Moving to Belgium has been an experience of patience – it appearing, disappearing, reappearing …

There’s my language challenge – hardly any Flemish so far.  Plus the customer service people on the phone usually have little to moderate English.  I often don’t know if my requests have been understood.  Same for the technicians who come to my home.  How do I make meaning with folks whose first language is Flemish?

Deliveries are a challenge.  So often they come to the wrong street or they don’t know my apartment number.  With one furniture company five scheduled deliveries were unsuccessful.  My stuff showed up on the sixth.

Is all of this “bad”?  No.  Just frustrating. And I choose to roll on in becoming a Belgian resident.  The pull to be here is so strong.

Some friends in Canada thought I was crazy to move here.  “You’ll lose all your health care!”  Which indeed I did.

I came here thinking “Maybe I’ll have to pay full price for my prescriptions.”  Would that cause me big problems in the future?  Maybe.  But I didn’t have eyes to see the dangers ahead.  I just wanted to live in Ghent!

I’ve been talking to a private company named Solidaris for two months now, to see what health care I could get from them.

Because I’ve never paid taxes to Belgium, getting health care was going to cost me big bucks.  I might have to pay 900 euros every three months ($1300 CAD).  Ouch!

I got a letter from Solidaris, in Flemish of course.  I couldn’t read it.  But I do know numbers: 881 euros.  (Sigh)

That’s a lot of money!  Of course I could choose to not enroll with Solidaris.  I’d pay the full prescription cost but the real crunch was if I had to stay in the hospital … hundreds if not thousands of euros each day.  Even though I plan to live till 104, I can’t guarantee that I won’t darken the door of AZ Sint-Lucas Hospital Gent.

This morning I got an e-mail from the person at Solidaris who’s been cheering for me even since I applied. 

As a clarification: this one is for two quarters of a year. Your official enrolement date with Solidaris is 01/04/2023. So this invoice is for two quarters untill the 30th of September this year. So 881,42 : 2 = 440,71 euros every 3 months.

Yay!

I walked into Solidaris this morning and sat with another rep.  He thought my e-mailing friend was wrong.  I’ll really be charged 881 euros every three months.  But he said that because of the amount of my Canadian pension income I really should be charged 440 euros.

So … it’s under review

***

How come I keep smiling in the face of moderate adversity?

I don’t know … it’s becoming a habit

When I think about July 7 at 5:00 pm, and me sitting with my cello on the park bench, I’m so tempted to put quotation marks around the word “concert”.  Yes!  Just like that.

My small mind imagines the four or five souls who will attend.  Will I really be giving a performance that they’ll appreciate?

I start getting rational.  You know … it’s been 56 years, arthritis in my bowing thumb, past my musical prime …  So much blah.

My practicing has been less than spectacular. Being “in tune” seems like a far off land. Often the bow doesn’t meet the string at the correct angle. There’s a grinding sound.

But as I’m won’t to say: “So what?” On I go to the 7th. I see four possibilities:

1. I play timidly and out of tune. (Please no)

2. I play timidly and in tune. (Have you heard the name “Caspar Milquetoast”? Thoroughly blah)

3. I play passionately and out of tune. (Actually this has an appeal – not that I want to play out of tune)

4. I play passionately and in tune. (Wow!)

Okay … I’ve decided. Timidity is not allowed to show up in the park on July 7. I will give ‘er. I promise.

***

As a teenager, I tuned my cello hundreds of time. As an old fart, I would say four. Today was the fifth. I have an app that gives me the correct pitch for the four strings (in ascending order): C G D A.

After practicing for awhile today, something was off. My cello was out of tune.

Take a look at the photo. Is there something missing? I decided to tune the A string. The top right peg must have come loose because the pitch of the string was woefully low. So I cranked the peg tighter. Still way too low. So tighter!

Then “Bang!” The string broke. The sad truth is that the top right peg adjusts the D string, not the A. I’d forgotten which peg was which.

So humbling. What’s happened to my brain in the passage of time? Well … I don’t know. I still think it’s a good brain.

