bulk of his Christmas shopping at the last minute. He usually had an idea of what he needed to buy—his wife did most of the shopping for the kids and extended family members, and he needed only to focus on finding something for his wife, plus a few little things for the kids and some stocking stuffers for everyone in the family.

But one of the main reasons that he liked to shop in the stores on Christmas Eve was because he had worked retail in his youth, and he knew that there could be lots of stressed shoppers, lots of folks out there who treated store employees like crap, and so he liked to go in and be extra-nice to those workers, to try and make them feel appreciated.

He jokingly referred to the city's oldest shopping mall as the geriatric centre, as there was an abundance of grey-haired folks with walkers and canes, moving slowly through the corridors and spending extra time in the shops, looking to strike up conversations with the employees, form some sort of connection with a friendly face. For a short time, he had even worked in the bank branch in that mall, where he would spend more time just chatting with the seniors who paid a visit than actually conducting business.

That was fine: most of them were friendly, kind, courteous. The only time when he didn't like encountering seniors was a time when he wasn't working in the mall—it was when his kids were infants, and he and his wife would navigate the hallways and department-store aisles with a wee one in a stroller. He and his wife would constantly be held up, as the elderly would faun over the children, would reach out to stroke a smooth cheek.

"Please don't touch my baby," he would say, his voice flat, unemotional, but authoritative, before any contact could be made between old and new skin.

But still, he liked going to that mall. It had plenty of good shops that catered to a wide variety of needs and it was in a convenient part of town. And so, on Christmas Eve, as he was making his final purchases before heading home, he found himself in one of these stores, waiting in line behind a silver-haired lady who was using a wheeled walker for support as she tried to purchase a few items for her grandsons (as he understood from the conversation with the person who was trying to ring up the sale).

The senior moved slowly, her shoulders slumped from a busy day of shopping or perhaps from a lifetime of hard work. She seemed to be in no rush to finish her purchases, was content to idly chat with the saleswoman. The cashier, in turn, was friendly but purposeful: there were others waiting to tally their items, to move on to more shopping or to head home.

When the elderly lady's items were summed up, she opened her oversized purse, retrieved her wallet, and selected a credit card.

It didn't take long to learn that the credit card had been declined, as the point-of-sale terminal sounded a low beep and the saleslady grimaced. The elderly woman asked in a meager voice if the salesperson could try it again, and again, the card was declined.

"I don't understand," the woman said, "I've been using it all day." Indeed, an assortment of parcels and bags rested on her walker. She reached into her wallet and selected another credit card. "Try this one," she said, handing it to the cashier.

The second credit card was also declined.

Silence.

The woman dropped her head, her eyes moving back and forth in their sockets as she made mental calculations, tried to figure where she went wrong. Those shoulders, which already sagged, seemed to slump further in her perturbation. Her face denoted sadness, as though she might cry, as she came to terms with the possibility that her grandsons would not be receiving the gifts she had finally found for them.

The salesperson, meanwhile, looked at the man, patiently waiting, with an apologetic smile, unsure about how to deal with the woman who could not pay but who had not determined her next course of action.

The man was neither a Grinch nor a Scrooge, and though he wanted only to make his purchase and leave the mall, he also didn't want to see this frail lady leave empty-handed. It was Christmas Eve, after all.

He looked the salesperson in the eyes and mouthed, "It's okay, let her go. I'll pay for her." He held cash in hand to show that he was good for the amount owed.

"Really?" the salesperson whispered back, her eyes wide, finding it hard to believe that a total stranger would show such a level of sympathy and compassionate generosity.

He nodded. Smiled.

"Oh, it looks like we're good," the salesperson said to the woman after pretending to check the register again. "I guess our machine slowed down." She placed the goods in a bag and handed it over, the cancelled transaction slips in the bag. The senior loaded up her walker and began wheeling it towards the mall.

It had only been a thirty-dollar purchase. The man wasn't going to miss the extra amount that he paid. The old lady would likely discover what had happened after she was safe at home—if she bothered to look at the voided receipts, that is. Perhaps, she might not ever know.

