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.

Catching Up

When the Paddlefolk and I took our kayaks along the Barron Canyon, in early October, I already had it in my head that it would be the last time that I'd take my 360-degree camera with me. I knew—or rather, I felt—that it wouldn't be the last time that I took my Delta 12.10 kayak on the water, that the weather would hold out and I'd get at least one more paddle under my belt for 2024.

It was my last paddle video, not my last paddle.

DW, our Paddlefolk, and I went out in our kayaks one more time, on Muskrat River and Muskrat Lake, near Cobden, Ontario. The fall colours were still vibrant and it was a nice paddle.

A few weeks ago, I shared a few photos from that outing but I had taken quite a few. I didn't have my 360-degree camera with my but I had my smartphone, and captured lots of photos that day.

One of the things I've learned with my new smartphone, which has three lenses, is that it takes fairly decent telephoto images. But in a kayak, there's the added challenge of the movement on the water.

As we followed the northern shoreline on Muskrat Lake, I noticed a farm on the southern shores, and so I broke off from my group and moved to the middle of the lake. I didn't want to cross the lake entirely, as that would have put me more than half a kilometre from everyone else.

With the wind pushing me in the middle of the lake, I let myself drift while I got out my phone and aimed at the farm. There were trees in the foreground, so I waited until there was good spacing between the trees, the barn, the silo, and the farmhouse.

At 10-times magnification, I took this shot.

I had to paddle hard to catch up with everyone, who had decided to turn back. When I finally caught up with DW, she asked me where I went.

"I saw the potential for a photo, so I pursued it."

That's all she needed to know. If we're walking down the street and I have my camera on me, she knows not to worry if I suddenly stop, and she continues on her way, knowing that I'll eventually catch up.

If I stop, I stop for a reason.

Happy Friday!

Juggling

I have always had excellent hand-eye coordination but I could never juggle.

I can throw two balls in the air, with one hand, catching one at a time, but if you add a third element, I get lost. I can't hold concentration, and in no time all three balls come crashing to the floor.

I wonder if the same holds true for social media.

When I left Twitter, I wasn't sure of where to go but I learned that some of my peeps had moved to a site called Mastodon, and so I followed. Joining this Federated, multi-instance platform seemed a bit tricky at first, but I got the hang of it. I reconnected with some of my old Twitter friends, who also jumped ship, and made virtual friends with new people.

It didn't seem as robust as the Twitter of old—I can't schedule a post and I still haven't got the knack of sending private, direct messages—but it allowed me to share thoughts and read posts of my connections. About two years after joining Mastodon, I still use it daily.

And then, Threads came along.

Out of curiosity, I opened an account on this Meta-run platform and was pleased to learn that even more of my old Twitter folk had also joined. While there are still people with whom I've lost touch, I was connected to so many of the people I had missed since I had left Twitter.

I left Twitter as soon as Elon Musk acquired it. There was no hesitation. I didn't want to have any association with a childish, idiotic billionaire. Joining Mastodon seemed to be a breath of fresh air.

When I joined Threads, I wasn't keen on being a part of a Meta platform. I quit Facebook because it was turning into an ad-riddled dumping ground, with my feed full of people I didn't follow and with whom I held no interest.

I had and maintained my Instagram account, which I have had since before Meta acquired it, and for the most part, even today it's manageable. I mostly receive ads from companies that I shop anyway, and I can mute suggested people for a month, which I do regularly.

But then I had heard that Meta had endorsed and supported the Orange Felon. And I was not happy.

Some of my fellow folks on Threads were also upset with Meta and I started hearing more talk about another social-media platform, Bluesky. (Side note: as soon as I first typed the name of this platform, I started pronouncing it blues-key. It might stick.)

So, the other night, I created an account and immediately liked the interface. I mean, it's a lot like Threads and even Twitter of old, but not as clunky as Mastodon. And within a couple of minutes of having the account, I had a follower: someone whose posts seemed in line with my interests, and so I followed him back.

And I've found a lot of my peeps from Threads were also here.

As I said at the start of this post, I'm not good at juggling. Already, I find it a bit of work to maintain two social-media accounts. Juggling three will be a lot.

Not to mention that I still use Instagram regularly; though now, I'm considering cutting ties with it after more than 14 years and 4,430 posts.

Ideally, I'd like to have one social-media account but I don't want to keep hopping from platform to platform. I don't care to have a nomadic online presence.

What about you?