Tomorrow I’ll take my dear cello to Arpeggio Music and have them replace the D string. And then I’ll hit the three songs again.

I’m smiling

Last night Lydia, Luc, Ann, Kurt and I went to dinner at Shazanna on Steendam in Ghent. Delizioso! Dipping my bread in astonishing olive oil. And our conversation ranged far and wide.

Afterwards Lydia wanted to go to the Lievekaai – a broad expanse by the Lieve River bordered by many weeping willow trees. Lights in the cobblestones created brilliant greenness.

Lydia asked me to tell the story of Elise. So I did.

When I realized that I’d be moving from Canada to Belgium, I sensed that I would find the next love of my life in Ghent. I named her Elise.

I walked off the plane at Brussels Airport on January 28 to begin my new life. Soon I began searching for a bridge where someday I’d ask Elise to marry me. St. Michael’s Bridge offers a view of Ghent centrum’s medieval towers. It also offers hundreds of tourists … not what I’m looking for.

Weeks later I thought I had the spot. Right beside my favourite bench on the Lievekaai. But this one kept scratching my brain. It wasn’t right either.

At the other end of the Lievekaai is a bridge less visited. And it was an instant “Yes!” Yesterday Lydia wanted us to walk there.

On the way, I looked over at Kurt. “I want to practice my marriage proposal. Will you play Elise?” I can’t remember what his face did but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t sparkling enthusiasm.

The photo is a daytime view of what Kurt saw after I placed him. As we approached the sacred spot, I saw that there was a man lying on the bridge’s stone wall, and three teenagers were off to the side. I talked to all of them about my plans. The fellow stared. The two girls seemed to giggle. The teenaged guy had a tiny smile.

It was show time. I knelt in front of Kurt and professed my love. “Will you marry me?” Once he said “No” the spell was broken. The other friends started chatting. I told them to shush and began the process again. Happily Kurt said yes this time. I uttered the words “You may kiss the bride.” It was more of a hug than a kiss.

I am now well prepared for Elise.

***

One of the girls asked me “Where is Elise?”

“I haven’t met her yet.”

(Incredulous young faces)

***

If you suspect I’ve been stretching the truth, watch this:

“Elise … where are you?”

I had coffee this morning with a man who talks with his hands, and closes his eyes for the best moments.  His name is Dirk.  He had just bought a novel called Alkibiades.  And he was loving it.

Alkibiades is a teenager in ancient Greece who is being mentored by the philosopher Socrates.  No video games … just the grand opportunity to sit at the feet of his teacher and absorb his wisdom.

The author is from the Netherlands – Ilja Pfeijffer.  His writing has drawn Dirk in on the first day.  My neighbour sits there inspired … and transported through time.

Pfeijffer describes the building of the Acropolis – a gathering of temples on a hill in Athens.  All those people doing all those things for a very long time.

I look over to the couch.  Closed eyes and a beating heart.

Dirk tells me about Pfeijffer.  For years he was an alcoholic yelling at the world in Amsterdam.  A woman really saw him and wanted to talk.  They did a lot of that.  They fell in love.

She convinced Ilja to live in Genoa, Italy – her home.  She convinced him to enter an alcoholism treatment program.  She convinced him that he was good … and so was his writing.

Alkibiades took its sweet time to evolve out of Ilja.  Now it has landed, especially in one particular apartment on the Oudburg.

Ilja sits in his apartment in Genoa … and smiles

I’ve worked hard on creating simplified sheet music for three songs I’ll be playing on my cello in a few weeks.  This morning I strolled southward to the copy shop that would turn all this into real paper with a lot of squiggly marks on it.

At an intersection, I noticed an Izy Coffee on the far corner. This is Ghent’s second location for the franchise. The first one, in Ghent centrum, is a second home for me, with my friends Bart, Larisa and Arien running the show.

Curious about the decor, I glanced in the open door. And there sat Bart! His eyes lifted to meet mine. “I’ll buy you a cappuccino, Bruce.” Sounded good to me.

Bart introduced me to the shop’s barista – Ari. A big guy with a big smile. Ari is from Iraq. He was a physical education teacher there.

