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 few Christmases, they didn't even want to help DW decorate it (a few 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.

Enjoying the Moment

I brought three video cameras and a gimbal for my smartphone. Upon further reflection, it was all for naught.

The last three times that I've been on the Mayan Riviera, I've shot video footage and have created content for my YouTube channel. I was incredibly inspired by my first video, though I was learning how to use my first 360-degree camera and wasn't sure I'd have anything to share, and then my video from my second trip brought the most views of any video I've shared on my channel.

On DW's and my third visit to the area, and our second stay at the Akumal Bay Beach and Wellness Resort, we met someone who had made their decision to come to the resort after watching that popular video. 

On this visit, we're with two other couples, some of our closest friends, and though I've brought lots of gear, I'm not feeling the need to capture video. I've even taken few stills, compared with previous visits.

When I've shot video, I've had technical difficulties: batteries have died; the cameras weren't recording when I thought they were, or were recording when I didn't know that they were.

And one camera, which was in a waterproof case, started taking in water because of a faulty seal.

I gave up and packed away my equipment, deciding that I wasn't going to capture any more video, that I was just going to enjoy my time with DW and our friends.

Ever since I've made this decision, I've been much more relaxed and am really enjoying this vacation.

Too bad we've only got a couple of days left.

Abandoned Akumal

It Ain't Always Sunny

Every now and then, a little rain's gotta fall.

As of writing this post, DW and I have awoken in the Akumal area 20 times. It's something that we always look forward to.

At home, our bedroom faces a northern direction and the sun never awakens us with direct light. It's something that I liked about our house: not being a morning person, generally, I didn't want to be woken by rays trying to burn their way into my eyes.

But when I'm on vacation, I look forward to sunrise. I like to see how the typical day starts, wherever I am.

DW and I love the Mayan Riviera, especially Akumal Bay. All hotel rooms at our resort look out to the bay, and the sun rises out in the Caribbean with a warm glow.

Most mornings. But it isn't guaranteed.

In the 20 mornings that we've experienced in this Mexican paradise, two mornings have greeted us with overcast skies.

And pouring rain. Including, yesterday.

But we're on vacation and we have no agenda that is written in stone. We can chill in a covered spot with a good book and a great drink.

And think to ourselves, at least we don't have to shovel it.

Happy Tuesday!

Nicoya Peninsula

It's hard to believe that while I'm vacationing in Mexico, I'm sharing another vacation from February.

But after I had finally released the first full video of DW's and my Costa Rica adventure, last week, I wanted to keep going. At first, I didn't think I'd have part 2 of our travels out until the new year, but I had time on my hands the previous weekend—between cleaning the house, doing laundry, getting groceries, shovelling the driveway, and visiting my folks—and thought I'd get a start on the next instalment.

 I finished it that weekend. And last Friday, I released it on my YouTube channel.

Less than half of the length of the first part, this video shows our trek to the Nicoya Peninsula, on the Pacific coast, where we spent time in Montezuma and Santa Teresa. There are waterfalls, gorgeous beaches, and more.

Take 10 minutes to give it a look:

Part 3 will be released in January and I hope to have all videos on my channel before the anniversary of when we left for our trip. And then I can start working on videos of our Mexican vacation.

As always, if you like my video, give it a Thumbs Up. Do me a solid and subscribe to my channel, too.

Tomorrow, I plan to share some thoughts on our current vacation. We're travelling with two other couples, four of our closest friends. DW and I are glad to be relaxing and sharing our favourite getaway spot with people we care so much about.

Happy Monday!

Beer O'Clock: Solace

I could use a bit of serenity right now. Thankfully, in two more days, I'll have it.

I take solace, in the meantime, of knowing that as of the end of business day, today, I'll be on vacation until the end of this month. I'll be on a sun-soaked beach, sipping mango margaritas and snorkelling with tropical fish.

I'll also be with DW and four of our friends.

Solace, indeed.

When I saw the label on a can of beer, with its sea turtle, swimming in pastel colours of the sea and a twilight sky, I knew I had to pick it up (actually, I picked up two). I'm fascinated by sea turtles, ever since I first swam with them, in 2019, and will be seeking them again, on Saturday.

It's only fitting that in my last beer review before my trip to Akumal Bay, Mexico--and probably, my last review of 2024, I check out a hazy, tropical ale. After all, these hazy IPAs have almost become my comfort ales.

Let's see if this one brings me some comfort.

Solace Hazy IPA (6.7% ABV; 30 IBUs)
Common Good Beer Company
Scarborough ON

Appearance: pours a murky, Creamsicle-orange with a sudsy-white head that settles quickly to a dense lace.

Nose: mango, pineapple, orange, and a touch of grapefruit.

Palate: goes down easily, with only a bit of pine resin. The tropical fruits loom large, making this ale highly quaffable. Though it has a somewhat high alcohol level, it's by no means boozy. It has good body and well-balanced flavours that culminate in a medium finish.

