I love dancing

I went to the Dour Music Festival last year … and I loved dancing

I struggled physically and emotionally during our recent heat wave

I have a ticket for the five days of Dour – July 15-19

My weather app gives a forecast that goes as far as July 16

15: 33°   16: 32°

Today’s humidity is 78%, meaning that it feels considerably warmer than what the thermometer says.  Humidity for future dates is unknown

(Sigh)

***

What to do?

I bought insurance for going to the festival because my friend Prabigya was planning to get married in Nepal in mid-July … and I’m invited.  I checked the insurance policy yesterday.

The funny thing is that a change of plans is not covered by the policy.  I would have cancelled Dour and not received a euro back!  (Read the fine print, Bruce)

Prabigya has rescheduled her wedding for next March but there’s a more immediate situation: my health.  Do I go to Dour if the temps stay as advertised?

The insurance does cover “illness” of course.  I have an appointment with my family doctor tomorrow, and I’m wondering if he’d write a sick note something like this:

Bruce experienced heat exhaustion in our recent four-day heatwave.  The temperatures at the upcoming Dour Festival are forecast to be 30° or higher each day.  To protect his health, Bruce should not go.

Is it likely I’d be “sick” on July 13 or so when I’d ask Dr. Lagae for the note?  Probably not.  Would it be within integrity for him to write such a note?  I think so but we’ll see what he says.

Bottom line time:

1.  If the temperatures for Dour stay in the 30’s during the festival, I won’t go.

2.  If Dr. Lagae agrees with me that him writing a sick note that anticipates illness is within integrity, I’ll ask him for one.

3.  If all this happens, Dour may or may not give me a refund.  I’ll accept their decision.

***

Alrighty then …

Thanks for helping me think this through

As a member of the Evolutionary Collective Core, I volunteered to support the teacher and the participants in an introductory course to our work.  Six Tuesday evenings … such as last night.  It was Session Four.

My mind didn’t think of #4 yesterday afternoon.  More crucially, my mind didn’t think of it in the evening.  And so … I wasn’t there.

I’m sad that I didn’t keep my word, and that I caused a problem for those who were there.

Was it yesterday that I talked about not analyzing what happens, not seeking the “why”?  (Hey, maybe it was three days ago!  I can’t remember)

I could give reasonable or unreasonable theories, depending on the ears of the beholder.  But what purpose would that serve?

I didn’t do what I said I’d do

I’m sad about that

I apologized

I will keep my head up

And on I go …

I sat in Le Pain Quotidien this morning, enjoying my breakfast.  I could feel what I wanted to write about today … but I started to censor myself.

You wrote about this a day or two ago.  You’ll be saying the same things.  Pick something else.  Talk about the chandelier

I was sitting in a new spot, seeing the restaurant from a different angle.  And lo and behold … there was the chandelier I’d never noticed before.

You can create a good story about this shift in perspective.  It’s a beautiful chandelier

Lovely, and not real in my heart of the moment.  So enjoy the photo, folks.  I’m on to what’s true.

***

I’m sad

Sadness #1

I’ve had a big financial jolt recently.  Several friends from the Evolutionary Collective are gathering in London this week.  Yesterday I was on a WhatsApp call with a few of them and gave them the news: I can’t afford to come.  (Sigh)

Sadness #2

I sang at an open mic session last night – a beautiful song.  I sang it with the deep emotion it deserved.  My voice wobbled some.  I forgot one line.  But that stuff is nowhere near as important as reaching people.  I think several in the audience were touched.

Except for one friend, no one said anything to me after the concert, not even the people who were sitting beside me all evening.  (Sigh again)

***

The message from Bruce to Bruce is clear:

Be sad

(For a little while)

Then sing some more

Recover financially

Get back out there!

I’m discovering my guest bedroom.  I’ve slept there over the last week since it’s far cooler.  I can open the windows at night, unlike my bedroom, where mosquitoes from the river would join me without hesitation.

What to say?  The walls are really orange!  When I showed my Canadian friend Anne photos of my Gent apartment, her verdict was clear:

We’re not coming to visit you until you get rid of those orange walls!  An off-white would be nice

Well, Anne, I’m cheerfully resisting the temptation to beige my place.  Give me colour or give me death!

As I lie in my newly-discovered bed, I see something else …

I bought this photo many years ago in Alberta, Canada.  In 2022, as I was planning my relocation to Belgium, I knew the cave would cross the ocean.

