Monthly Archives: March 2023

Kids

Children have usually been a big part of my adult life … but not now. I miss them.

I taught blind and low vision children. I got to know a lot of fully sighted kids as well. My favourite moments in school were when the child and I were in conversation. It didn’t matter what the topic was, as long as there was connection.

I’m sure you know when you and another human being are connected. It’s mysterious – beyond words, beyond eye contact – but you know it’s real.

Last night I went to the Celebration of Life for my dear friend Wim. First there was a Mass (in Flemish). The words escaped me but I could feel the love in the room. Three young kids read something. I smiled to see them play a part.

Afterwards, Lydia, Baziel, Lore and I were invited to join the family for drinks and snacks. I had a couple of cool 1-1 conversations in English. Often though, I was on the outside of a small group discussion in Flemish.

I decided to go find the kids. I walked into the TV room and there they were – five of them stretched out on a huge ottoman watching some show and a few others gathered around cell phones. Someone at the party had told me that children in Belgium start learning English at age 12, and all of these folks looked younger than that.

Some of the viewers noticed me sitting off to the side. Only one girl connected with the eyes. She came over to sit with me for a minute.

So … ten young speakers of Flemish and one adult speaker of English. Still worth a smile. Clearly “the conversation” was not going to happen. So I just sat there, happy to be in their presence. It was enough.

…

A task awaits in my Belgian future:

How to make an impact on young people in my new home

I’ll find a way

Baziel

He is my friend, a mere 56 years younger.  I met his mom five years ago on a hiking trail in the Canadian Rockies, and today I feel part of the family.

In October Baziel’s dad Jo died.  How does a teenager deal with such a tragedy?  Same with Lore who is 20.

One way that Baziel copes is with basketball.  Here he’s number 11, shielding the ball and driving for the basket.  It was a few nights ago.  I cheered “Baziel!” a lot.  He certainly has offensive skills but even better was his willingness to pass the ball to a teammate who was more open than him.

If you enlarge player 7 on the opposition, you’ll see that he plays for “Geografica”.  It was Geography vs. Medicine in the University of Gent league.  Medicine squeaked out a win.

Baziel entered medical school in September.  He’s determined to put in the time and energy to be an excellent physician … and so far he’s doing both.  My friend expects to be fully qualified by the time he’s 30.

Here’s a picture of Baziel exercising his brain cells in my apartment.  Can you see the focus?

Last night Baziel took me out to eat burgers at Uncle Babe’s – a favourite of mine only steps from home. We laughed. He paid. Then he was off for an evening with his friends.

Baziel Nachtergaele is already leading a full life. Who knows what heights he’ll scale in the decades to come? I dearly hope to see some marvelous landscapes with him.

Ordinary and Sublime

Being hungry is ordinary.  It happens every day to all of us.  Going to McDonalds for supper is also ordinary.  Hopefully it doesn’t happen every day for any of us!

We wash the dishes, brush our teeth, ride the bus or drive the car, talk to our family members.  I see a danger that our whole life be swallowed up by the “usual”.  The routines and the schedules take over … and we don’t notice the brightness of life anymore.

No thanks.

I was in a McDonalds mood a few nights ago.  I got my food and sat at a counter, looking out a window.  And this is what I saw:

My burger and fries were animated by the glow of St. Nicholas Church. I was sipping far more than Diet Coke. The air shook. My view transformed from 2D to 3D.

What are the textures that may be revealed right now? Who am I connected to as I gaze out at the life on the street? When will I wake up to the beauty that is always here? To the majesty of the moment?

I choose “Now”

Frailty

It’s one of my unfavourite words … and sometimes I see it in the mirror.

Here’s another one: “careful”.  Also yucky but increasingly necessary.

(Sigh)

But on we go.  Yesterday I did laundry in a building only fifty metres from my home.  I took my shirts out of the drier while they were some wet so the wrinkles would fall out.  As my underwear and jeans continued their drying journey, I grabbed my ten shirts and ten hangers and headed home.

There are fifty-two steps from the street to my apartment.  No elevator.  Clutching my moist shirts to my breast, I started climbing.  Partway up something jolted in my left hip.  It’s called bursitis, and it thought that yesterday was a fine time to say hello.

A second climb to the heights involved an IKEA bag in my right hand while the left clung to the railing and hauled the body upwards.  In the uncareful department, I was still putting only one foot on each riser.

Hours later I hobbled down the stairs and towards a dinner restaurant.  I chose a route sweetly but unconsciously, one that involved climbing twenty steps towards the end.  Imagine more hauling up with left hand, still stepping “normally”, but this time publicly.

As I ate, I thought of my decision to rent an apartment way up high.  I knew that someday I wouldn’t be able to do those stairs … but I thought that moment would be years away – not TODAY!

There were two exit doors from the restaurant. One involved climbing two steps. It was very clear that I’d have to put two feet on each riser to deal with the pain. I felt the angst of not wanting people to see my plight. I chose the other exit.

The whole other discussion is that I haven’t stretched for months. At the end of June, I sold my home in Belmont, Canada and shipped my belongings across the ocean. It felt “convenient” to place my yoga mat in one of those boxes. Convenient and dumb. No yoga mat, no stretching. “Oh well,” said my deluded mind.

Today I start again to extend my body parts in various directions … now smiling at my foibles.

And all will be well.