The Last Paddle

Of course, there were two more paddles after the Barron Canyon. But this was the last time that I attached my video camera to the deck of my kayak.

And it will be the last video that I make in my red Delta 12.10.

Next season, DW and I will be in new kayaks. New lengths. New colours. We're looking forward to our new boats and I've already had ideas of how I'm going to capture next season on video.

Bur for now, please enjoy my final kayaking video of 2024.

As always, if you like the video, give it a thumbs up and subscribe to my channel so that you don't miss the next video as soon as it comes out. I'll be giving my attention to our Costa Rica adventures—finally—and I have more ideas to continue with my channel until the ice melts and we can get back in the water.

Stay tuned.

Thank You

House of PainT

I messed up. A bit.

Yesterday, I posted the third clue of my Where In Ottawa? photo challenge, not realizing that about 18 hours earlier, the challenge had been solved.

I did make the photo a bit difficult by adding a separate event at the site. Last Friday, some members of my Ottawa Photography Meetup club and I showed up under the Bronson Street bridge at the House of PainT, to capture images of burning steel wool. It was my first time capturing these sorts of long-exposure shots but something I've wanted to do for years.

And under a concrete overpass, in a spot known for arts and cultural events, I thought it was the perfect setting for my photo challenge.

Call it a two-for-one event.

Here are the clues for my challenge, explained:

1. Where creativity thrives: this section of concrete, under the George Dunbar Bridge, near Brewer Park, is the central location of an annual HipHop Jam that showcases graffiti, breakdancing, DJs, poets, and more, from across Canada.
2. Not a home but a house, of sorts: there are only two sides to this House, and they are the concrete pillars that support the bridge.
3. Come for the paint, stay for the entertainment: the concrete pillars and ceiling in this part of the overpass are covered in graffiti.

Congratulations to the winner of the challenge, Ben Wood. Ben was the winner of the very first Where In Ottawa? challenge, and has won several times since then. He really does know Ottawa and isn't afraid to prove it.

I brought the photo challenge back to see if there would be enough of an interest to make it a recurring post again, but sadly, there wasn't enough of an interest. I had three guesses and one other person mention an interest in the challenge, and many others visited the post, but I don't think it's enough to continue the challenge.

All things must pass, they say, and this challenge is no exception.

So that was my 75th installment of my Where In Ottawa? challenge, and I say goodbye to it. When I posted the last challenge, in 2019, I didn't expect it to end, but when The Brown Knowser went on hiatus, I didn't feel inclined to bring it back.

With the lack of participation in this installment, I can give it a proper goodbye. At least I got a few good shots of the steel wool event.

Happy Friday!

Frost

Evolving Ancestry

In August, when I received my DNA makeup from Ancestry, I had learned that I had no Scottish blood in me, a fact that disappointed me because my mother had once told me that I have a trace of Scots in me and I had grown to love the country through my fictional character, Roland Axam, and my visits to that beautiful country.

With the initial DNA results, I was told that I had Irish blood in me, which I had never suspected, plus a lot of Scandinavian blood, which surprised me. The rest of me—English, Welsh, and French—was of no surprise to me.

One of the things with Ancestry is that the more data and more connections with relatives you make, the more your genetic makeup changes. And last week, I learned that my makeup has changed quite a bit.

I'm still mostly made of English and Northwestern European blood, I've found out that I have more French blood in me than the earlier results showed. I've gained Germanic roots but I've lost most of that Scandinavian connection.

I'm not the Viking I was led to believe I was.

Here's my new bloodline breakdown:

• 52 percent England and Northwestern Europe
• 23 percent  France
• 15 percent  Scotland
• 3 percent  Germanic Europe
• 3 percent  Ireland
• 2 percent  Denmark
• 2 percent  Wales

So I do have Scottish blood in me, after all. I thought so, as I was led to believe that both of my grandmothers had Welsh and Scottish ancestry. My dad's dad was English and my mom's dad was French.

It looks like the map has placed my French ancestry more to the central and northern France regions, where it used to show central and southern regions, before.

There's now only 2 percent  of my origins in Scandinavia, where initially I had 9 percent . I've retained some Danish roots but I've lost Norway and Sweden.

Oh well, I still want to travel around Iceland someday soon.

I'm sure the numbers will change again. I wouldn't be surprised if my Welsh ties will increase.

As I said the last time, time will tell.

Where In Ottawa LXXV

It's been so long that I've all but forgotten about it.

