I would like to bring something new into the world. Outrageously new … never been seen before.
Let’s start with the usual, what we know. I’ll use the alphabet. Here we are:
We English, Dutch, French and elsewhere speakers know these shapes. They’ve been burned into our brain since childhood.
Maybe we’re tired of the “straightness”. Let’s make the letters better, more creative. Let’s have something new emerge. How about this?
Yes. Not so rectangular. Shows a personality.
Then again … we might get bored with this “new and improved” version of the alphabet. So let’s get really radical, curvy. Let’s have it be so shocking that people stare in wonder. Let’s have our pen produce wondrous versions of the 26 letters. So brand new!
However…
We think we know what “alphabet” means. We have a long history with letters. But what about something vastly beyond?
I’m sitting in a restaurant watching a young couple and their baby girl. The washrooms are on the second floor and it was time for mother and daughter to explore.
Mom held the child’s hands and assisted with the climbing but there was definitely weight-bearing going on. I watched an ascending young face. The mouth was curled in an “O”. “This is new, mom!”
Here’s what I beheld, although this is a photo from the Internet:
So cool. Just beginning the climbs of life.
***
And then there’s me. In recent weeks, my hips have been getting tighter and I’ve committed to stretch every day for a half-hour. My apartment is still 51 steps up. “As it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be …”
When I’m climbing out there in the world, I really struggle if the vertical distance from one riser to the next is more than usual.
Here’s another photo that gives you the idea:
And I suppose that in the years between the baby and the old guy, most climbers don’t even notice the climb.
I realize it’s not exactly a cheery topic. And it’s one I’ve avoided. But now that I’m maturing, the time is now.
I’m feeling healthy, and hopefully my end in this world is far down the road. But who knows?
My mind has often returned to a conversation I had with a friend. Her dad died without a will … and what a mess that was. The government was involved. Her father’s wishes were unknown. No thanks.
Before I left Canada, I updated my will and my Power of Attorney to have my friend Lydia in Maarkedal, Belgium become my representative when I die or am no longer cognitively intact.
We sat last week going over documents about her making decisions if I have dementia or can no longer express my will. They were in Dutch, and Google Lens does a pretty good job of translating, but Lydia filled in the gaps of my understanding.
Yesterday I met with my doctor. He told me of the current legal confusion in Belgium about euthanasia. He also provided me with a new document that gets really specific about what I want and don’t want. You see a part of it in the photo.
I gulp when I look at the picture. The reality behind the words hits home:
Ik wil niet worden gereanimeerd
I don’t want to be resuscitated
Ik wil niet aan beademingsapparatuur worden gekoppeld
I innocently opened my e-mails yesterday and there sat a message forwarded from my immigration lawyer Amira. It was from the city of Gent.
Here’s my first glance. I’m learning Dutch but these words are beyond me:
Beste
We hebben de goedkeuring ontvangen van de Dienst Vreemdelingenzaken om je verblijfskaart aan te vragen .
But then the translation …
Dear
We have received approval from the Immigration Office (Dienst Vreemdelingenzaken) to order your residence card.
Oh my God!
I get to live here some more
This is a happy puppy tapping away. It took eleven months to get a visa to move from Canada to Belgium. I arrived to live here on January 28, 2023.
For each of the next five years, I have to apply for a renewal. In December I pulled together information about finances, health, criminal status, five letters of reference, and some other stuff I can’t remember. Amira kept coaching me about what was needed.
My residence card expired on February 20 but Amira arranged for an extension while the government mulled over my application.
I’ll start with one from long ago. This fellow (whoever he is) was about 40 when he was captured on film. I like him.
I’m pretty sure the hair was golden brown.
Let’s zoom to the present day. I think it’s the same guy. Clearly an athlete … or maybe just someone who likes sweating. And the pink is pretty cool.
Both photos show a “centered” person – balanced, in tune with the rhythms of life, feeling light.
