I don’t mean cranking the music louder.

I don’t mean speaking at a high volume … on the edge of yelling.

I don’t mean being at a football game with 50,000 other cheering fans.

Actually, I’m not sure what I mean

Point Number One:  It wasn’t my hand on the knob.  But then … whose?

Point Number Two:  It hit me last night as I watched a stunning DVD – Meatloaf performing his hits with the Melbourne Symphony Orchestra.  He and his partner in music Patti Russo were belting out the songs, often in face-to-face duets.  It was powerful, alive, “high volume”.

I felt myself getting bigger, arms lengthening, taking up more space on Earth.  I knew that any words coming out of my mouth would also be large, full of impact.

Point Number Three:  I’m sitting in Izy Coffee tapping away.  Even my fingers have a purpose.  And I’m taller … closer to heaven.

Plus the cappuccino sippers at nearby tables are shining.

***

Okay, Bruce.  No figuring out.  Just revel in it.

And now I’ve flown back sixty years, to an old TV commercial.  I just went to AI to stir my memory:

Madge the manicurist recommends Palmolive dishwashing liquid to a client as a way to soften her hands.  They both look down at the client’s hand immersed in a dish of green goo.

“Why, you’re soaking in it now!”

…

And so I soak

John Kennedy, the President of the United States, said these words in 1963.  He was talking about improved economic conditions benefiting all Americans.

The sentence has stayed with me over the decades.  I never analyzed it.  It was just there in the back of my mind.

And today I reflect once more.  It doesn’t feel like some general thing that contributes to lots of people.  Rather, I think of how one person’s action can raise all those who are witness to it.

It doesn’t have to be doing something heroic.  It doesn’t have to be saying something profound.  It could just be …

Saying “Hi”

Smiling

Holding the door open for someone

…

What John Kennedy would have done

What the world needs

Abraham Lincoln was President of the United States from 1861 until he was assassinated in 1865.  He was a lawyer.

Everyone – law students, judges, political opponents – knew Lincoln as a person of integrity.  His nickname of “Honest Abe” came naturally.

Here are a few stories:

1.  Historical accounts noted that he walked miles to return a few stray pennies to a customer he accidentally shortchanged.

2.  As an attorney in Illinois, he turned down cases he believed were unjust.

3.  He communicated honestly with his generals, cabinet members and the public about the brutal realities of the Civil War.

And here are a few words from the man, spoken to law students:

“As a peacemaker the lawyer has a superior opportunity of being a good man.”

“Let no young man choosing the law for a calling for a moment yield to the popular belief – resolve to be honest at all events.  And if in your own judgment you cannot be an honest lawyer, resolve to be honest without being a lawyer.  Choose some other occupation.”

Fine thoughts, and I’ll forgive Lincoln for being an expression of his time … omitting women.

***

I thought of writing this post last night.  The impetus was a meme that showed up on the internet of Lincoln gesturing derisively at Trump.  “That’ll make a good post.”

Upon the passage of time, and the scribbling of words so far, I say no to yesterday’s intention.

“That isn’t Abe”

And so, if you really want to see the photo

You’ll have to seek elsewhere

(Kasia and Célia)

***

Have I mentioned that I love watching the Tour de France Femmes?  Well, I do.

Yesterday was Stage Eight of nine.  Demi Vollering of the FDJ United-Suez team was being “led out” by her teammate Célia Gery.  So Célia was going as fast as she could at the front, cutting the wind for Demi.  Then Célia slowed and moved to the side, letting Demi burst into the lead.

Célia’s move to the right cut off a fast approaching Kasia Niewiadoma-Phinney of the Canyon/SRAM team, forcing her against the barrier.  Kasia lost momentum.

At the end of the race, Kasia was furious with Célia, convinced that she had blocked her on purpose.  The race judges reviewed videos of the incident from various angles … and found no fault in Célia’s action.  My conclusion: Célia didn’t see Kasia coming.

***

I don’t know about the minds of Kasia and Célia.  I just know mine.

I can’t imagine me doing something on purpose to hurt someone.  I can imagine me not being attentive, or forgetting … and my action or the lack of it diminishes the well-being of another person.

But I know this: I couldn’t sleep at night if I’m mean, if my integrity is impure.  No chance.  Plus the broad span of Bruce would compress into a tiny space.  A steel ball in my stomach.

And the end result?

Very little of me would be available to you

That’s not what I want my life to be

***

Célia and Kasia … I hope you forgive each other

I love singing

…

For the last month or so

I haven’t wanted to sing

…

Both true

I’ve been sitting with these facts, fascinated.  Almost always, I just fall into this reality.  No deep analysis of my brain function.  Not even “part of the rhythms of life”.  Just sitting.  Which reminds me of a quote:

Sometimes I sits and thinks

Sometimes I just sits

(A Maine, USA fisherman in 1905)

And now there is now … or more precisely last night.  It was the monthly open mic session at Salavatore’s on Sint-Salavatorstraat in Gent.

I’ve sung there for two years or so.  But yesterday I had no desire to.  “Singing will come back … just not today.”

I went because I wanted to talk to friends, and because I’d promised Nel and Yosse that I would.

There were about 25 of us settling down for the beginning of performance.  As usual, our host Kobe presented us with a pizza box and a marker.  They passed through the room, with folks who wanted to perform writing their name.

I received the box and gave it to the next person, unsigned.  And that was a first.  Such a strange feeling.

Three or four folks performed their magic and then Kobe called for a break – to replenish drinks and relationships.

There we were spread over the sidewalk.  I started talking to Omar and a fellow I didn’t know.  We discussed this and that, including that I wasn’t singing.

And then …

Out of nowhere …

I will sing

No rhyme or reason here, no figuring out.  Instead it was a gentle wave washing over me.  I went inside and added my name to the pizza box.