Overall impression: I liked this easy-drinking, hazy ale. It goes down easily, though at 6.7 percent, I'd recommend drinking in moderation. Solace, as its name suggests, brings me comfort.

Beer O'Clock rating: 🍺🍺

You can find Solace in select LCBO stores.

You can find sea turtles in Akumal Bay.

Cheers!

May the Season Pass Me By

Lights in our 'hood.

We have no lights up. We have no tree.

All of our Christmas decorations are still in a bin, stored away in our basement. If I have any say in it, that's where they'll stay.

DW wants a tree: with the exception of one year, during the pandemic, we've always had a real tree in our living room. But I told her that prices for trees, this season, are astronomical, with prices ranging from $70 to $120, and the type of tree we usually get ranging around the $100 mark.

Paying that much for a tree that we'll only have up for two weeks is excessive, I've said. DW isn't convinced.

But there's no way we'll have time to get a tree and have it put up by Friday night. And early, on Saturday morning, we're flying to Mexico for a week. The earliest we can shop for a tree is December 22. Plus, my home office occupies the space in our living room where we've always placed our tree. It's impractical to move my desk and there's nowhere to practically set it up.

DW said she'd put it in our family room, but even there, space is at a premium.

I'm not optimistic.

I haven't hung our outdoor lights, and now that the snow has come, I won't be doing it. It's just not safe.

I'm not the only one in our family that has lost the Christmas spirit. Kid 1 hasn't shown any enthusiasm. Kid 2 would like to come home to spend time with us and with her friends, but she has to work over the holidays.

We're considering visiting her, in Toronto, for a couple of days. In which case, what's the point of setting up a tree and decorating? And could we trust our three cats with the tree, unsupervised? Who would water it?

My parents aren't planning to do anything for Christmas day. My mom told me that she always loves spending time with us but doesn't need to limit it to December 25.

I agree.

So I'm hoping that we just let the holiday pass us by. We'll take the time off but it doesn't have to centre around Christmas.

Does that make me a Grinch? Maybe. But the holidays have always been about time with loved ones. It doesn't need the decorations.

How about you?

Keeping Score

Well, our first snowfall of the season hit Ottawa last week, and since then I've been being careful, not wanting to injure or over-exert myself. I'm going on vacation, this coming weekend, and I don't want to do anything to jeopardize my having a good time in the Caribbean.

I'm no spring chicken.

First snowfall.

In the two storms that we've had, so far, we've had snow accumulations of about 10 to 15 centimetres, each. And with the second snowfall, temperatures rose overnight, making the snow heavy to lift the next morning.

To avoid risk to myself, I've headed out with my shovel a couple of times, removing snow from my driveway and walkway when we've hit about five centimetres. When we reached another five, I'd go back out and shovel again.

So far, so good, although the Sunday-morning task went slower because, as I said, the temperature was above freezing and so the snow weighed a lot, even for about five or six centimetres.

Two winters ago, I thought I'd keep track of the number of times I'd have to go outside to clear off the driveway. I counted every time my driveway had at least a centimetre of the white stuff. In 2022-2023, I shovelled the driveway 55 times; in 2023-2024, it was half that amount, with only 26 times out.

When DW and I went to Costa Rica, for two weeks, Ottawa received no snow during that period between late January and early February of this year. Kid 1, who was at home and tasked with keeping the driveway clear, didn't have to lift a finger.

I hope she's that lucky, next week, when she'll again be responsible for keeping the driveway clear.

But so far, this season, I've been out eight times with my shovel. And my driveway is snow-free.

After the weekend storm.

We're expecting more snow, today, and possibly another accumulation on Thursday. But that's okay: I'll be ready with my shovel.

And keeping score.

Happy Monday!

Beautiful Dead

It still amazes me that the orchid plant that we bought almost 10 years ago is still thriving.

Before we bought it, DW and I were notorious for letting these beautiful plants die. We'd water them—but not too much—and give them the right amount of light, but as soon as their flowers shrivelled and fell from the stems, the plant would cease to produce any more.

It would dry up, no matter how we cared for it, and died.

But this particular plant has beat the odds, lasting since spring of 2015. It receives the same care that we gave to all other orchid plants before it, and it thrives.

Still, I get nervous when the flowers wither, dry up, and fall off. Will we ever see the orchid blossom again? Is this finally the end?

A few weeks ago, several of the flowers withered and dropped at the same time, and the same fear entered my mind. There are no fresh buds forming on the stem, and half of the stem has dried and needs to be trimmed back.

But this happens all the time.

I gathered up the dried flowers and arranged them in a pile, for posterity, and took a photo to remember them. Just in case we never see a bloom again.

Until I see new buds, there's always hope.

Happy Friday!