Awhile back, he moved to a city in Belgium which I won’t name. First, he couldn’t get a job in his profession. Actually he couldn’t get any job. Ari faced huge prejudice. The stereotype of a tall Muslim fellow being a terrorist was intense. How sad.

Bart and Ari met somehow and Bart offered training to become a barista and employment afterwards. And Ari grew to be an excellent barista.

Then the saddest part of the story. A woman walked into the coffee shop in that anonymous Belgian city and said to the other employee “I don’t want him to make my cappuccino.” Yuck.

Like all of us, Ari has had his share of tough times. Far more than his share. But I looked over and there he was smiling. Magnificent.

As I reflected on human kindness and meanness, three cyclists rolled up to the door. They added to the smiles at Izy’s. They also added to the accents. I could listen to the one fellow speak until the end of time. The guys looked to be in their 50s or 60s and they were spending many days climbing big European hills. So fit!

I was pleased with the reaction inside my head. “Good for them. Good that they have embraced a mighty adventure.” Their expression of energy is different than mine. I’ve let cycling go. And these fellows were full speed ahead. Isn’t it great that we’re not all the same?

There sat the six of us … characters all. Tonight we have stories to tell about coffee lovers who show up at Izy’s.

Good for us

Lehna is a soulful singer from Paris.  She graced the Gregor Samsa bookshop in Ghent last night.

There is the voice.  There is the beauty of the songs.  Both pale, I think, in the transmission of spirit.  First we the audience need to be touched by the aura of music.  We need to be taught … in a most mysterious way.

Lehna soared in the melody, her head thrown back in the trance of joining with the story, with the songwriter.  She sang in Portuguese, French, Spanish and English.  She reached me in all four, with the words being known in only one.

Lehna sang the song of the prostitute … the sorrow.  After the concert, I asked her what the woman was saying:

Prostitutes who die full of sperm and tears

At the first hour of the day

Prostitutes who are born in blood and tenderness

And the pain of women

Oh … the sadness.

Lehna knows that her mission of love is expressed deeply in her singing and playing. Her eyes go wide. The volume of her voice rises. Her fingers fly on the strings.

Near the end of the first set, through the door walks one of the best guitarists I’ve ever heard. His name is Djalt. At the break, he played Lehna’s guitar while she sang. It was magical.

***

It was a privilege to accompany the music and the musician yesterday

And may the privileges continue …

What does a circle mean? Or a square, perhaps a triangle? Maybe nothing. Maybe the heart opening to infinity.

I’ve learned to look up. Here in Ghent, this is what I often see:

Or this:

Stepped gables. I don’t know the history or geography. When I visited Amsterdam two weeks ago, I saw no steps:

I love the symbolism. Symbol of what, you ask? Whatever comes to me may not be what comes to you. And that’s the way it should be.

I think of the climb. Ten steps is easy. Two hundred and the breath is gaspy, the heart throbbing.

Close to the top, there’s an “almost” feeling – something about to be revealed. Leaning forward into the future that’s about to explode inside me.

And then … the vista! Eyes widening into the surrounding sight and sound. Astonishment at the wideness of life.

Standing at the top, gazing into the unknown – “what I don’t know that I don’t know”.

***

Only in Belgium? No way

It’s available everywhere

I thought it would be so easy today.  Listen to You Can Close Your Eyes on YouTube. Figure out the melody on the piano.  Transfer the notes to a music notation app called Crescendo.  It shouldn’t take long to figure out their system.  Then sit with my cello with the sheet music (five lines and four spaces full of notes).  Play the song!

So naive … this man.

Crescendo is a great app.  I made progress on the figuring and playing.  But getting to where I am now took three hours.  I did well, with many missteps and much sweat along the way.

After grunting for awhile in guessing the notes with the piano, and the lengths of each one, I consulted my friend Google. An app called MuseScore came into my world. It had the sheet music for my song but the sequence of notes had a complexity that this rebeginning cellist isn’t ready for. So I got to work on simplifying with Crescendo. And gradually I became faster with the keystrokes of that program.