The last time I ran a Where In Ottawa? photo challenge was in May, 2019. The number of viewers to those posts was dwindling and fewer people participated, so after about eight years of running it, I stopped.

But lately, I've noticed that people are looking at the old Where In Ottawa? posts, almost as though someone was playing the game on their own. In fact, one of my old posts has had so much attention that it's become one of the most popular posts of this past month.

For those of you who haven't played it, I would post a photo that I shot from somewhere in the Ottawa area; sometimes, even crossing the border into Gatineau, Québec. The challenge was to leave a comment on the post with a guess to the location.

The first person to leave the correct guess would be awarded a copy of my novel, Songsaengnim: A Korea Diary. On a couple of occasions, some businesses got in on the deal: Mill Street Brew Pub offered a dinner for two; loveOttawa donated a t-shirt; and even the Ottawa Marriott provided a one-night stay in their downtown hotel.

I've run out of extra copies of my book (I only have one, for myself) and I doubt I have the kind of pull anymore to get others to provide a giveaway, but I was wondering if there was enough interest to bring the contest back, despite the lack of a giveaway.

Thoughts?

I'm going to see whether there's enough interest to bring my photo challenge back, so here's a one-off.

I've got a photo that was taken somewhere in Ottawa. If you recognize the spot, or even if you only think you know where it might be, leave your guess in the Comments section, below. You can guess as often as you like.

Each day, I'll leave a clue about where this place is. If, by 6 pm, on Thursday, the correct location has not been located, I'll let you know, on Friday, where it is. If the correct location is found, I'll still share on Friday but I'll name the winner of the challenge.

Sound good? I'm a bit rusty, but here goes:

Think you know Ottawa? Prove it!

And good luck. Happy Monday!

The Extraction

"Next time," I told Kid 2, on Saturday, as we finished moving her into her new apartment, "find some strong friends."

I was talking about the next time that she moved. I was getting too old to help her and this move left me utterly drained of energy. DW and I were supposed to paddle the Barron Canyon, the next day, but I awoke with a migraine and aching muscles.

It took a couple of days to recover from that move.

We knew that the house that Kid 2 and four of her friends had rented had small bedrooms. Some looked as though they were closets. But Kid 2 and her friends had signed the lease anyway, and it wasn't our business to say anything.

But by Monday, the roommates found a few problems with the place and learned that some of the rooms didn't stand up to building code. Some were actually in violation. So, they made the decision to break the lease.

The real-estate company that advertised the unit was understanding, and said that they would refund the roommates, but the landlord was furious. By late Tuesday, she gave everybody less than 24 hours to vacate the residence.

This put Kid 2 in panic mode. She was one of the principal people involved with finding the place. She was the one who negotiated to have the utilities included and for a reduction in the asking rent. She even was able to be allowed the keys one week before the actual lease began, on November first.

Kid 2 had nowhere to go. She had furniture to move and nowhere to put it. She and her cat were about to be homeless.

As DW and I were just crawling into bed, we received the phone call. There were tears. There was panic. While DW tried to calm our daughter, telling her everything would be okay, I was online, looking for a way to make it okay.

Without hesitation, we told Kid 2 that we'd be in Toronto as soon as we could.

Miraculously, I was able to secure a moving truck and a storage locker. It was big enough for Kid 2 and two of her roommates, all who had moved in on the weekend. The other two roommates were scheduled to move over this weekend.

By 1:00, we had made plans and somewhat calmed our daughter. She had secured a way to vacate the apartment and had a place to store her things. Now, all that was left was to find a new apartment for her and her friends, and to find a place where she could stay until she could move into the new place.

"We have to let you go so that we can get some rest," DW told her on the phone. "Everything is going to be okay. We love you. We're here for you." They ended the call and I turned out the light, burying my face in my pillow.

But I couldn't sleep. I was worried. I was worried how my kid was going to cope. I was worried that she'd be unable to find a place. We've always told her that if things got tough, she could always come back home. She'd always be welcome.

Kid 2 is determined. She often lacks faith in herself but she is determined. She has a couple of day jobs, plus she performs in various bands, as a drummer, throughout Toronto. She wants to make it on her own, even though she still needs mom and dad from time to time.

My alarm went off at 5. If I was lucky, I got three hours of sleep. But I hopped straight out of bed. A cool shower woke me up. Once dressed, I woke up DW, who prepared us some food and lots of liquid (we weren't going to starve and dehydrate ourselves like we had done on Saturday) while I packed things we'd need in the car.