Beer O'Clock: Pilly

One thing that I try to do, when I visit Toronto, is to visit an LCBO store and search for beer that I haven't seen at my neighbourhood liquor store. And there are a lot to choose from.

When I saw a pilsner from an Etobicoke brewery, I knew that I'd be hard-pressed to find it on my local shelves, so I picked it up. And because I'm not usually one to pick up a pilsner, I thought I'd give this one a shot.

Pilly (5% ABV)
Mascot Brewery
Etobicoke ON

Appearance: initially pours a clear, yellowy-gold with a foamy, white head that settles to a solid cap. The head was thick, out of the can, so I held onto the rest until the head settled (after I shot my photo). When there was enough room in the glass to empty the rest of the can, the clarity changed to an unfiltered haze, albeit slight.

Nose: lemons, with a hint of flint.

Palate: citrus and mineral tones, and a slight piney finish that was clean and palate-cleansing. There's a good body to it, if a bit on the light side.

Overall impression: this is a quaffable pilsner that I quite enjoyed. I don't know why I shy away from pilsners because they are easy-going brews. I'd drink this one any time it was offered.

Beer O'Clock rating: 🍺🍺

I picked up another beer on my last trip to Toronto, and I'll review that next week (it's been a while since I've reviewed beer on my blog).

Cheers!

La Fortuna and Monteverde

I've finally seen what other people see in me.

I have a resting-bitch face. I have a look, when I'm relaxed, that indicates that I'm pissed off, bothered that someone is paying attention to me.

People have told me this look can be a little off-putting but I never knew what they were talking about until I put together DW's and my Costa Rica video.

When DW was shooting video, I stayed fairly quiet when she had her camera pointed at me. I didn't know what she was going to say and I didn't want to interrupt her, so I sat quietly until I felt there was a point in which she wanted me to speak.

And while I was in a good mood and was just sitting there, waiting for her lead, I seem either pissed off or non-participatory. And it's a bad look.

At the beginning of the year, for those of you who don't know or might have forgotten, DW and I spent a couple of weeks travelling Costa Rica. Shortly after our return, I made a short video that highlighted those travels.

In that video, I promised to share more over the course of this year, but I never found the time to go through all of the video footage. I was too wrapped up in all of the kayaking videos that you can see on my YouTube channel.

I was hoping that DW and I could sit down, together, and storyboard our trip. We'd have a few videos that covered separate parts of our trip. I was able to get all of DW's video footage together, with mine, but we never found a good time to sit down and put something together.

DW created an animation of our flight from Ottawa to Toronto, and continuing to San Jose, but that was the extent in her participation for the video editing. The rest was up to me, and I was tired of waiting.

This video took three sittings to put together, including the time it took me to learn how to create animations (I created the map illustrations between various points of our drives), to line up and put the clips together, create voiceovers, and get this 25-minute video produced.

Altogether, I probably spent close to 20 hours to make this video, the most time I've spent since we've updated our computer and software.

So, more than 11 months after we left for Costa Rica, here's the first part of our travels, starting with our exploration of La Fortuna and Monteverde. Take a break and have a look.

December is pretty busy: we'll be heading to Mexico in just over a week, Christmas will follow, and I'm looking to create a video that will highlight my favourite photos of 2024 (I promise, it'll be a better video than the last time—and I won't have a resting bitch face!).

Part 2 of our Costa Rica travels won't be ready until January. I'll probably have the vacation broken up into no more than four parts, though three parts might be enough. Stay tuned.

As always, if you like my video, please give it a thumbs-up, and subscribe to my channel to help it grow.

Happy Wednesday!

Mister Bluesky

I've made a decision.

Two weeks ago, I talked about how I had joined the social-media platform, Bluesky, and how I was now juggling three different places. Not being a good juggler, I was sure that at least one of these platforms would fall.

While I was sick, I often turned to social media to feel like I was keeping in touch, even though I was otherwise isolated and unable to truly socialize. My folks on Mastodon, Threads, and Bluesky were great for lifting my spirits and keeping me company.

Thanks to all the well-wishers and even to those who were simply posting, unaware that I was reading your content.

I had time to think about how I use each platform and I discovered that I didn't find Mastodon as engaging as I first did when I joined it, two years ago. I had a small handful of people who regularly responded to my posts or who I would look for, but the majority of content in my feed was distracting and overwhelming with information and opinions about what's going on in the US, and other posts from people that I didn't know, wasn't following, and with content with which I had little to no interest.

Threads has always bothered me from the start. First of all, posts in my feed weren't in chronological order and the default view was filled with posts from suggested people, rather than from people I was following. If I refreshed the feed, Threads kicked me back to its suggested feed, and I'd have to re-click the tab with folks I'm following.

It's frustrating.

I also miss having a feature to send direct messages to friends. Instead, on Threads, I have to go through Instagram if I want a private conversation.

