The ecstasy and the agony: Maria and Samsung.

I’m not a careful person. I was having a beer last night in the Crown and Anchor pub. I was still in the glow of Maria Duenas and I had nearly finished a blog post about her. The couple from Minnesota at the table next door were so friendly. I set my phone down next to the glass of Belgian beer and leaned over to engage in our stories.

A man wearing a crazy hat bursts into the bar and starts yelling at the three of us. He slams a piece of paper down on my table and demands that I buy whatever he’s selling. All three of us tell him to go away and he sprints for the door, having picked up the paper … and my phone beneath.

Gone. But it took me five minutes to realize that. I sank through the floor. Everything was on that phone.

I couldn’t think straight. I rushed to the bar to tell the bartender that a guy just took my phone. Another staff member rushed to a back room to see what the security footage showed. Other staff members and the folks from Minnesota sounded genuinely crushed by this act of evil. Me too.

The first thing that hit me was that all my photos from over the years had left my life. (Huge exhale) Next was the reality of my Airbnb. The lodging had a passcode for the building, another for the apartment and a third for my room. All that was on my phone. Where exactly was I going to sleep tonight? I figured I could access the Airbnb info with my laptop but it was safely hidden behind three locked doors.

So began an hour-and-a-half of trying to get the codes from Airbnb UK. A waiter graciously allowed me to use his phone for all that time. I talked to three Airbnb reps and was put on hold five times. They did all these security checks on me. FInally I was given the codes, by a person with a thick accent, whose first language wasn’t English. I struggled to understand the numbers. We confirmed them over and over. Plus I had been standing on the sidewalk all this time, since the bar was so noisy. London traffic continued on its merry way as I extended my ear deep into the phone.

But I had the codes! And the generous phone lender’s shift ended one minute after I hung up with AIrbnb. Life works (mostly).

The final accommodation chapter of the day happened towards midnight as I sat safe in my room. I had forgotten to ask the rep to give me the WiFi password. I sat in front of a laptop that was just a hunk of metal. “Oh, please … not another endless phone call tomorrow!”

It was 11:30. Three other rooms in the apartment were rented. I walked into the hall. A bit of music filtered through one door. Girding my loins, I knocked on that door. To my amazement, I heard “Just a moment.” And Will actually opened the door. And sat with frazzled me in my room as I entered the password. Connected at last!

I don’t have the energy to keep writing. There’s much more to say, and many hours before I slept. Should I regale you with tales of Eurostar, Beobank, the London Police and Proximus? Maybe I’ll just skip all that.

***

Tomorrow is no doubt another day

NEWS FLASH: Below you’ll find a post which I wrote on my phone today. I was sitting in a bar writing and talking to folks at the next table. Then someone started yelling at us. Five minutes later I realized he’d stolen my phone!

Yuck. I’ll use this laptop tomorrow to tell you more.

***

Yesterday I was at an Evolutionary Collective retreat on Zoom. It lasted from 5:00 pm till midnight. Most of our members are in North America so the times are more friendly over there.

I had a responsibility to be at the meeting. The timing, however, was bad. Today at 2:00 pm Belgian time, I sat down in Wigmore Hall in London, England. I was going to see and hear Maria Duenas from Spain, one of the world’s most brilliant violinists.

So it was a late night and early morning in Ghent. Two trains and a lot of walking later, I was sitting dead centre in the fourth row.

Maria came onstage wearing a gorgeous cream dress that touched the floor. The fellow accompanying her on the piano wore black. Three violin sonatas – by Beethoven, Schubert and Debussy – filled the afternoon. And Maria animated every minute.

She threw her head and body around. Sometimes she ended a musical phrase with a giant upbow, the tip of the bow finishing up way above her head. There were fierce passages with her fingers moving on the strings at the speed of light. And tender flowings that lifted our hearts to the sky.

I was in awe … and often on the edge of sleep. So what? I had signed for both the EC and Maria. It was time to suck it up.

There were moments when it seemed Maria was whispering to her violin. During others she was blowing it a kiss.

What a privilege to be in the audience. As the last note of the concert hung in the air, I soared my body and yelled “Bravo!” Magnifique. Strangely, very few of us stood. Was this the stereotypical British reserve? It didn’t matter. Maria’s playing was beyond … everything. And I got to be there.

Here’s a YouTube video of Maria dazzling the world:

I was in a Zoom meeting of the Evolutionary Collective yesterday. One of our members gave birth to a boy a month ago and she was online to introduce us to the new one.