But then something happened …
What’s with the beady eyes? The mouth? The raucous tilt of the head? This man appears to be a wayward soul, taken away from the vertical, a mite abnormal. I can see him swimming in the air … upside down.
I’d love to have coffee with these three men – all at the same time. I bet the conversation would be “unusual”. All of our eyes would be wide open. And the wonders of life would be revealed.
***
There is a fourth face.
The passport version. Molded by society. Sadly acceptable to government authorities.
I don’t really want to hang out with him. Looks pretty boring. Probably only talks about his investments, and sports scores. Maybe even tries to get me to vote for his political party.
Yesterday one of the leaders of the Evolutionary Collective invited me to be the Zoom host for a new weekly practice session.
My body sighed as I read the e-mail. I don’t remember thinking, just the body slumping. I told my friend that I’d sleep on it.
For the rest of the day, the decision to be made occasionally came into my mind … and then floated away. I had no interest in analyzing the pro’s and cons.
I had fun watching a mountain bike race on TV. I continued memorizing the words of “Angel” – a song I intend to sing at an open mic on May 3. And I dabbled on the piano, seeking the chords for another song – “Reason to Believe”.
And then sleep beckoned …
***
Dozing in bed as the sun continued its rising, I heard a single word: No.
I just e-mailed my friend and told her what is so. A smile is here. I don’t have much experience in saying no. But here I am.
Am I worried about disappointing my friend? No
Am I a “bad person” for not helping out? Certainly not
I never want my motivation for doing something to be obligation. What a withering away of life force that is. And my life force is precious to me.
My nephew Jagger is 20. He lives at the foot of the Rocky Mountains in Alberta, Canada. As far as travelling goes, I know he’s been to Hawaii. But anything resembling Europe? No.
And here he comes … on May 8! Visiting me in Gent, Belgium. And where else? Most places I could take him would be new to me too … and that’s a good thing. I want both of us to be amazed, to be brought to silence with the beauty.
I asked my friends. Where would they go? Paris is only a three-hour train ride but it doesn’t draw me.
One word was the most common on others’ lips – Barcelona. In my mind was the city of Utrecht in the Netherlands, perhaps as beautiful as Ghent. But I was outvoted.
One name came to the fore: Antonio Gaudi. He was a Spanish architect who made Barcelona his mode of expression. Four Canadian eyes will be lifted to the heights.
Antonio was a big soul. As one commentator said:
Each of his characteristic mediums – wood, wrought iron, ceramics and stained glass – are seamlessly intertwined to tell a story of life, death and the faith in between.
Oh. I wish I could have had coffee with Antoni.
He lived from 1852 to 1926, being on this planet for two years fewer than my current life.
As I understand it, Gaudi was in his 40’s when a vision of a church came into his mind. He started working on it just before the turn of the century. And (Are you ready for this?) the completion date is expected to be 2026.
Here is the Sagrada Familia:
And inside …
Jagger and I have tickets for May 12. Wowsers!
***
And now another wonder – La Pedrera:
A woman had Gaudi create her dream home. When it was completed in 1912, the good residents of Barcelona mocked the lady. “Ridiculous!”
Gaudi was so far ahead of his time. He had created a building with no straight lines. I think of the song “Vincent”, written about the artist Vincent van Gogh:
Now I understand what you tried to say to me How you suffered for your sanity How you tried to set them free They would not listen, they did not know how Perhaps they’ll listen now
***
Then a third explosion for the heart – Casa Batllo …
The mosaic exterior, the inner atrium lined with blue tiles. Once a house, now a museum. A feast for the eyes.
I’m visiting my friend Lydia and her family in Maarkedal. She was working at her business yesterday and suggested I come into the office in the afternoon and do a loop walk among the green fields. Sounded good to me.
As we drove there, the twists and turns of the narrow roads confused me and I asked her to draw me a map. She did. Describing the route, she came to this point:
“Right here [a Y-shaped intersection], turn left. On the right is the Taaienberg. It’s all cobbles.”