But in the past two weeks, I've noticed that I now spend far more time reading through my social-media platforms because I want to give each one equal time. And that time takes me away from other things.

So, starting next week, I'm going to be using Mastodon and Threads less often. I'll still announce new blog posts and I'll chat with friends. But I'll otherwise limit the time that I spend on them.

I'm going to communicate primarily through Bluesky. I've managed to connect with a few people that I know from Mastodon and Threads, plus people that I knew on Twitter, and I hope to find even more. I can be found at @brownknowser.bsky.com.

Come on over.

At the end of the year, I'll close my Mastodon and Threads accounts. I'll still have Instagram and I have no foreseeable plans to change that.

So, Bluesky won out. It reminds me of what Twitter was like a dozen or so years ago, where there was positive engagement and little trolling. I hope the users of the platform and those who maintain it keep it that way.

Otherwise, maybe I'll give up social media altogether.

Back to the 80s

I was certain that I was going to miss it but according to Ottawa Public Health, I was okay.

We bought our tickets months ago; so far in the past, I almost forgot about them. But I remembered them over the weekend, when I was down with COVID-19.

"You're going to have to go with someone else," I told DW on Saturday. As yet. I hadn't felt the worst effects of my illness. That would come on Sunday and into early Monday.

"Wait and see how you feel," assured DW. We had purchased our tickets with two other friends, so worst-case scenario, she wouldn't go alone. And, perhaps, Kid 1 would go in my stead.

The 80s Show was to feature four bands from our teenage years: Spoons, Men Without Hats, A Flock of Seagulls, and Honeymoon Suite. I had seen Spoons perform three times in the past; most recently, in 2018, and they were still going strong.

I had seen Men Without Hats about 40 years ago. I loved that band in the early 80s and was looking forward to see Ivan on stage again.

I thought I had seen A Flock of Seagulls in the early 80s, too, but after the show I started wondering if I had been thinking of another synth-driven band.

I've never been a fan of Honeymoon Suite. I had nothing against them but their pop rock couldn't hold up to my taste for Yes, The Who, and of course, Led Zeppelin.

On Monday, at about lunchtime, I started feeling better. I no longer had a sore throat, my ears had cleared up (one ear was blocked, on the weekend, and I easily lost my balance), and I was no longer aching. By dinner, I was getting my appetite back and my lungs weren't burning.

I still had a cough but I'm used to that.

On Tuesday, I felt well enough to return to work and got a full day's worth of catching up done. I had been off for three work days.

During my lunch break, I went onto the City of Ottawa Public Health site, to see how long I'd have to continue to self-isolate. I had been spending the past few days in our spare bedroom and wearing a mask around the family.

According to the Web site, I could end my self-isolation 24 hours after my symptoms improved. That would place it around lunchtime on Tuesday. But would I have the energy, after my first day back to work, to sit in an arena?

When my work day was done, I took a nap. By then, I was feeling much better, and even started getting my appetite back.

More than 30 hours after I started feeling better, I was out of self-isolation and returning back to regular activities. First up, attending the 80s Show with friends.

Spoons were as strong as ever. When they wrapped up, I thought, was that it? I wanted more. (Side note: my photos are shit because we were in the nosebleed section and I'm zooming 3–10 times with my smartphone.)

Ivan, I believe, is the only original member of Men Without Hats, and I couldn't get over his energy level. He danced and ran on stage while singing and never skipped a beat. It was nice to learn that his niece was performing with him on keyboards and as backup vocals.

I have to say that I was disappointed with A Flock of Seagulls. First, they were so loud that it was almost unpleasant. DW's smartwatch warned her of harmful decibel levels. At times, the band sang a bit off-key, would miss a beat, and were generally boring.

We stayed for the first two songs of Honeymoon Suite and they were pretty good. Even though I wasn't a fan of theirs, in my teens, I had more appreciation for them now.

We left early because it had been a long day for us and for our friends, and we wanted to get out of the arena and make our way home before the crowds and traffic could slow us down.

And that had been a lot for me for the day.

It felt strange going to a concert immediately after recovering from my illness, but I felt well enough. I came so close to just staying home.

But our public health said I could do it.

Anticipation

She's making me wait.

I've been sitting on the fence for so long that my arse is getting sore. Ever since I bought a small drone as a Christmas present to myself, in 2016, I've wondered if I should invest in a better drone. The drone that I bought was essentially a toy: it weighed practically nothing (about 135 grams, I believe) and had basically no automatic control, which meant that everything was up to the pilot, from hovering in place to all movement.

And, in a gust of wind, it went flying off course and was sometimes hard to bring back. I lost count at how many trees it flew into. When it finally hit a tree, crashed to the ground, and lost the micro SD card somewhere in the grass, I was done with it.

It's been gathering dust in my basement for a couple of years.