The baby was cuddled against mom’s breast as she spoke. We in the EC see an evolving future filled with souls who live in the “we” rather than the “me”. And there in front of us was a prime example. A shared silence, of awe and love, filled the room.

We did a practice welcoming the boy to the planet, wishing him a full life of connection with other human beings. It was lovely.

Later in the day, one of our members read this poem written by Khalil Gibran, a Lebanese poet who’s the author of The Prophet, one of the best-selling books of all time.

On Children

And a woman who held a babe against her bosom said
“Speak to us of children”

Your children are not your children
They are the sons and daughters of life’s longing for itself
They come through you but not from you
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you

You may give them your love but not your thoughts
For they have their own thoughts
You may house their bodies but not their souls
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow

Which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams
You may strive to be like them
But seek not to make them like you
For life goes not backward, nor tarries with yesterday

You are the bows from which your children
As living arrows are sent forth
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite
And he bends you with his might

That his arrows may go swift and far
Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness
For even as he loves the arrow that flies
So he loves also the bow that is stable

***

Life in all its grandness longs for union … where you and I are entwined and yet each vividly unique.

Blessed is the bow and blessed is the arrow. May we launch the new arrivals to a new land, one that we older folks may never deeply experience.

I like remembering yesterday

I love walking into the unknown of tomorrow

When I was wading through visa issues to move from Canada to Belgium, Canadian friends would often say how brave I was. Once I got here, Belgian folks said the same thing. I didn’t feel that at all.

Yesterday I was brave.

I received a call a few months ago. It was inside my head. “Play the cello.” > “What!?” It had been 56 years since I played … but the voice stayed strong.

I rented a cello from Arpeggio Music. I started practicing. I dreamt of playing on a bench in the little park beside my street – the Oudburg. Anouk Turnock challenged me to pick a date. I did – yesterday at 5:00 pm.

There I sat. My cello glowed reddish-brown in the sun. Before me was a music stand with the sheet music for three songs, and a lower octave version for two of them.

Before me also were ten people, nine of whom I knew and cared about. I talked a bit but then it was time to play. I had never played solo cello for anyone. As a teenager, I was always in an orchestra.

My commitment was to play with passion … no matter what notes spilled out. You Can Close Your Eyes burst from the fingers, the bow and my soul. I held my head high as some notes were off-pitch.

I was playing the cello!

The audience applauded. I talked about my love for the lower strings of the cello: the C and G. Then I launched into the lower octave version of Eyes. The bowing was strong. I hit one note especially well. It involved a stretching of my little finger that had been difficult.

On into This Wandering Day – a glorious song from the Prime Video series Rings of Power, a earlier story than Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings.

The song contains the immortal line “I trade all I’ve known for the unknown ahead.” Yes! Bring on the unknown that is the rest of my life.

I played. The audience applauded. I sweated. I kept my head high. I let my essence bubble up and explode into the world.

More wrong notes. Squeaking on the higher strings. “Keep going!”

Now I think of a Springsteen song – No Surrender. It wasn’t part of my mind yesterday but I was living these lines:

Well, now young faces grow sad and old
And hearts of fire grow cold
We swore blood brothers against the wind
Now I’m ready to grow young again

‘Cause we made a promise we swore we’d always remember
No retreat, baby, no surrender

By the time the last tune came out of me – Song for a Winter’s Night – the arthritis in my right thumb was yelling. I couldn’t twist the bow to play the upper strings (D and A) and the screeching was awful.

“So what? Play, damn it, play! Give these ten folks all you’ve got. Passion! F*** the notes. Get that head up!

Yes … the passion dropped a bit towards the end but I brought it back up. And I finished the concert with a long deep note full of vibrato. I nailed the tuning on that one!

***

As my friends and I sat for dinner at Maison Elza, I was wasted, with hardly the energy to speak. I was twisted inside … bad notes and grinding bow strokes sat with the fire in my eyes, and I couldn’t make sense of anything.

Friends said wonderfully supportive things but it was up to me to create meaning from the concert.

As I awoke this morning, a smile came easily. I did it! I kept going when times were tough. I gave ten people me!

It was most certainly courage. I wonder if I had played beautifully, whether that would have been a less explosive experience than what actually happened.

I exploded yesterday. I stayed big when I could have shrunken to small.

The park will welcome my cello and me again

I wrote a blog post yesterday while sitting in Izy Coffee.  It was about today’s cello concert.  I’m more excited than nervous.  Cool.

“Now what? I know … I’ll go to my favourite place to drink beer – Café Come Back” (on Emilius Seghersplein).