If she had other shopping to do and tried to use those credit cards, she would discover that they couldn't be used. That would be a problem for her and the next salesperson to sort out. But at least she could bring her grandsons some joy.

Only the salesperson and the man would know what truly happened. On this Christmas Eve, for the first time ever, he could claim to be a true Secret Santa, anonymous and giving something truly desired.

And that was good enough for him.

Grinchy

This blog post was originally posted on December 20, 2011, and has become a traditional Brown Knowser holiday tale. Over the years, I've cleaned it up here and there and have brought it up to date, now that my kids have grown. If you have read it before, I hope you enjoy it again. If this is your first read, I hope it won't be your last.

© 1966 Warner Home Video.

All rights reserved.

On some level, I'm not a fan of Christmas. I'm not interested in decorating the house nor in sending out greeting cards (actually, the entire Brown Knowser family has pretty much given up on that activity). Nor am I, especially, in heading out to the stores to shop. I hate going near shopping malls and department stores at any time of year, but I particularly loathe going out at this time of year: fighting crowds, standing in lines, searching for that ever-elusive parking space.

No, thank you very much.

Not being a religious person, the spiritual side of Christmas is lost on a cynic like me. Our family doesn't go to church nor do we participate in the rituals that have long ago been stolen from the Pagans. We have no manger on display, no angel on high, atop the tree.

In the past, my participation in these year-end, winter festivities usually included some sporadic shopping, taking the family to a farm to search for and cut down our tree, and then driving it home, standing it in the house, and helping my wife with the lights and flashy, gold garland. Once that was done, I would leave the room and let the three girls hang the ornaments while they blasted music from the annual traditional Christmas CD.

But over the years, the kids have lost interest in harvesting a tree, and in the past two Christmases, they didn't even want to help DW decorate it (a couple of years ago, because DW and I had gone to Cuba a couple of weeks before Christmas, we were unable to find a decent tree that didn't cost a fortune, and we picked up a sad, two-foot tree that we stood on our dining-room hutch). DW strung lights around the house, alone, on Christmas Eve.

Even as a kid, the tradition of decorating a tree didn't interest me much. And, as my children have grown older and they now know that there is no Santa Clause, I see that their interest in this holiday has also begun to wane on them. I seem to have passed on my Grinchiness to them.

To understand how my view of Christmas has eroded over the decades, I have to go back to when I was in my mid to late teens, and later, into my early twenties.

For many years, I worked in retail. In late 1981, at the age of 16, my folks decided that it was time to wean me from my allowance, telling me that I was old enough to earn my own income. And so I got a job in a paint and wallpaper store in our local shopping mall. I worked there—and at a couple of our other franchise shops in two other Ottawa shopping malls—for four years, helping customers choose colours and patterns to spread over their walls. In some cases, I even offered my services in applying the paint or wallpaper, or both, for them. In the weeks leading up to Christmas, however, I witnessed my customers, who were generally easy to please, grow stressed as they frantically tried to get their houses in order in time for the holidays. Many left things to the last minute ("What do you mean? Latex paint needs thirty days to cure before I can hang wallpaper on it??").

I worked in the Merivale Mall off-and-on for more than 16 years, working at the paint and wallpaper store, a camera shop, and at a bank. And what I learned from my experience there is that I hate—absolutely HATE—the retail side of Christmas. I hated that on the very day after Hallowe'en (before Remembrance Day, for cryin' out loud!), the Christmas decorations went up in the mall, Santa's village began construction, and carolers strolled up and down the promenade. 

Christmas sales began. In the camera store, Christmas season officially ran from November 1^st to December 24^th. Mercifully, I've never worked anywhere that holds Boxing Week specials. But the weeks that followed Christmas were just as busy, as customers returned unwanted items (I probably hated that time of year even more than the pre-Christmas rushes).

Working in retail over the holiday season was an exercise in patience to the N^th degree. In the early weeks of the Christmas sales, people were generally in good spirits, though I honestly believe that these people were generally happy, well-organized individuals—they were, after all, getting their shopping done early. They were beating the crowds. They probably found parking in less than thirty minutes.