An electric drill. Extra boxes and bins. Gloves.

By 6, we were on the road and arrived at the U-Haul depot by 10:45. By 11:30, I had the truck and was on my way to the apartment I had just filled four days earlier.

Everybody worked hard to fill the truck. It turned out to be a bad day for my lungs, so I didn't push myself. And we ate and drank at proper intervals, so we didn't run out of energy.

With the truck loaded, the roommates had a 2 pm appointment at an apartment that was only a 10-minute walk from this spot. DW and I took care of Kid 2's cat, Lily, and made sure that no one had missed anything while the ladies went to the appointment.

DW and I were able to really check out the emptied apartment, and some of the rooms were unbelievably small. One didn't even have a window. We already knew that there was only one common place, indoors—the kitchen—but there was a large balcony off the kitchen and a huge patio on the roof, with a great view towards downtown Toronto.

One of the best things about the place is its rooftop view.

But who wants to be cooped up in a tiny room, in winter, with no other reasonable place to hang out? I was glad that Kid 2 was getting out of here.

More than an hour after Kid 2 and her friends left for their apartment, we got good news: the apartment they went to see was perfect. It had five large bedrooms, a living room, big kitchen, and a studio, in which they could keep their instruments (all of them are musicians). And, the studio was sound-proofed, as the former tenant used to teach music lessons there.

And, best of all, the rent was less than the current spot. The ladies needed to apply for the place and wait to see if they could get it, so they were prepared to keep looking.

DW and I waited for them to sign the application paperwork (one of the roommates' mother was there to make sure that everything with the lease was good), and when they returned, we closed up the old apartment and drove to the storage facility.

By 7:00, the storage locker was full, the truck was returned, and Kid 2 had two suitcases that she'd be living out of for at least a month. She was worried about what she would do with Lily, but DW and I said that we could bring her home, to stay with us until it was time to move again.

As we drove from the rental spot to one of Kid 2's friends, who could put her up for a couple of nights, our daughter thanked us for all of our help.

"Of course," I said, "we'll always be there for you. But you should be proud of yourself. Yes, this was a harrowing ordeal that was extremely stressful, but look how you've managed. Look at what you've accomplished. You're a stronger person than you realize. You've come through this so far and you'll continue to get through it."

Her phone chimed, and she screamed. She started bawling her eyes out, and when I looked in the back seat, she was shaking uncontrollably. "Oh my god!" she screamed.

My heart sank. If this was another crisis, I wondered if she could take it tonight. She was already physically and emotionally exhausted.

"We got the place!" She started crying even more.

"That's right, let it all out," I said. I knew they were tears of joy. I knew that the stress that was crushing her was lifted enough to let her breathe.

She opened a video group chat with her roommates, who were all just as relieved. They all praised each other, saying that if they could get through this ordeal and feel good about how each of them stayed strong, that it was a great start to their relationship. Though some were good friends and others were mutual friends, this was a great bonding moment.

We dropped Kid 2 at her friends house just before 8. She had a cooler full of frozen vegetables, pierogies, with juice and yogurt, among other items. "Make sure you get those in a fridge and freezer," we said, "and eat." She had eaten a ham and cheese sandwich on the car ride to the Annex, as DW made sure there was lots of chances to eat, but we know that when Kid 2 is stressed, she skips meals.

"I love you," she told both of us as we hugged and said goodbye. We told her to keep us in the loop over the next month, with her living situation. This friend could only keep her until the weekend. Another friend offered her a couch after that, but we didn't know for how long. I have a sister who lives in Toronto and DW has a high-school friend who lives off the Danforth, but they're a bit far from where Kid 2 works.

We'll figure it out.

DW and I didn't pull into our garage until after nearly 1:30 in the morning. We had to pull off the 401, near Brockville, and find a quiet, dark spot where we could nap for about 20 minutes. I was fading behind the wheel and DW said that there was no way she could drive.

I don't remember my head hitting my pillow as we finally got to bed, around 2.

Oh, and that thing I wrote on Monday about knowing my limits? Yes, I do know my limits and know that I exceeded them on Wednesday. It just goes to show what I'm willing to do to see that my kids are safe and not left in a lurch.

I want to thank all of those who lent their support, online, while we went through this emergency move, which I've started referring to as the extraction. I feel so lucky to know that people have my back.

Anyone feel like helping with the move in December? I can really use that kind of support!

Happy Friday!