As Lydia kept going with the directions, my mind wandered to the recent Ronde van Vlaanderen cycling race.
Taaienberg … that was one of the climbs during the Ronde! You mean I’m there?
Indeed I was … about to be. I saw the future. I wouldn’t make it back to the business at our appointed time. We agreed that if need be, she’d pick me up on the road. I knew need it would be, for there was a hill to climb.
After my walk, Lydia told me she knew I wouldn’t be able to resist the Taaienberg.
***
Here are the bare facts. The Taaienberg is 800 metres long. Its average gradient is 7.2 %, with a maximum of 18%. For the uninitiated, those are just numbers. For the cyclist doing the climb, the body is screaming. The riders have already ridden 233 kilometres and have done 13 major ascents.
I had walked about 45 minutes when the asphalt road started climbing and ahead loomed a certain Y-intersection. Oh my God … I’m almost there!
And now the cobbles. I stared at the upness. Here’s a view from near the bottom:
And looking back down:
Imagine the roadside packed with cheering fans.
Looking up from farther along:
And down:
The view from the top. I wonder if exhausted bodies spared a glance to the right.
Here’s just a little sign. But what an immense achievement. From the riders, and actually … from me.
On April 5, 2025 I may very well be standing on the Taaienberg during the Ronde van Vlaanderen, watching my heroes gasp and strain and prevail.
Probably the most revered one-day bicycle race was held last weekend – Paris-Roubaix. The women on Saturday, the men on Sunday. Many kilometres of vicious cobblestones define this epic, which for the men began in 1896.
I couldn’t pull my eyes away from the TV. There were clouds of dust, crashes, exhaustion … and all the hours of riding pointed towards the finish: one-and-a-half laps of the ancient Vélodrome André-Pétrieux in Roubaix.
Today an article appeared on the GCN website about another iconic building – the nearby shower block for the weary cyclists. The structure, built in 1936, looks ordinary but the athletes who want to breathe Paris-Roubaix history wash away the mud and sweat there, rather than in their fancy buses.
I was merrily reading along when one of the writer’s sentences stopped me:
Here, even the rainbow stripes of the world champion give way to the bare skin of the mortal man beneath
I thought of my body, of all bodies. Male/female, young/old, fat/thin, healthy or not. We each have one. Hopefully we do our best to take care of it. And hopefully Hollywood images of beauty don’t persuade us of any inadequacy.
Parts of my life have been misinformed with a tanning fetish – not too brown, but just the right coffee cream tone … revealing a happy outdoorsy life.
Silly me, and my many efforts to look culturally good. A week ago, the lingering traces of needing mid-brownness took a hit. I was watching a Netflix series about the men’s cycling team Jumbo Visma and there were moments in their bus where riders were stripping off their jerseys. And guess what was underneath …
Lily white chests and upper arms
Dark brown forearms
Just like me in summer
If it’s good enough for Jonas Vingegaard, it’s good enough for me. No strategies that lead to possible public approval. Just me enjoying my white-y life.
I was late for my appointment at the hospital yesterday. I had misread the instructions. The receptionist pointed down the hallway to a waiting room.
I walked perturbed … at myself. A silly mistake. I should have been more focused.
And then the room. Ordinary except for the chairs. There they sat: orange, red, blue and lime green. And I sat with them, smiling at their bright hello. Things weren’t so bad.
Thank you, dear colours. How they’ve touched my eyes down the years. I love how sometimes they blend together, how gracefully yellow becomes green.
I love writing … such as right now. Usually I don’t plan as I write. Things just emerge. And it seems that my sentences have colour – different ones show up on my phone screen. Sometimes I’m boldly red, at other times it’s robin’s egg blue … so gentle in the wondering.
And also in the speaking. May there be a lilt in my voice, feathered at the edges so the breeze can blow through. Whether it’s assertion or wondrous beholding, may the hues speak volumes.
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