And they were in and out before the Jolly Old Elf made his appearance (the Santa at the Merivale Mall was a bald, cigar-smoking dude who always had dark, sagging bags under his eyes. I'd run into him, out of costume, in the corridors behind the shops; he creeped me out).

But as the big day arrived, people grew grumpy, stressed, and quick to anger.

On one Christmas Eve when I worked at the camera shop, in the last hour before we closed our doors, I had one guy tear a strip off me because the camera he wanted to buy was sold out. It was not surprising, as it was the hottest camera of the year and we had sold out days earlier. And yet he had expected to find it waiting for him.

That experience left me with an emotional scar. But it wasn't just the angry last-minute shopper in the camera store that had ruined Christmas for me. Not on his own. He was just the catalyst for that day. As I left the mall at the end of my shift, walking through the parking lot, I heard two men screaming at each other over a parking spot, both standing outside their cars, whose front ends where nosed up to the vacant space. As they prepared to come to blows, I piped up with a heart-felt rendition of Silent Night, which was met with an aggressive "Fuck off" and a "Mind your own business."

On the way home (I walked, by the way: at that time of year, walking was faster than trying to drive on Merivale Road), I decided to stop at a drug store to pick up some snacks and extra tape in anticipation of a night of wrapping gifts and visiting friends. When I lined up at the cash register, a man was screaming at the poor clerk, a young lady who was obviously not the manager or owner. I had, in fact, seen her behind  the counter many times before. She was always cheerful and polite, and was a good employee. Any retailer would want her on his staff. But now, she was almost in tears. I don't know what the man was screaming about, but it was obvious that this nice clerk had failed in helping him in one way or another. All I saw was a mean-spirited man handing out his rage on a tarnished platter.

And I got angry. This was no way to talk to anyone, especially on Christmas Eve. "Peace on Earth, good will to men," I said in a loud but cheery voice, trying to dispel the anger.

"Peace on Earth, my ass," the man said. Nice. "I bought the wrong batteries and this girl won't take them back." He waved a package of Duracell AAs, the cardboard torn, the package opened. Perhaps, even, the batteries tried? I understood: the clerk couldn't take the batteries back because he had opened the package. The batteries could not be returned to the shelf; no one would buy a pack of opened batteries. At the camera shop, we had the same policy.

"But you opened the package," I said. "Of course, you can't return them."

"Why don't you mind your own business?" the man spat at me. Other customers came to the line and, to my relief, they seemed to take the clerk's side. "Why don't you give the girl a break?" said one. The disgruntled customer screamed some more obscenities at the poor girl behind the counter, promised to never shop there again (much to the clerk's relief, I'm sure), and stormed out.

It was probably at this moment that I came to the decision that I hated Christmas. That is to say, I hated the consumerism side of it (insert the soundtrack to A Charlie Brown Christmas here). In the evolution of the holiday, we have placed the material above the ideal—the spirit, if you will. In my remaining years in the Merivale Mall, I learned to dread the Christmas season because it always stirred  memories of this day. Of the hostility and rage from the last-minute shopper, the parking foes, and the disgruntled idiot who didn't know which batteries he needed.

I hate Christmas shopping. I try to avoid it. But with a family, that's hard to do. And so I try to get it out of the way as painlessly as possible. Over the past couple of years, I've started shopping online, avoiding bricks-and-mortar stores altogether. I used to leave little things to the last minute—things that, should I be unable to find, I really didn't care, anyway.

If I do have to venture into a store, I'm always extra-polite with the retail workers. I always have a smile, I always have something nice to say. If a retailer cannot help me find what I'm looking for, I don't hold it against him or her. I never complain.

I think everyone should work a mandatory year in retail so that he or she can empathize with the clerks that do this day in and day out. It's not easy dealing with a public that hasn't walked in a retailer's shoes.

So what does Christmas mean to me? From the day that I walked home from the drug store, Christmas has meant only one thing: time. Time with family and friends. Time to appreciate what I have. Time to be the best that you can be to others.

The material aspects of the holiday don't matter to me. I don't need a tree. I don't need lights. I don't even need gifts (the other year, apart from a stocking that DW stuffed for me, there was nothing under our puny tree for me, and that was just fine).