I looked at other, better drones but I was concerned about the cost, the amount of time it would take to master flying it, and crashing or losing it. My first drone cost me just over $60 so I felt no pain when I crashed it for the last time and gave up on it.

I really wanted a drone for B-roll video footage, to get a bird's-eye view of my surroundings or to follow me from a height as I walked around. But when I got a three-metre selfie stick for my Insta360 video cameras, I was able to simulate a drone, so I gave up on a drone.

Until about a year ago, when I saw a self-piloting, portable drone in a YouTube review.

The HOVERAir X1 is another lightweight drone that can fold and fit into your pocket, and has a few pre-programed modes to fly itself around you, taking off and landing in your hand. It can follow you from behind or the sides, lead you from in front of you, orbit you, and more.

And, when it's time to land, you just hold out your hand and it comes to a rest in your palm.

I wanted it, but with a price tag of more than $500, I paused. I also learned that it couldn't fly over water, and that killed my plans for having it follow me in my kayak.

Back on the fence.

But a couple of months ago, drone giant DJI came out with a similar-style drone that cost just over $200 and seemed to have more features. Not only did the DJI Neo fly autonomously, it could also be synced with several DJI controllers for even better performance.

The DJI promo video even showed someone on a stand-up paddleboard with the drone following along.

I've watched a slew of YouTube videos that reviewed the drone, including one where a guy tested to see how tough the drone was by crashing it into several objects, from a person at low speed, to trees, to concrete walls, to a high-speed (about 35 kph) slam into a rock breaker at a beach.

Even then, the drone kept flying and recording video.

So I told DW that I was going to get one. She suggested that I wait until Black Friday sales started, so I've been waiting for a couple of months.

When most retailers started their Black Friday sales last Thursday, the drone wasn't listed with any savings. Amazon offered me a $60 gift card if I signed up for their credit card, so I did that an applied it to the drone. I also bought the expanded kit that included two extra batteries, a multi-charger, and a separate remote control, for when I wanted to try my hand at flying it, myself.

Last Friday, when I tested positive for COVID, I was feeling pretty down. But a couple of hours later, a package came to my door to raise those spirits back up.

My DJI Neo.

When DW saw the box, she said, "I thought you were going to wait for a sale?"

I told her about how most stores had started their sales already: Best Buy, Henry's, Vistek, even DJI itself were offering no savings. Not that I was surprised, and I told her that usually a new gadget doesn't go on sale shortly after its release.

"There might be further savings on the actual Black Friday," DW said. "Don't unbox it." In fact, she took it from where I was sitting, all wrapped up in a blanket, fighting my sickness, and placed it in our living room, tucked out of sight.

Truth be told, I've been too sick to take it out and try it. I suppose I could read the manual to learn about it, but I haven't had the energy.

So I wait, anxious for when Friday comes and I can either get a deal somewhere else (and return this one) or I can take my drone out for a spin.

Anticipation. It's making me wait.

Happy Tuesday!

Third Time's a Charm?

Well, here I go again.

I know that the pandemic isn't over but I've really let my guard down. Not that I've been out a lot in public, other than weekly trips to the grocery store or the occasional visit to a restaurant.

In the past 10 days, I've met with a friend at a brew pub, which was practically empty, with only three tables occupied during our stay, though we did chat with the owner and brewer at our table for a while.

A couple of days later, I was in a photo studio with five other photographers and a model. We were in a relatively small space, standing close to one another, and over the two hours, it got very hot from the light projector (even the model, who was naked, was glistening in sweat).

The next morning, DW, Kid 1, and I went to breakfast at a cozy restaurant that was full. No one even thinks of wearing a mask in a restaurant nowadays.

For the rest of the past week, I've stayed home. But the same can't be said for DW, who makes several trips to the gym, each week, and Kid 1, who works full time at an opticians, working closely with clients all day.

Even though life seems like it's back to normal, it really isn't.

I started feeling fatigued on Wednesday and my cough, which had been under control for months, came back. I took a nap halfway through my workday but I couldn't stay focused for the rest of the day.

On Thursday, my cough got worse, my throat was sore, and my lymph glands were tender to the touch. I booked a sick day to get more rest. And on Friday, I wasn't feeling any better.

DW suggested that I take a COVID test. We still have a couple of kits, though they are beyond their expiry date. I was certain the result would come up negative: not just because of the expiry date but also because I didn't think I really had COVID.

I've been having allergic reactions to Lily, who has taken to jumping on me at every opportunity. An allergy test, decades ago, told me that I'm allergic to cats but I've never reacted before, even though I've always lived around cats.

I started having sinus issues since we've been cat-sitting her.

I took the COVID test, while making myself some lunch, but forgot about returning to the test strip after. It was DW who noticed it on a side counter almost an hour later.

"You're positive, buddy," she said.