Too often, I don’t linger with the artwork in my home.  There’s that horrible word “busy” … zooming from one project to the next.  I need to stand before or sit before, or in my current situation of heat, lie before.

A stream of light brightening a cave

My mind is often quick.  It loves associations between one word and another.  It loves metaphor.  It slides easily  into “What does it mean?” 

Let’s not go there this time.

Here is a photo.  I choose not to add adjectives to describe, nouns to categorize.

I really like verbs … but right now I’m letting them go too.  It’s simply light in a cave – a scene that pauses my forward motion.  On my pillow.  Later on a chair.

Hello, dear cave

I was on Amazon, searching for some product.  Since memory isn’t my best subject, I can’t remember what I was looking for.  I was reading the reviews, since they often help me.

One person said this:

It corresponds to my needs

I stared at the words.  My research came to a halt.

What an odd and distant thing to say.  Instead of “It works really well” or “I like it.”  Thoughts of a breathing human being.

I started to imagine what the “corresponds” fellow or woman was like.  Do they use the same conceptual language with their partner, with their kids?  Are their human relationships mostly business deals?  Are they separate from the juice of life, the touching, the smile?

Who am I to know someone after hearing five words from them?

They may be a glowing spirit

But I wonder …

For many years, when I’ve sensed physical pain in my body, I put it on a scale of 1 to 10.

1 = hardly anything

10 = excruciating

Now I’m thinking of all the people I meet in my day.  Can I put the feeling of connection on the same scale?

An intangible, mutual bond where both individuals feel seen, heard and valued

And the answer comes … No.  I can’t feel “sort of connected”.  It’s there or it isn’t.

Many people see me with nouns or adjectives: customer, old, man, strange, fellow musician, Canadian, conversational …  And that’s okay.  But it’s usually not connection.

A “Zero” on the scale feels like being seen as a “thing”, rather than a human being.  Perhaps someone who can do something for them.

I sense a jump to “Five” … those who treat me courteously, without antagonism, and yet with a sense of distance.

And then the big jump to “Ten”:

It’s you and me!

No warming up to it.  No “slowly but surely”.  Instead …

Bam!

Contact

Love

***

I’ll hang onto 1-10 for pain assessment

The moment of love is an entirely different animal

I read today about a soldier who was patrolling with his mates when he heard the click of a tripwire.  He knew a grenade was about to explode, and if it did that in the open air all four of them would likely be killed.

The soldier didn’t think.  He did.  He fell backwards on top of the grenade, which then exploded.  His heavy backpack took most of the impact … and they all survived.

Of course he was a hero.  He saved people’s lives

In the Facebook comments, and in my head, there was much discussion about what makes a hero.

Who else should be revered in this way?

Sports stories are often laced with images of heroism.  Certainly a woman or man who runs the entire 42 kilometres of a marathon is a hero to me.  The human body and the human mind are the mountains to climb.

But what about athletes who win a lot, and perhaps perform far beyond others in their sport … Are these folks heroes?

Take Mondo Duplantis, for example – the pole vaulter.  He recently set a world record of 6.31 metres (20 feet, 8.25 inches).  That’s a whopping 14 centimetres (5.5 inches) more than anyone else has ever jumped.  Does such excellence equate to heroism?

What about an amazing singer, instrumentalist, dancer, actor or artist?  Or a famous entertainer?

One person on Facebook had something to say about the soldier and heroism:

A comedian (can’t remember who) once said the word hero had been devalued over the years from being someone who saved lives by putting themselves in danger to someone unexpectedly returning home with crisps.  It sometimes certainly seems like that, but we should all know who the real heroes are.

“Crisps” as in trophies and money and receiving the Order of Canada.

***

Here’s my take:

If you contribute to the quality of human life, you are my hero

Be kind

Open the door for someone struggling with an armful of packages

Give genuine compliments

Say “Thank you”

Be interested in the other person’s life

Create something new and helpful

Hug

Give

Love

Well, I could argue with what’s true right now.  I could analyze and dissect.  But what good would that do?

It’s afternoon.  And 31 degrees in my apartment (88 Fahrenheit).  I have a fan and two little coolers that help a bit.  Cool showers work for awhile.  It’s just that there are a lots of “whiles” to deal with.

I’ve retreated to the air conditioning of Lloyd Coffee Eatery.  I want to write something to you … and my brain isn’t working well in Oudburg 40.