As long as I have family and friends, I think I can be Grinchy for everything else.

The Un-Christmassy Christmas

We have no tree.

We have no indoor decorations. Stockings have not been hung by the fireplace, though I suspect that DW will pull those out, eventually. The oversized Christmas coffee mugs are still packed away in the basement, hardly worth pulling out at this point.

Not a single treat has been baked.

We have outdoor lights, strung along the top eavestrough, above the garage, and around to our front steps, where they twist around a supporting pillar. More lights on the trellis that is mounted to the side of the garage, near our porch.

But that's it.

Our house is in complete disarray as we continue with our renovation of the upstairs flooring. There's just no way that we'll have that project completed before Christmas Day. And this means that our living room will still have slats of hardwood, meaning that the focal point of our Christmas morning will be out of bounds.

My mother is hosting a Christmas dinner but on Christmas Eve for the first time, ever. Also, for the first time since we've lived in our house, we won't be hosting a Christmas breakfast buffet.

That part of Christmas is going to be missed sorely.

We won't have our traditional Christmas, but do you know what we will have? We will have both of our daughters home. We'll be visiting my parents and my eldest sibling. We'll make time to see friends.

In the Grinch story, the Whos didn't need a Christmas tree or any of the trimmings. They just needed each other.

And for me, that's all I need.

Road Trippin' Part 2

It's the quickest video that I've made of this kind.

On the computer that I've had for years (indeed, the very computer that I've used to compose this blog post), using the video-editing software that DW gave me, years ago, an 11-minute video would have taken me at least 20 hours to put together from bits of MP4 clips.

A couple of weeks ago, DW bought herself a powerful new laptop, with a fast processor and video card, and downloaded new video editing software. She talked about upgrading our computer a few weeks back, and she had an old work computer that was similar but not as powerful, upon which she let me try a test video to see how fast it would be.

You can see that test video here.

On her brand-new MacBook, I produced my latest YouTube video. As I said, producing this video on our old system would have taken me at least 20 hours. Mind you, I did have to watch a couple of tutorials to understand the new software, but even including that time, I produced my latest video in less than 10 hours.

Why so much faster? First, I didn't have to wait forever for each clip to be rendered after dragging it into my timeline. Some clips could take about 15 to 20 minutes to load, and I would exhaust myself simply by waiting.

In the new software, Final Cut Pro, I can leave the video files in their folder and import them by proxy, which, as I understand it, brings them into my timeline as a compressed, much smaller size. There's no waiting for pulling them into the timeline. I can just add and edit.

I'm not a fan of Apple and there are growing pains with using a Mac, after being a Windows user for decades. But I do like the ease of use of Final Cut Pro. In the future, I'll use DW's MacBook for video editing, but my Windows laptop for everything else.

Here's the second part of our Road Trippin' adventure, which saw us with friends in Stratford and St. Marys, in southern Ontario. Have a look.

I have one more video idea for this month and if everything goes well, that video will be out on December 31. If you like my videos, please subscribe to my YouTube channel and hit the notification button so that you'll be the first to learn of my videos when they drop.

Happy Monday!

Stalled

We had ordered the wood on the day before I found out that a surgical cancellation would bump me up on the list. Though this was a project that DW wanted to lead, my help was essential.

Kid 1, who was recruited to help DW, is strong but there are some pieces of our bedroom furniture that even I struggle to move.

DW and I made significant progress, removing the carpet from the hallway, the study, and Kid 1's bedroom. We had removed all staples, tightened and added more screws to ensure the subfloor was solid, and installed the nosing for the top of the stairs and along the base of the bannister.

But that was only the first weekend. The following week was busy with other things. DW had started a new job and was fully involved with going to the gym and playing pickleball. Her weeknights were pretty busy.

And of course, last Friday, I went in to the hospital to have my appendix removed, which has effectively taken me out of action until January. I can barely bend over and I'm limited to lifting no more than about 7 kgs.

Over the weekend, DW and Kid 1 started laying the first of the hardwood. They started in the hallway at Kid 1's bathroom and, when they reached the entrance to her bedroom, made a sharp left and laid the wood in a straight line all the way to the far wall.

