I have news for you. It’s raining in Belgium! Even though I miss the snow of Canada, I enjoy the pitter patter of drops on my coat’s hood.
I am surrounded by folks holding a curvy thing above their heads. I wonder what aliens would think if their first visit was during a rainstorm. “What’s with all these round colours above each of these strange beings?”
I love curves – in the flow of a street, on the shoreline of a bay, in the beauty of a woman’s body. Today’s curves are above heads. Are they a protection? Are they a holding? Are they a blessing?
It’s true that umbrellas keep the storm at arm’s length. But there’s also a sense of sanctuary, of a cozy space beneath. And when two are under a large umbrella, there is often love.
It’s really pouring now. I’m tucked into a couch in Izy Coffee but soon I will venture forth. Do I wish for blue skies? They’re marvelous but they’re not at home in this moment. My umbrella emerges from my backpack …
I could have used the word “fatigue” or maybe “exhaustion” but they don’t live in this body of mine.
This is not a tale of woe, a “poor me” or a plea for pity. My sinking muscles and bones are just the way it is right now. I’m fascinated with the current state of Bruce.
Beyond the reality of today’s body, all is well. I also remind myself that “All things must pass.” The spring in the step will return.
In the spirit of figuring things out, I see three causes of my slump:
1. Practicing my cello leading up to our May 25 concert
2. Hosting my nephew Jagger for 17 days
3. Studying Dutch as I peak for the June 8 final exam
Reasons for may have some interest but I choose to simply live in this lovely bag of flesh … moment-to-moment. It’s a privilege to have a body and feel it working well in my 70’s.
I woke up a few days ago with a question on my lips:
What song shall I sing next?
As I look at the rest of my life, I see singing. I see many marvelous songs written by other people … memorized by my brain and given to audiences. It’s the strongest image that comes, even bigger than my future love Elise.
The song that appeared recently was “Did She Mention My Name?” written and sung by the Canadian legend Gordon Lightfoot. There was no analysis of why that one, merely a nod that it was the right one.
As I started learning the lyrics yesterday, they were familiar. Is that because I listened to Gord’s rendition so many times or did I try to memorize the words in my deep dark past?
The next open mic session in Gent is on Friday, June 7 … nine days away. Is that enough time to thoroughly learn the song? Maybe. Do I play it safe and sing something else that I know better? (No) Or do I give the folks “Mention My Name” come hell or high water – even if forgotten lyrics and some out-of-tuneness? (Yes)
“Do it up big, Bruce! Sing what’s demanding to be sung.”
Here are the words. They’ll be heard on the Sint-Salvatorstraat on a Friday night near you …
It’s so nice to meet an old friend and pass the time of day And talk about the hometown a million miles away Is the ice still on the river? Are the old folks still the same? And by the way, did she mention my name?
Did she mention my name just in passing? And when the morning came, do you remember if she dropped a name or two? Is the home team still on fire? Do they still win all their games? And by the way, did she mention my name?
Is the landlord still a loser? Do his signs hang in the hall? Are the young girls still as pretty in the city in the fall? Does the laughter on their faces still put the sun to shame? And by the way, did she mention my name?
Did she mention my name just in passing? And when the talk ran high, did the look in her eyes seem far away? Is the old roof still leaking when the late snow turns to rain? And by the way, did she mention my name?
Did she mention my name just in passing? And looking at the rain, do you remember if she dropped a name or two? Won’t you say hello from someone? They’ll be no need to explain And by the way, did she mention my name?
It was Saturday night. Jagger was back from Italy. And we were off to a football game – KAA Gent versus STVV from the Belgian city of Sint-Truiden. Go Blue!
There were about 15,000 of us enjoying the festivities in Planet Group Arena. For the first while STVV thoroughly outplayed us and I was mesmerized by the footwork of their #77. He danced with the ball.
To our left, behind the goal net, sat the KAA fan club. They clapped, they drummed, they chanted. Loud! Intoxicating rhythms! Sometimes they’d call out to fans at the other end of the field. And those folks yelled back. So cool.
Club members waved huge flags. Their bodies moved in sync. Often snake-like left and right. Or three claps and then the arms out wide. Woh! I was drawn into the flow of the noise.