We thought that if the test kit was too old, it would likely show a false negative but that the chance of a false positive would be highly unlikely. Here, the control line was a solid, dark pink. In the result area, the line was crooked but it, too, was apparent.

Since the test, my symptoms have become worse. I cough a lot, which sets my throat on fire. My lungs, which were permanently damaged the last time I had the virus, are also burning.

I'm really worried about them now.

And, I'm tired. But overall, I don't feel as bad as I did during the previous two times that I contracted COVID.

I'm convinced that my symptoms are lighter because only a couple of weeks ago, I received the latest booster. It was my seventh shot since vaccines first became available.

The vaccines work.

Today is the sixth day since I first really felt any symptoms and I'm hoping that I return to my old self again soon. And I'm relieved that I'll have this out of my system in time to help Kid 2 move into her new apartment.

I'm even more relieved that I'll be back to normal in time for our next vacation, for which we leave in fewer than three weeks. Until then, we'll minimize contact with people.

And if we find ourselves around people  one thing's for certain: I'm masking up again.

Stay safe, folks.

The Favourite One

She seems to have settled in quite nicely, as though she hasn't been gone for the past two years.

When Kid 2 left for university, there was no question that she'd be taking Lily with her. Lily was her cat, and with the move into the isolated room at the University of Toronto, during the pandemic, Kid 2 was going to need her more than ever.

Of course, when Kid 2 came home for the holidays or for class breaks, Lily would come home, too, though it wasn't an easy transition for her to go from being the only cat in a dorm room to being one of four cats in a big house.

For the first couple of days, Lily would growl and hiss, and hide from the other cats. She had been really close to Camille, Cece, and Finn, but after a long drive from Toronto, Lily needed her space. It would take about two or three days for her to remember that she loved the other cats, and then things would go back to normal.

Because Kid 2 is living between apartments, bumming couches from friends and living out of suitcases, keeping Lily wasn't feasible. It was hard to part the two, but DW and I have readily offered to take care of Lily for the month of November.

Again, it took about three days for her to stop growling and hissing. She even growled at us, taking a swipe at me when I offered a hand to pet her.

But now, three weeks into our cat-sitting, Lily is doing marvelously. We're sure that she misses her mom terribly, and her ears prick up when she hears Kid 2 in a video chat.

We send her photos, daily.

Lily usually curls up on cushions with the other cats but she's also taken a shining to me. She often hops on my lap, while I'm working at my desk, especially when she hears me talking during a staff meeting. I'll give her a pet and set her on the floor, but she'll hop right back onto my lap.

And so it continues until I carry her to where one of the other cats are curled up, and she'll join them.

I usually have a nap in the middle of the afternoon, as I find that working alone, in a corner of our living room, after lunch, makes me sleepy. I'll set a 30-minute timer and stretch out on the sofa nearest my desk, and close my eyes.

No sooner am I prone when Lily hops on top of me, purring and drooling. I don't argue because she's soft, light, and keeps me warm.

In the evenings, when I watch TV, Lily hops into my lap and naps, her body stretched along my legs.

She may miss Kid 2 but she has found a new favourite in the meantime. It'll be sad to see her return to Toronto.

Happy Friday!

Back to the Old House

It hasn't changed much over the 30-odd years.

As I walked along the path that connected Gilbey Drive to Leaver Avenue, I noticed that the path had changed slightly, from when I last walked it. The Merivale Market mall had encroached onto the wooded area and trees seemed to fill in the pathway once again.

Only, it didn't seem so ominous. Not in the daytime, anyway.

In my late teens or early 20s, I had walked along that dark pathway, my eyes struggling to adjust to the darkness—I had exceptional eyesight in my youth and needed only a bit of light. I did carry a small but powerful flashlight on me, just in case I needed to see anything.

I felt a presence along the path. My footfall was silent: I often joked, in high school, that I'd make a great assassin, though I justified that statement by saying that I would only kill bad guys, men (or even, women) who deserved their fate.

I switched on the flashlight and had stumbled upon a conference. A secret meeting. And stumbled is the appropriate word, for had I not turned on the flashlight, I would have tripped over a colony of rabbits, seemingly huddled together to whisper out some nefarious plot.

They hesitated for an instant, surprised by the sudden flood of light. It took them another second to realize that a human was holding the source of that light.

They scattered as though they had been caught in a sting operation and were leaving the scene as quickly as possible. One bumped into my leg: another tried to fight as he fled, biting my pant leg, though missing my leg. I felt the tug on the fabric but that was it.

And then I was alone again.

I saw no rabbits on Saturday afternoon, as I wandered my old neighbourhood, killing time before my photo shoot in a nearby studio. A squirrel or two but no rabbits. It was far too early in the day for them to come out.