Take a look at the photo. See the four black notes in a row with a simple straight tail? They’re quarter notes. That’s where I’ll start. I can jazz up the rhythm a bit with my bowstrokes if the moment calls for it. I love beginning again!

Slowly my mature brain is remembering the connection between notes on the page and fingers on the fingerboard. A memory of long ago pressings of the D string made me smile. I’m in a time machine.

Intonation means how well the playing matches the pitch of the notes I’m playing. Am I in tune? Mine sucked quite nicely today. Should I have expected otherwise? No. Fifty years is considerable.

But … my God! I’m on the road. And it’s a good one. If I play “poorly” on July 7, so be it. I will play.

***

Would you like to hear the song? I think it’s glorious. Perfect for a cello rendition.

Here’s a shot from the hilarious movie Airplane.  That’s probably me.

It’s 29 degrees Celsius in my apartment at 6:30 pm (84 Fahrenheit). For the first time in my protected life, I don’t have air conditioning.  No screens on the windows either.  So curious mosquitoes come calling.  (Sigh)

I remember being with my Belgian friends in Senegal.  I was staying at a hotel in the village of Toubacouta.  Lydia knew I loved walking around and saying hi to the residents.  She kept imploring me to return to my air-conditioned room in the afternoon for a siesta.  I ignored her until my body gave out in the heat.  Then it was hours stuck in the coolness of the hotel.

There’s no such rescue here.  But I’ve found some answers.  Buying a small personal cooling machine that allows me to get some sleep.  Buying a plug-in mosquito chaser that emits a mist unloved by biting things that fly.

Beyond that, there’s nothing I can do about our current heat and the realities of an apartment built in 1865.

So here I am smiling.  My cello practicing needs to be in the early morning before the temperature starts climbing.  There’s a soupçon of air conditioning in the gym but essentially being on the elliptical is pretty hot work. And I accept the dizziness that often comes over the span of the day.

But once again … “So what?” I signed up for Belgium, the good and the bad.

“Suck it up and live your life. Get on with it!”

There is the song You Can Close Your Eyes that needs to be learned on the cello. There’s writing to be done. And wondrous so-far-unknown folks to meet.

Let’s get to it!

I’ll just need a few tissues

Would you believe that’s me in the picture, playing a sacred hymn?

No … I didn’t think so.

July 7 is coming.  That’s the date when I will play my cello in the little park near my home.

I’m watching cello instruction videos.  Mike is a great teacher.  He’s slowly building up the viewers’ skills.  However I need to move faster than “slowly” – there’s a concert on the horizon!

Mike has taught us the fingerings for the D Major scale … one octave.  This morning, lying in bed, I figured out what two octaves would be like.  The cello has four strings.  From the lowest pitch to the highest, they’re C, G, D and A.  Two octaves of the D scale starts with the first finger on the C string and ends with the fourth finger on the A string.

Hmm … knowing the notes over two octaves would let me play a lot of songs.  My adventures on the 7th could be far beyond Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.

I also have a keyboard.  It sits in my bedroom, with a fine view of the slate roofs near the Leie River.  Decades ago, I could read cello sheet music easily but I never learned to read piano music.  I played “by ear”.

If I wanted to learn the melody of a favourite piece, such as Pachelbel Canon, I’d figure it out on the piano, using the C Major Scale.  It’s the easiest one since it only uses the white keys.

Just so you know, two octaves of the C scale start on the open C string (no fingers on the string) and ends with the second finger on the A string.

I could start finding a melody on the piano in C (rather than D), then transfer the notes to the cello fingerings.

My God … I can do this!

And (more good news), I can do all this in first position – the easiest one.  Depending on where you put your thumb on the neck of the cello, you can play in first, second, third or fourth position.  I vote for first!

Now that the mechanics of this have been revealed to my yearning eyes, what pieces do I want to play?

I can think of three:

This Wandering Day, from the Prime Video TV series Rings of Power

You Can Close Your Eyes by James Taylor

Song for a Winter’s Night by Gordon Lightfoot

***

“Do it, Bruce!”

Why not?