And stopped.

Weeknights are hard: Kid 1's job has her working two nights out of the week and DW still tries to work in the gym and pickleball. And some friends invited us to dinner, one evening, to celebrate Hanukkah with them.

Friends take priority over reno projects.

So, no progress has been made this week on the reno project. Our friend who had loaned us his tools, who also attended this week's dinner party, learned of the lack of progress and has offered to help, this weekend.

DW can use the extra muscle and expertise.

I'll do my part by staying out of their way. I have a couple of video projects that I'm working on. I'll go to a quiet spot in the house and keep my head down. Perhaps, every once and a while, I'll cheer them on and take some pictures to document the progress.

Stay tuned.

Beer O'Clock: München Weissbier

I should have tried this beer during Octoberfest.

I normally pass the imported beer section when I visit my friendly neighbourhood LCBO, and I really shouldn't. I mean, the Ontario craft beer scene is awesome but it's not the be-all and end-all. I should learn to broaden my horizons.

And it wasn't in the LCBO where I found this German ale. I just happened to be cutting down an aisle in one of my local grocery stores, heading toward the front cashiers, and I happened to make a shortcut of the beer and wine aisle.

Coincidence. Pure coincidence.

I saw a lot of cans that I recognized but my eyes fell upon this seemingly festive label. And while the illustration on the can isn't a Christmas-festive theme, the greens and reds, mixed with the foliage at the top of the can—accentuated, no doubt, by the Christmas music that was flooding the store's speaker system—made me think of the holidays.

I'm no stranger to the Paulaner Brewery label. I've had beer from this Munich-based brewery in the past, and likely, I've had this wheat ale before. It's just that I don't remember the last time that I've had this beer (Untapp'd was no help) and I certainly have never sat down and given the brew enough thought to warrant a review.

Until now.

So while Octoberfest is far behind us, other holidays are upon us. Does this wheat ale make for a festive brew?

Weissbier (Munich Wheat Beer: 5.5% ABV)
Paulaner Brauerei
München, Germany

Appearance: pours an unfiltered, apricot-gold with miniscule effervescence. The head is white and starts with a thick, dense foam, but settles to a thin but solid cap.

Nose: banana and pear are distinct, and I'm reminded of a saison.

Palate: there's a dankness about it but the fruit still comes through, although subtly. The mouthfeel is dry but still with loads of effervescence and a bit of mineral, almost flinty. There's practically no finish.

Overall impression: it's a pretty simple wheat ale. It has a fragrant nose, a non-complex body, and a finish that cleanses the palate. As decent as it is, though, each sip did not have me clamouring to take another. It was refreshing, easy-drinking, but seemed to me to be missing any distinct characteristic.

Beer O'Clock rating: 🍺🍺

Paulaner has been around since 1634 and this Weissbier is touted as Germany's number-one wheat ale. Far be it from me to argue with that claim but I've had wheat ales that I've enjoyed more.

If you've never had a wheat ale before and want to start with something authentic, I would recommend this brew. But I find that the Belgian wheat ales that I've had give just a bit more flavour.

Cheers!

Dangerous Abbreviations

I know exactly why this 1977 song came into my head. Words stick when you're waiting, and for me, stuck words can often become musical.

I arrived at the day-surgery waiting room right on time, even though the orderly said that I was early. Early for the surgery, yes: early for when I was told to be there, no.

As soon as the orderly saw my name, he informed me that there would be a delay as there were two emergency cases that required the OR. Without getting into detail, he turned and went through a door, beyond which I could see rows of lockers.

A few minutes later, a nurse came to me and apologized, explaining that because of ER demand, whenever an emergency required immediate surgery, the day-surgery OR was used. There were two cases that had just arrived and would need to use the OR ahead of me. While she didn't know how long my procedure would be delayed, she told me that she didn't think it would be worth my while to go home and wait.

It's hard to get upset about being bumped by someone who required immediate, urgent care, so I told the nurse that I'll send positive vibes to the two cases and continue to wait. I had my smartphone on me—even though the nurse at my pre-op appointment, two days earlier, had suggested that I leave it at home—and there were my virtual friends on social media to keep me company.