***

I sang

One of the places I’ve enjoyed for coffee has changed their system of delivering food and drink.

It used to be that I could walk in, sit at a table, order using my phone, and hang loose till the server approached with a smiling face.  The background music was usually peaceful.  I could really sink into my chair.  (Ahh …)

As of a few days ago, bye bye to all of that.  Now we need to line up, which is fine if there are just a few people.  Not cool if there’s a crowd.  After ordering at the counter, I’m given a beeper.  When it goes off, I return to the counter and pick up my stuff.

The result for me:

1.  No relaxing at my table, waiting for my flat white to arrive

2.  No minute or so (depending on how full the restaurant is) chatting with the staff member delivering my order

3.  Being surrounded by the beeping of beepers from other tables

4.  The noise mixes with the background music … and peace exits.  (Noise: “Any loud, unpleasant or unwanted sound”)  Yep.

I suppose some of you are saying “Suck it up” or “That’s what life is like, Bruce.”  Okay.  But I the customer get to choose what works for me.

And so …

I seek elsewhere for my coffee

…

And I’m open to returning

If the beeping stops

My granddaughter “Nicole” and I went for a walk this morning in Gent centrum.  An ancient curving street beckoned, and Nicole noticed a plant shop that she wanted to explore – Broesse.  And so we did.  I looked in every nook and cranny for my favourite house plant (Calathea Makoyana) but it remained hidden.

What we did discover was a tiny café at the back, nestled in green.  Two cappuccinos magically appeared … and so began our meanderings about the state of living.

Life was slow and soft, full of art and growing things.  It was a sanctuary from “the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune”.

And then we parted ways with a hug.  I headed home, interrupted by a construction site.  I leaned against the fence and watched two massive earthmovers.

At one point the orange one was so unsteady with its load dropping to the left that its tires on the right lifted way off the ground … teetering against the pull of gravity.  Such power, such force, such … hardness.

And then there was the huge arm and bucket of the black one.  Load after load of rock amid soil, reaching the truck with apparent ease.  The speed, the lifting up, the pouring down.

Is this what we human beings contain – both the delicate flowers and the rigid metal?  Yielding and imposing?  The open hand and the closed fist?

I guess the answer is yes

But for me …

I lean towards Broesse

I was sitting in Lloyd Coffee Eatery, embracing my flat white.  A family nearby were enjoying their lunch, and each other.

The young girl in pink was partially hidden from me.  Her head was down … and my knee jerk response was immediate:

She’s on her phone!

And so began spasms of despair about the state of the modern world.

Now, I get it.  Kids are often bored with adult conversation … but I still was sad.

It turns out that she was reading a book, not scrolling Instagram.

I looked way to the right.  A middle-aged couple sat at a window table.  Each person had eyes only for their phone.  Two solitudes.  The only time I saw them speak was when they got up to leave.  (Sigh)

Farther down the room sat two women in their 30’s.  Their faces and tone of voice were alive.  Their eyes met.  Happiness returned to me.

I went back to my flat white and to whatever I was writing about.

Ten minutes later, I looked up.  The two women had gone separate.  One seemed hypnotized by her tiny screen.  The other stared into space.  (Sigh again)

***

I promise you that the next time you and I sit together (if we ever do) my Samsung S25 will stay in my pocket

Sigrid Haugset is a Norwegian cyclist.  Yesterday she won Stage Three of the Tour de France Femmes … going solo for 88 kilometres and holding off some of the best riders in the world.

Takes my breath away.

I thought Sigrid was going to fall off her bike before the finish line.  She was spent.  Her smiles and hugs afterwards showed a bright and exhausted spirit.  I was enthralled.

I haven’t yet watched the podium ceremony and Sigrid’s post-race interview.  Commentators on the internet say she was marvelous there too … “charming, humble words”.

Lying in bed this morning, I decided to make up an interview for her.  Here is a woman who just won Norway’s first stage victory in the Tour de France Femmes, someone who gave everything as she lurched to the finish.  A worldwide sporting audience awaits her words …

What will she say?

***

Imagine the interviewer, microphone in hand.  Past his or her right shoulder is the camera operator.

Interviewer:  What does this victory mean to you?

Sigrid:  It’s not about me.  It’s for Norway, my family, my friends, my teammates.

I:  Could you feel them during the race?

S:  Oh yes!  Every one of those endless kilometres.  They were willing me to stay out front.

I:  You’re now the overall leader of the Tour de France, wearing the yellow jersey.  What an incredible achievement.

S:  Thank you.  But again it’s not about me.  It’s about all of us, whether we ride bikes or not.  It’s about giving yourself totally to something.  Maybe it’s music, or cheering on your kids, looking after grandma.  Just do it with all your heart.

I:  With twenty k’s to go, did you think you could hold off Lotte Kopecky?

S:  (Pause)

S:  My heart is not with your question.  I’m still with “all of us” – you, dear interviewer, included.  As the poet Mary Oliver said to every human being on the planet:

“Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?”

You too wear the yellow jersey.  You too have an immense contribution to make.

S:  (Looks left to the camera … which contains millions of people)

S:  And so do you

I have a balcony off the living room of my apartment in Gent.  It overlooks people strolling on the Oudburg, a street full of restaurants and bars.

I’ve lived here for three-and-a-half years, and a few days ago I experienced a first … a pigeon landed on the railing.  It stayed awhile.

I was in wonder.  I love birds.  I’m happy that I just gazed at the quiet one, who knew how to find my eyes.  No grabbing the phone for a photo op.  Just staying put.

And then she or he was gone.  That’s okay.  I will continue to remember the time I was visited.  There’s a yearning for the return and a knowing that this may never be.

All is well