My Favourite Photos of 2024

You knew I was going to start in Costa Rica, didn't you?

Even as 2024 was just in its infancy, I knew that I'd take no better pictures during January than I would at the end of the month, when DW and I travelled to the Central American country. And my best shot of the first month is coming up.

If you're new to my year-end blog posts, welcome. If you've been visiting before, welcome back. On the last weekday of every year, I share a collection of what I feel are the best photos that I've taken over the course of the year. Sometimes, I share a lot of photos; other years, I share only a few.

I've tried in some years to share only a dozen: one photo for every month. I haven't always succeeded.

But this year, from the very start of 2024, I promised myself that at the end of each month, I would choose my one favourite photo: no more; no less. And I found it was pretty easy.

Some months, when I had plans where I knew I'd be bringing my camera with me, I knew that one of those upcoming shots would be my pick for the month. Other times, I just happened to take a snapshot without planning, and it would become a favourite.

So, here are the 12 photos that I shot over the year that I think were my favourites of the past year. And like I said, we start in Costa Rica on the last day of January.

DW and I had been travelling for a couple of days on our vacation and I had already captured many great photos of waterfalls and a volcano, plus jungles and wildlife. But on the last day of the month, after a very active day, DW and I climbed one more hill to watch the sun set over the Monteverde region.

With misty clouds blowing over us, threatening to block out the sun, the diffused light warmed the whole landscape.

Because we were still in Costa Rica in February, I knew that I'd be taking more photos of the region. As we set out for another hiking trek to yet another waterfall, I had an idea for a particular type of shot, so I loaded up my tripod in my backpack and set it up at the base of the Nauyaca Falls. I slowed down my shutter speed and closed down the aperture by nearly a full stop below what was required for the light. I wanted to create a mood for the shot, which I brought out even more in post production.

Here's the result:

I've been a member of the Ottawa Photography Meetup group for more than 12 years, yet I only meet with other members about four times a year; sometimes, fewer. This year, I was above par with get-togethers: three times, in a studio; and twice, outdoors.

My first two times in the studio were in March, when I attended an artful nude photo shoot, and the second, when I attended a painting with light workshop. In the latter meetup, we worked in the dark and illuminated the model with coloured lights. We would be in total darkness while the model posed, would fire a single flash, and then move various lights around the model while she stood still.

It was a great experience and made me want to work with different lights even more. But here's my favourite photo from the March shoot.

As April opened, there was only one thing on most people's mind: the total solar eclipse. DW and I watched the weather in the days leading up to the event, and on the day before, we made the decision to head east, past Montreal, to Granby, Quebec.

I had practiced shooting the sun in the weeks leading up to April 8 but nothing really prepares you for the brief minutes of totality. My favourite shot was during the diamond phase, when just a dot of sunlight appeared on the edge of the moon. Here's my best shot.

From about mid-April and almost every weekend until October, DW and I met up with friends to go kayaking. In May, we explored the Clyde River in Lanark County, and I was equipped with one of my D-SLRs and my smartphone.

While I did capture some pictures of wildlife with my Nikon, the best shot came at the end of our paddle, when we were heading through the town of Lanark. There were various buildings that were close to the river's edge, but an old barn was right against the river and reflecting on the gentle-moving water. I used my smartphone to capture this image and it was the best shot of the month.

I participated in two photo walks in June. The first one was held by Henry's camera store, downtown; the other was led by me. Henry's held a street photography walk, whereas mine was a river walk to the Chaudière Falls.

While I captured good images on both walks, my best photo of the walks, and my best photo of June, was a candid shot of a woman holding an umbrella and walking past a set of doors for the Bank of Canada. I was actually down the street a bit and saw the woman walking, and had to run up the other side of Wellington Street to get in position for when she passed the doors, all while avoiding attention to myself.

I think it worked out.

July saw still more kayaking, as we paddled on the Ottawa River to visit the Rideau Falls. Because I knew the river would be turbulent, with lots of boats moving up and down, and we had a significant amount of wind, I left my D-SLR at home.

Armed only with my smartphone, I zoomed in on the falls and shot a few photos. But because the water near the falls was so rough and I was zoomed in to a 10-times magnification, the image wasn't tack-sharp. So, in post-processing, I applied a paintbrush-stroke effect to the image and it turned out much better.