I've had major surgery before but today, I was anxious.

A little more than two hours after arriving at the hospital, I was taken to the prep area. I was given a gown and slippers, and was told to place all of my belongings in plastic bags. I then took a fresh blanket, which was also provided, and lay on a gurney, covered.

Within minutes, two nurses came to take my vital stats and to cover me with a warming blanket that would keep me toasty while I waited. They confirmed that yes, I was having an appendectomy, and also made sure that I knew my name and date of birth.

And then I lay there and waited.

I had put my reading glasses and smartphone in the plastic bag, which was now on the floor, next to me. In retrospect, I should have hung onto both until it was time to lock up the bag. I lay in the bed, watching people walk past, watching the clock hands move, hour-by-hour.

My eyes aren't great but I can read somewhat, depending on how far the words are from me and how large the font is. On the wall, next to me, a sign read "Dangerous Abbreviations." Below, in a black background, white type was too small for me to read.

That's how the song got in my head. Only, the chorus became "Dangerous Abbreviations."

"What makes an abbreviation dangerous?" I asked a nurse when she came by to administer antibiotics, a preventative measure in anticipation of the surgery.

She explained that too many abbreviations on orders and reports can lead to confusion. There were guidelines on how to be clear, concise, and to have good penmanship.

Good to know.

The nurse noticed that I had no other reading material. I explained that I had been using my smartphone but that I had tucked it into my bag when I had changed into the hospital gown. She said that I shouldn't worry about putting my phone away until the anesthesiologist visited me. Things would pick up after that visit.

She retrieved my bag and I grabbed my phone and glasses. I had missed some messages from DW so I replied, let her know that I was still waiting but at least was in a warm bed. I snapped a photo of the sign on the wall, knowing that for some reason, I didn't want to forget about the dangers of abbreviations.

The tune still went through my head:

Stranger to stranger
We're both dressed for danger
Something is generating here...

The three Tylenol tablets that had been given to me while my vitals were taken seemed to be calming me, making me drowsy, so once again I packed away my phone and glasses, tied up the bag, and placed it at the foot of the bed. I closed my eyes and tried to get some rest.

It's not like anything I've ever known before
And I don't care...

My surgeon came by to check on me and reminded me that I hadn't yet signed the consent form for the surgery. Because I had put my glasses away, I asked her to read the conditions to me and point to where I needed to sign.

As I signed the paper, the anesthesiologist arrived and questioned me about whether I've ever been under a general anesthetic before. "Yes, a few times." Had I ever had an adverse reaction? "No."

I wasn't given an option of whether I wanted a local anesthetic so that I could watch the procedure. Not that I wanted that option. I wanted to be out cold, not seeing or hearing a thing.

"It won't be long now," my surgeon said, taking the signed form. "The room is ready for us."

The red light is on now
My gravity's gone and how
I can feel something in the air...

My bag of belongings was removed, locked up in a secure spot, possibly in one of the lockers that I had noticed on my way in. I was wheeled down a corridor and into the operating theatre, where I saw two of the largest, circular lamps hanging above my head. They were spotless and had several LED lights around them.

"Do they flash in tune to a beat?" I asked. The reggae-like tune was still in my head.

"I wish," the anesthesiologist said. He and two assistants were the only ones in the room. They helped move me from the gurney to the operating table and both of my arms were stretched out onto boards that extended on each side of the table.

An oxygen mask was brought to my face. "I have to warn you," the anesthesiologist said, "it's going to smell like Canadian Tire."

I inhaled and then laughed. "You're right," I said, which caused the assistant to lift the mask from my face. "It smells like their garden center. I smell fertilizer."

The mask went back over my face. "Just relax," I was told.

My surgeon entered the theatre, ready to go. The anesthesiologist told me that he was going to send the knock-out drug through my veins, and that it might hurt for a second, but that it would only be for a few seconds, after which I'd feel nothing.

It was surprising how much it hurt, as though someone with sharp nails was clawing my hand.

It's not like anything I've ever known before
And I don't care

Dangerous rhythm
Dangerous rhythm
Dangerous rhythm in the air.