It was a tidy walk from Izy’s, and there was a spring in my step.  I said on Facebook exactly what I wanted to say.

I walked in – and looky looky – the Tour de France was on the TV above the door.  I ordered a very cool beer – Westmalle Tripel – with an alcohol content of 9.5%.  “Careful, Bruce.  Only one.”

On the phone, I was following the score of a Wimbleton tennis match featuring one of my favourite players – 16-year-old Mirra Andreeva from Russia.  She keeps upsetting players ranked far above her.

And … there’s a jukebox!  For two euros, I could play seven of my favourite songs. I chose Adele, Bruce Springsteen, Lady Gaga, and other folks I forget. In front of me, along with my friend Westmalle, was a round table … perfect for playing piano. Do you realize that you never hit a wrong note when you play table piano?

So … the climb of the Col du Tourmalet in the Tour, Mirra close to winning her match against one of the best players in the world, the seeping effects of alcohol, the sweetness of Adele’s “Someone Like You” and inspired table piano playing … it was a perfect storm of happiness.

The race really got my juices going and I heard myself asking for another Westmalle. “Uh oh.”

An hour later, I gracefully stumbled out of the café and headed home. Seeing the door of my favourite church open, I walked in and sat down. The Carmelite Church on the Burgstraat is a wonder.

Ten minutes later, a Mass began. Oops. I decided to stay, despite my wavering head.

The priest spoke in Flemish. At least fifty times, he said something that included the words Jesus (Yay-zoos) and Maria. Each time the congregation would respond in Flemish. Often there were long periods of silence, which usually I love, but it was becoming harder for the body to stay vertical.

The chair I had chosen faced two statues: a Roman soldier stabbing a monk. Every time I snapped out of my slumber, here’s what I saw:

I kept hoping the priest would say the Dutch equivalent of “Go in peace.” Actually any form of “go” would have worked for me.

After an hour of Mass, with no end in sight, I hauled myself out of the church.

Slow as she goes, I found my way to the apartment. My eyes closed. My head spun.

***

The whole thing was so surreal

And I’m happy

That’s not me in the picture. It’s “some guy”. But tomorrow I’ll look like this … my body twisted, my fingers flying. His eyes look closed, mine will be focused on the sheet music. But we will be brothers.

I was having coffee with Dirk this morning. Just sitting there calmly. Then … BAM! My face dropped and the tsunami rolled over me. “Tomorrow I’ll play passionately!” Just that. No thoughts of intonation, vibrato and all that quality stuff. Just throwing myself into the cello, the Oudburg and my friends.

***

A sort of expected complication: the arthritis in my right thumb is making it hard to hold the bow. Changing to the higher strings is difficult. Ha! So what? I play tomorrow at 5:00 pm.

I decided: if the digital weakness accumulates, I will keep going! I will not put the bow down and just pluck the strings. Damn the notes and the squeals! I’m here to play.

One more thing: this is a concert, not some watered down re-newbie effort.

Okay, now I’m thinking of the Scottish/Canadian singer-songwriter David Francey. In the song All Lights Burning Bright he talked about a freighter ship navigating a storm on Lake Erie, one of the Great Lakes shared by Canada and the USA. Here we go:

We entered Lake Erie
It was late in the day
You could see that storm coming
From a mile away

We had all lights burning bright
All lights burning bright
We had all lights burning bright
All lights burning bright

That storm overtook us
And it fell like the night
And the Point and the Island
They passed out of sight

But we sailed on rock steady
Set course through the storm
As the sky fell upon us
And the wind drove us on

And I thought to myself
I’d be just like this ship
If I kept my light burning
On every trip

The watch it was ended
With the turn of the night
And I wrote in that log book
All lights burning bright

We had all lights burning bright
All lights burning bright
We had all lights burning bright
All lights burning bright

***

Tomorrow I’ll be just like the ship

Patience is a virtue … and I’m getting lots of practice. For months, with two internet service providers, I’ve had excellent screen resolution on my TV during the day (1080p or higher) and poor resolution in the evening (maybe 480p).

Three weeks ago, my current company sent one of their best technicians to my home and he said the internet connection was perfect. The problem was my TV. He came during the day, when the picture was wondrously sharp.

The TV repair company sent a technician two weeks ago. He couldn’t find a parking space, so he left. On Monday another tech showed up. He did all the tests and said the TV was perfect.

Hmm … between a rock and a hard place.

Reps and techs from the TV and internet companies have told me they’ve never heard of my day/evening problem.