Past the tunnel for the water reservoir, I saw a path branch off to the right, heading behind the houses that lined Leaver Avenue. With the autumn leaves gone from the trees, I could see that this path was heading toward Beaver Ridge, a large crescent road that ran around the Skyline neighbourhood. As its name suggested, this roadway marked a ridge that led to one of the highest points in Ottawa.

I took the path, wanting to see where it led.

As it turned out, it ran around the sunken ground that was the water reservoir. Some little pathways also branched off and led to the roadway, but I stayed on the main path and looped back to where I had started on this circuit.

Straight ahead, I could see Leaver Avenue. Across the street would be my old house.

To my left, a new house had replaced one that had seemed very small, compared to the rest of the houses on the street, when I had lived in this hood. It seemed cramped, backing onto the Food Basics grocery store that was in the shopping mall. There was a lot of noise coming from the back of the grocers, as trucks idled and emitted a piercing beep as they backed up.

Standing at the trailhead, the neighbourhood sounded much louder.

There it stood, my old house.

It didn't look different. Not much. It had the same basic colour scheme. The stand of cedar trees was still thriving.

It looked like the owners had added an awning, with a couple of pillars, on the front steps. But that was it. I wondered what the backyard looked like, if the wooden deck my folks had built was still there or if the wood had been replaced with something completely different. Was the old, aluminum shed still there?

I stood there, for a few minutes, remembering past years in that house. Remembering the layout, upstairs and down. The completed basement, with a work area/laundry machines, furnace, and storage; the large rec room, where my siblings and I would hang out with our friends; the spare bedroom, where my older sister lived until she moved out and I took over after her.

The large driveway could hold up to six cars, depending on their size, and we often had three or four parked in it. The garage was reserved for my father's Alfa Romeo.

This was the house where I started writing fiction. It was the house where my Scottish character, Roland Axam, was born.

It was the last house in which I lived with my parents (not counting the time, on DW's and my return to Canada, from South Korea, when we spent a few months, as guests, while we looked for our own home).

Another blast from a truck's air brakes, at Food Basics, told me that this wasn't my home anymore. It hadn't been since the early 90s. And though I had lived in it for fewer than 10 years (before, we had homes on Bowhill Avenue, on Chesterton Drive, and in Kirk's Ferry, in the Gatineau Hills) it is the one family home with which I felt the strongest connection.

I turned back into Gilbey drive, never looking back at the old house. I still have my memories. They'll forever live with me.

Projecting Beauty

Real-Life Dungeon

There was a path that started across the street from my old house and cut into woods, opening into a marshy area before coming out onto Gilbey Drive, which, itself, led out to Merivale Road. It was a dark, creepy path that was unlit and made you want to stay away after dark.

Over the years, trees were thinned and the path received a top coating of crushed gravel, making the path a bit more inviting. The marsh was cleaned up and made into a bit of a water reservoir. At about the midway point of this path, a concrete and metal water access point was added, providing a sewer drain from Merivale Road to the reservoir.

As the reservoir tunnel stands today.

It was hard, as a teen, to resist checking it out.

My friends and I were into playing the game Dungeons & Dragons, or D&D, as most gamers called it. We started playing it in our early to mid teens and continued into college and university, with some of my friends continuing the game even today.

I stopped playing, for the most part, when DW and I started dating. Not because I had lost interest in the game but because I started doing other things and seemed to never find the time, though I did join in on one or two games in the early 2000s.

But in my teens, when I lived on Leaver Avenue, in the Skyline area, my friends and I were thick into D&D.

With the sewer at the reservoir, we told ourselves it looked like the entrance to a dungeon, something that we needed to explore. All we needed was a light source and some weapons, just in case.

We borrowed a large flashlight from my house. I also had an old hockey stick that I had fashioned into a long sword, complete with a hilt. Because I was the only one equipped, I was told that I'd be leading our group, with my torch in my left hand and my sword in my right.

There was a concrete platform above the mouth of the sewer tunnel. While the mouth was covered with an iron grate, a metal hatch on the platform was unlocked. We opened the hatch and descended.

The flashlight wasn't needed for the first 10 or 20 metres, but once firmly down the tunnel, I switched it on, only to find that the batteries were weak and the torch didn't throw much light. It had been a dry period, weatherwise, and so there was only a trickle of water on the floor of the tunnel and we could easily step on either side of it.

"Would we get to Merivale Road?" one of my friends asked.

"What should we do if we get to a junction with other tunnels?" asked another.

I was just hoping we wouldn't encounter rats or larger rodents. My "sword" had a pointy end but it wasn't sharp, not that there was much room to swing it.

We got about 50 metres down the tunnel when two things happened at once: the flashlight went out and we heard a very loud noise, like rhythmic clanging of metal. The sound was all around us so we had no idea where it was coming from.

There was only one thing to do: run away.

Because it was pitch black in front of me, I turned and headed toward the light from whence we came. I moved at high speed, pushing my two friends out of my way and leading the way out.