So much so, that it was my favourite shot of July.

In August, I attended another photo meetup. This time, we were photographing a couple's date night at a county fair. While I took lots of photos of our two models, I hung around after the shoot to capture some of the lights of the fair.

The Ferris wheel was the eye-catching ride, and with a candy stand in the foreground, I took probably the best non-model shot of the night.

I felt very lazy in September and didn't get out very much, apart from taking photos from my kayak, a trip to Westport, and a walk downtown with DW and one of her work colleagues, who was new to Canada.

But one night, after meeting some friends for dinner and a few drinks, I was heading home when I saw that we were in store for a nice sunset. With little time to spare, I deemed that I'd be able to get to Andrew Haydon Park just in time for sunset. I made my way to the windmill and took this shot, which ended up being my favourite for that month.

There was so much going on in October that it was hard to settle on the best photo of the month. We had paddled in Barron Canyon and I had captured lots of great photos. There was Comet Tsuchinshan-ATLAS, which I was lucky enough to zoom in on, twice. There was an early-morning visit to Hog's Back Falls.

And there was the Aurora Borealis, which outshone them all.

While I took many impressive photos of the light show, I like this one best because there's a mix of red, yellow, and green, but I also illuminated the secluded road with the tail lights of my car, adding more red to the image, where red was the dominant colour in the sky.

It's hard to believe that I had my D-SLR and a tripod in the trunk but chose to shoot with my smartphone. While the image isn't razor-sharp, I still think it's the colours that make the image.

I attended a couple more photo meetups, in November, and was finally able to try something that I've wanted to do for years. I've seen lots of photos of people who have attached a piece of steel wool to a string, set it on fire, and started swinging the string around. Sparks would fly in all directions and if you capture the image with a long exposure, the results can be quite striking.

I met with my photo group under the George Dunbar Bridge, at the House of PainT, to capture these images. During one long exposure, I slowly zoomed out my lens, creating almost a tunnel effect with the circle of sparkling light. Here's my favourite picture from the set.

Now, at the start of this post (and at the start of the year), I said I'd choose one photo from each month of the year. But I shot the spinning sparks on November 1st and then joined a photo workshop a couple of weeks later, where I took some interesting photos at a projection workshop.

You might remember that I joined my first projection workshop, last year, and included a photo from that shoot in last year's favourite photos. This year, I attended another one and it was a lot of fun, and my favourite photo from that shoot was when our model, Jay Ban, cast a shadow on some geometric, black-and-white lines on the projection screen. This shot is different from last year's photo, when the light shone on the model and I captured an angle that omitted the projection screen.

December seemed to fly by and I found myself uninspired. Even on our vacation in Mexico, I barely took any photos or video. My D-SLRs sat, unused until the last weekend of the month. DW and I were running errands, and I threw a camera in the car as a last-minute decision.

Sunday was a dramatically foggy day, and as we were driving home from our final errand, I decided to take a detour through the Experimental Farm. One of the smaller roads is closed to vehicles during the winter months, and the bare trees line both sides of the road. With the fog, there seemed to be a stark contrast between the trees, the snow, and the fog, and in post-processing, I played on that contrast.

They say that the best camera is the one you have with you, and this year proved that for me. Almost half of my favourite photos of 2024 were captured with a D-SLR while the other half were shot with a smartphone.

Could you tell the difference?

Thanks for supporting my blog over the years. It really means a lot to me. I hope that 2025 brings you joy and that you continue to be awesome.

Happy New Year!

Akumal Art

Operation: Christmas

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

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

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

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

In time, it would become a ritual.

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

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

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

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

I was a stealth machine.

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

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

"What are you doing here?" I whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Our family Christmas tree.

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

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

Operation: Christmas was born.

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

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

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

And then it was showtime.

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

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

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

That was year two.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And isn't that what Christmas is all about?

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

The Secret Santa

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

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

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

And, usually, he didn't want to.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The second credit card was also declined.

Silence.

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

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

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

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

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

He nodded. Smiled.

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

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

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

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

And that was good enough for him. 

Grinchy

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

© 1966 Warner Home Video.

All rights reserved.

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

No, thank you very much.

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

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

But over the years, the kids have lost interest in harvesting a tree, and in the past 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!