Then there was yesterday – so many hours of tapping my phone. There were two nice people on the other end of the chat, people who reset this and reset that, who did all the usual things to solve problems. But this is not a usual situation.

***

That’s enough of the sordid details. Now what?

Although I’m frustrated, letting the attitude of “Ain’t it awful?” rule my life for more than a few seconds doesn’t work.

I see myself as solution-oriented so I will continue to seek resource people who are willing to grapple with rare problems. One is the manager of the local internet service provider store. I see him tomorrow.

Why am I smiling? It just came upon me … like a tsunami. I’ll take it

***

On we go

I’m not the giving up type

I sat with a friend this morning in a coffee shop.  He had a faraway look in his eyes.  Eventually he pulled out some photos.

It was in 2001.  He sat holding hands with his sister.  He was 31, she 24.  Lovely smiles … tenderness.

Here’s a photo from the internet of a younger brother and sister, with the same sweet feeling:

Twenty-two years later, my friend and his sister barely talk.  She blames him for their troubles.  And she finally exited from an abusive relationship with her husband.

The hands are now far apart.  No cuddling on the couch.  Two solitudes.

The story, of course, is far from unique. There’s nothing wrong with “I think this, you think that”. But why does it so often lead to a weaponizing of the relationship? “You did this! You said that!”

So sad …

I wish my friend a reunion with his sister. He shakes his head. No possibility hangs in the air. The future is a fait accompli.

But it’s not.

***

May the fingers entwine once more

Two nights ago, at the Amy Winehouse tribute concert in Eastbourne, I was freezing. I definitely underdressed for the UK. So as she finished a song I headed to the snack bar for a cappuccino. When I moved to return to my seat, I made soft eye contact with a man. It was soft on his end too.

His face and body were grossly misshapen. The wheelchair was huge, just like him. The fellow’s face was swollen, creating a circle rather than an oval.

I sat down and felt the sadness. It must be a life far more complex than mine.

As “Amy” rolled through song after song, the gentleman by the snack bar kept returning to my mind. At the end of the concert I knew I wanted to talk to him, with no idea of what I wanted to say. I walked towards where he was sitting.

The man was gone. (Sigh)

***

This morning, back in Ghent, I sat in the waiting room of Solidaris, a company that provides health care for people in unusual situations – like me!

An electronic sign scrolled through messages and images. One really hit me … and then it was gone. But I knew it would come back.

After assuring a young woman sitting across from me that I was about to take a picture of the sign rather than her, I poised with my phone. And my time came:

Zorg and Meer is a health aid store, providing people with wheelchairs, walkers, canes and lots more. Look at those two dancing! What a symbol of “You and me”.

No doubt the fellow doesn’t have the energy of the woman but they were together in the dance.

***

We’re all so different from each other

And so the same

Let’s discover the human being at the next table

The singer playing Amy Winehouse last night wasn’t brilliant like Annie Lennox the night before but I had fun.  I sat beside a UK couple.  She was horrified that another traveller had recommended the Borough of Hackney when I visit London in ten days.  “Not there!  It’s dodgy.” 

And so the world goes ’round.  I don’t mind dodgy.

A fifteen-year-old girl on my other side gushed over the spirit of Brighton, a city of one million not far away.  “So many ______ restaurants!”  She used an adjective that was not understood and quickly lost but I got her meaning.

The coolest was that I danced, towards the end of the show.  My feet shimmied in a most youthful way.  Minutes later I was bent over for breath … but I survived nicely.

***

And then there was this morning.  A fascinating British couple shared my love of tennis, art and classical music.  They talked about the Musée Orsay in Paris, and the wonders therein.

He showed me a painting on his phone.  Here it is:

It’s Le Rêve created by Édouard Detaille in 1888 – a war scene at night.  The soldiers are sleeping and their rifles are propped up, waiting for the enemy.  But what’s that in the sky?  A battalion launching into the fight.  They were dreaming!  So cool.  And who knows what other miracles reside in Orsay?

***

I’m sitting in London’s St. Pancras Station, waiting for the train to Brussels. The fellow to my right is the nephew of Bernard Hinault, a five-time champion of the Tour de France. So I’m clearly connected to cycling royalty.

The woman to my left is from Ghent. I casually ask her if her name is Elise. Sadly she says “Nicki”. Oh well. After hearing my story she says “Never give up searching.”

I agree.

***

This journey still has four hours to go but my right index finger is getting tired. So I’m signing off from further written communication … until tomorrow.

Be well