So much for experience in playing D&D, when the most heavily armed person would protect the ranks of the weaker—or in our case, the unarmed.

The hatch was opened, when we reached it, which was also surprising, as we had closed it behind us, so that passers-by wouldn't know anyone had gone inside. But apparently, our voices carried out the mouth, alerting some neighbourhood kids to our presence.

They stood at the top, laughing as my friends and I reached the hatch. Apparently, in my haste, I had either stepped on a friend's foot or stabbed at him with my wooden sword, as he had a nick on his ankle that was bleeding, and he said it happened as I bolted past him.

We never went in the tunnel again.

Typically, I was brave and took danger head-on when we played D&D. But when it came to real-life dungeons, I was chickenshit.

I'll share more memories of my old neighbourhood on Thursday. Stay tuned.

The Old Neighbourhood

I didn't abandon DW. I just walked away.

DW has a habit of falling. Sometimes it's because she isn't looking where she's going or is moving in the dark: like, the time she went to our basement without turning the lights on, and tumbling down the stairs, breaking a bone in a foot.

I installed light-sensor bulbs the very next day.

She also fell down a short flight of stairs while looking at her phone while walking in Toronto's Eaton's Centre. Luckily, she only suffered a bruised knee.

The other weekend, we were with some friends at a VR room in the Merivale Mall, fighting reptilian pirates, and DW really threw herself into the game. So much so that she fell, twice, stepping over obstacles that weren't really there.

Two falls, landing on the same knee.

She was in a lot of pain but pushed through it, continuing on through the rest of the week, only feeling the pain if a cat jumped on her legs or if she accidentally applied pressure to specific spots. She had bruises but she bruises easily.

And then, on Friday, while playing pickleball (she's in a league), she fell on that knee, once again.

On Saturday, we got our usual early-morning grocery run at Costco but her knee was really sore. So she called our doctor's office (yes, they're open on Saturday!) and was able to see a doctor within an hour. We completed our shopping and headed straight to the doctor's office.

The doctor deemed that there didn't seem to be any ligament damage but ordered x-rays for DW. The closest imaging centre was on Clyde Avenue, near Baseline, so DW and I drove home to put the groceries away and then headed to the clinic.

Because I had scheduled to be at a photo shoot at a studio that is near the imaging centre, I grabbed my gear, just in case we would be at the clinic for a long time. (By the time we were out of the doctor's appointment and had put away the groceries, I had almost two hours before my photo shoot.)

When we arrived at Merivale Imaging, we learned that they were fully booked for the day. But they also have a clinic in Kanata, and DW was able to pre-book an appointment, but only had a half hour to get there.

"You take the car," I said. "I'll stay here." I gave her a kiss, told her to let me know how things went, and stepped out of the car.

I didn't abandon DW. I simply walked away, heading toward the studio where I would be due in about 90 minutes.

The photo studio is located near Merivale Road and Clyde Avenue, not far from the now-abandoned Dairy Queen. It's also practically in my old neighbourhood, where I lived from the early 80s until the early 90s. It's the house where I finished out high school, attended Journalism School at Algonquin College, and lived until I moved out on my own, eventually living with DW.

The first thing that I noticed, approaching Merivale Road, where it curves at the old DQ, is how it seemed that things had changed, and yet other things stayed the same. The Dairy Queen is still an empty shell, with the signs gone and parts of the building itself boarded up.

Will they tear it down or will somebody renovate it and open it up again?

Across the street, past the building that hosts radio station Jump! 106.9 FM, the vacant and overgrown lot where CTV station CJOH had stood for decades, before it burned to the ground and moved to the Byward Market was a sad reminder of days gone by. I used to cut through the parking lot, on my way to and from Algonquin College, often running into weatherman J.J. Clark, whose reputation was now as burned as the station in which he worked.

Just the drive to the entrance reminds us of a building once being here.

It seemed that the field where CJOH once stood has grown even larger. Only an old building that once held a Pop Shoppe and fish market stands, though it's questionable how well any business is currently faring. Establishments have come and gone over the decades.

Passing Alirang Korean Restaurant (a mediocre spot that is worth a pass, BTW), which originally housed a Dunkin Donuts, I arrived at Gilbey Drive, where I would cut along a path that led through a small wooded area to get to my house on Leaver Avenue.

That path has changed, starting at a park that occupies some space behind the Calvin Christian Reform Church. The path meanders a bit to allow for the Merivale Market shopping mall, which didn't exist back in the days that I lived in this neighbourhood, and this is where I'll stop my walk of my old neighbourhood for now.

Walking along this path, I was filled with memories. Coming out on the other end, I could see my old house, seemingly unchanged over the decades.

I had too many memories seeping out of the recesses of my brain, too many to share in one post. Tomorrow, I'll share the story of some D&D friends who turned chickenshit in a dark tunnel.

Stay tuned.