I awoke to a nurse asking me to take a deep breath.

I inhaled and tried to open my eyes but there was a heaviness upon me.

"Good. One more."

I took in a huge gulp of air and my eyes sprang open as though I had just remembered something important. I was wide awake, lying on a gurney in the recovery area. But not for long. I was quickly wheeled back to the row of alcoves, where I had lain for hours before my surgery.

"The surgery went well," I was told. I would still be resting for at least another hour before my wife would be called. I just had to relax until my surgeon deemed it was time for me to go.

I was in a different alcove but the sign was on the wall. Dangerous Abbreviations.

"When I feel better," I told the nurse, "I'm going to form a band and call it Dangerous Abbreviations."

"You're funny."

"I have my moments."

Oh, take off your halo
For the all-night inferno
Something is happening in the air...

Eventually, my bag of personal effects was brought to me and I was told that DW had been called. It was time to get dressed.

I moved a bit slowly but had no trouble dressing myself. I turned on my phone and when it had finished booting up, I received a text message from DW. I was about to respond when the curtains around the gurney were drawn and DW was standing there.

"Careful," I said. "There could be some dangerous abbreviations about."

DW already thinks I'm weird, especially after coming off anesthetics, so didn't even flinch. She helped me into a wheelchair and I was officially given the okay to go home. Someone from the hospital would call me, tomorrow, to check on my condition.

The chorus followed me to the exit, where our car was waiting close by.

Dangerous rhythm
Dangerous rhythm
Dangerous rhythm in the air

Dangerous rhythm
Dangerous rhythm
Dangerous rhythm in the air. —Ultravox, "Dangerous Rhythm"

Magic Eraser

When Google makes editing suggestions to the photos that I've shot on my smartphone, I usually ignore them.

"No, thanks, Google," I think, as though I'm in a telepathic conversation with my phone, "if I want to modify one of my photos, I'll do it myself."

Ninety-nine percent of the time that I accept an edit suggestion from Google, I end up reverting back to my original photo. And anyway, most of the time I'll run a photo through Snapseed to edit it right away, so Google is suggesting a change to a photo that I've already edited.

Nope.

But lately, I've noticed a new suggestion that Google makes to my photos: Magic Eraser.

Not knowing what it was, I tapped the button to see what would happen. What could go wrong? If I didn't like what the feature did, I could undo it.

I chose one of the photos that I captured of the setting sun, outside the St. Lawrence Market, in old Toronto. For reference, here's the original photo without any editing. (If you want to see how I edited it, check out my blog post from a couple of weeks ago.

While looking at the photo in Google Photos, I was prompted to try Magic Eraser. Tapping the button, the program automatically selected everyone that it recognized as a person.

I tapped Erase all.

The two people who were crossing Front Street were removed from the photo. I was given the option to tap in more spots that I wanted to touch up but I accepted the program's edits as is.

One of the challenges in this eraser tool it that because one of the pedestrians was moving between the headlights of a car in the background, Magic Eraser replaced the person with another headlight. To me, it gives the impression that the car is moving and for the purposes of this demonstration, that's okay for now.

What do you think?

I tried it again with a photo that I had shot with my Nikon D750 and had uploaded to my phone. Again, I had already performed some editing with Snapseed and saved the photo to Google Photos before Google made the suggestion to use Magic Eraser.

This edit didn't work so well, as the program didn't recognize the person in the dark, hooded coat, who was behind the woman in the white jacket. It also didn't recognize the person on a bicycle, with his back to the camera. Also, while it did mostly remove the person who was walking in front of the taxi, on the far left of the photo, because that person was blocking the passenger-side headlight, it isn't repaired in the edited image.

I guess it doesn't recognize cars.

Overall, the eraser didn't to a terrible job but I think that the result isn't good enough to replace the original photo. I guess people will have to stay in the image.

Have you used Magic Eraser? How have your final results turned out? Leave me a comment.

If I really want to remove people from my photos, I'll use the photo-editing apps that I have, like PaintShop Pro or Luminar AI, which are much better at removing things. But in a pinch, under the right circumstances, I might try Magic Eraser again.

Happy Friday!