My bedroom faces the Leie River at the back of the apartment.  Opening those windows creates a horde of unwanted guests called mosquitoes.  At night I open the windows of the living room and guest bedroom, which face the street.  This morning, the overnight score for temperature reduction was 1 degree (30.5 > 29.5). 

Last night I slept fine for three hours, and then not at all from 3:00 till 5:00.

Something has to be done, Bruce

And you’re the guy to do it!

Okay … a shift in reality, called the guest bedroom.  I placed the coolers close to my head.  I opened both windows and faced the fan out one of them.  The internet had kindly informed me that if the temperature is cooler outside than in, this strategy will force out hot air and suck in cool air through the other window.  Air will move, not just hang over my head, laughing.

And lo and behold … it worked!  I was asleep within half an hour.

***

My life currently has been reduced to basics – sleep, shower, eat and write.  For the times I’m home during the day, they’re spent horizontal, coolers and fan pumping out lukewarm coolness, windows closed.

That’ll do for now

Tonight will be air flowing in my guest bedroom

And the knowledge that …

All Things Must Pass

My friend Lyrinda in London, Ontario, Canada keeps saying wise things.  Perhaps I don’t have to think of stuff to write about anymore.  I’ll just wait for her to talk … and then respond.

She noticed that Janis Joplin skipped offstage after her landmark song at the Monterey Pop Festival.  So I decided to skip.  That was yesterday.

Lyrinda has replied to another post of mine – the one about me singiing on the street … and apparently no one listening.

Here she is:

The birds in the trees sing for their own reasons and many people either do not hear them out or just walk by choosing to ignore them.  The trilling and cawing and calling is an everchanging symphony of beauty and connection that those who choose to hear.  You are a bird singing with all your body and soul.

I’ve often said …

What’s important is the loving energy I put out into the world

It doesn’t matter what comes back

“So, Bruce, it appears you haven’t always been living what you say.  You need people to enjoy your singing and your songs.  The truth is that some will and some won’t.  Forget about the reactions.  Keep singing!”

Okay

I’ll do that

And keep speaking, Lyrinda

About a week ago, I wrote about the American singer Janis Joplin belting out “Ball and Chain” at the Monterey Pop Festival in the 60’s.  I included the video.

Yesterday my friend Lyrinda responded:

She burned hot and true and unfiltered.  Such raw emotion laid out not only in words but in her voice in its full range of sound.  Her little skip at the end when she left the stage was a touch of the innocent child still there despite the ball and chain of the song.

And my reply:

Yes, Lyrinda.  The skip!  I can do that too.  In fact, I will … down the Langemunt tomorrow.  I promise.

Oops.  Tomorrow is now today.

I’ve been sitting in Lloyd Coffee Eatery, at one end of the Langemunt.  Two hundred metres away is Izy Coffee.  I’ve visualized a round trip.

An hour ago I was in the midst of being reasonable … and scared.  Last Friday I had a second Cortisone injection in my right knee.  The cartilage has largely worn away, and my knee wants me to get the message.

What if your skipping creates permanent damage?

If you do this today, you may not be able to walk unassisted in two years

Be careful, Bruce.  Life is about being careful

What will people think?

They’ll see you as emotionally disturbed

And so I quivered at Table 140 in Lloyd’s.

I decided to practice … a bit.  There was no one sitting in the back end of the restaurant.  I’ll give it a try (with my head peering over my shoulder).

I did three skipping steps, but they weren’t.

I’ve forgotten how to skip!

(Sigh)  Trying again.  Now maybe six steps … and they were skipping.

Get up from the table and do the darned thing!

I rose.

I walked over to a nearby table.  The couple spoke English.  I told them my story.  They agreed to cheer me on through the glass door that would show a senior skipper on the street.

Now the Langemunt, my feet centered on the depths of the Earth.  I looked back inside.  Smiles and thumbs up.

I began

Poetry in motion it was not … but it was motion.

My head was pretty much down, as I concentrated on not splatting myself on the pavement.  So I didn’t see people’s reactions.

I was pooped fifty metres later, by the entrance to Eyes + More optician.  I told my story to Aude and Pieter-Jan.  They added to the cheers.  And off I continued.

Two or three more breathing stops before I reached Izy, buoyed by the well wishes of three teens along the way.

Inside, Léa and Michelle revved me up for the return trip.

Two hundred slow metres later, I skipped into Lloyd’s.

Very tired.  Very happy.  Very proud

***

There you go, Lyrinda

Piece of cake