As for the game, I was bored for most of it. Very few sweet passing plays. Very few shots on net. Only a couple of great saves. Two goals (for us!) The fan action overwhelmed the game play. And that was fine.
At the end of the match (the last home game of the season) almost all of us fans stayed in the stadium. The KAA players walked the perimeter of the field, kicking mini-soccer balls into the crowd.
Then they stood in front of their fan club. Each player was introduced, stepping forward into a wall of applause.
The coach was leaving the team. He gave an impassioned speech in Dutch. And then received a standing ovation. Not how I remember coaches bring treated in the NHL or NBA in North America!
We cellists (about 40 of us – not 25) played six short pieces: Cranes, Oblivion, Russians, something from Haydn, something from Mahler and something from Coldplay.
As we waited outside the church for the door to be unlocked, I sat down beside a girl, maybe 9-years-old. “You’re the youngest and I’m the oldest.” She smiled.
With the rehearsals we’ve had, I’m gradually learning names, and I greeted several colleagues as we unpacked our instruments. We would rehearse in the sanctuary before “show time”.
My cello teacher is Lieven. Vincent is the other one. As we found our places on stage, I saw Vincent approaching. He said he’d be playing next to me. My first reaction was fear – a brilliant cellist beside a struggling one. “He’ll hear all my wrong notes!” My second reaction was embarrassment. “The teachers think I need help.”
“Well what’s the truth, Bruce? You do need help. So suck it up and play!”
Hmm … Bruce was right.
Vincent’s playing helped mine. He demoed the correct rhythms. For the first time I said “The rehearsal went well.”
And then the audience drifted in. About eighty human beings would be cheering us on. Family and friends know that we’re students, not professional. There’ll be mistakes. (Tell me about it.)
Now for real. There were passages in some of the pieces where I was spot on: the right notes, the right rhythm, vibrato for the left hand fingers, expressive bowing for the right ones. And … passion flowing through my body. Cool.
Then there were those other times. (Sigh) Lost in a flurry of notes, losing my place in the pieces, the wrong pitch, the bow squeaking on the strings. I was grunting rather than flowing.
However! I kept my head up when the mistakes came. I returned to playing with gusto after I figured out where I was in the piece. And at the end I took a full bow with my fellow cellists. We did it. I did it. And the audience applauded.
That was Saturday morning. In the afternoon, the fatigue flooded me … just in time for my nephew Jagger returning to Gent from Italy.
Tomorrow morning I’m one of twenty-five cellists playing in a concert at St. Michael’s Church in Gent. Six pieces, four cello parts.
I’ve had the thought that I’m the worst player of us all. Yesterday at my cello lesson, Lieven told me that all of us are struggling. After all, we’re students. We’re learning.
But let’s suppose that I am the worst player right now. In my better moments, I respond with “So what?” What’s important is that I’m there, participating. I’m moving closer to playing freely, with passion, flowing into the music.
***
I also love to watch cycling on TV. Today Tadej Pogačar from Slovenia is way ahead in the Giro d’Italia. The 144th and last rider is Alan Riou from France. He’s five hours, three minutes and thirty-nine seconds behind Tadej.
Some minds see being last as “bad”. Some might even add another layer: “That’s a bad human being.”
What nonsense!
Alan will be at the start line today and I hope he makes it to the end of the race on Sunday in Rome.
The last rider in the race is honoured as the “Lanterne Rouge”, named for the red lantern that used to hang off the last car of a train.
If it’s you on Sunday, Alan – waydago! You grunted through the mountains and the rain. You got the job done. Congratulations.
And I have a rendezvous with St. Michael’s tomorrow
I like standing in the middle, with lots of room around. A place to breathe easy. But that isn’t always the story of my day, or yours. My life in Belgium has taken me to two edges, where I stare down the precipice.
Learning Dutch
Playing cello
It’s all a crescendo right now, as my final Dutch exam looms a little more than two weeks away, and I’m in a concert of 25 cellists this Saturday.
Both are new, so beyond what I know. I experience being “without skill”, or at least with apparently not enough skill to get the job done well.
The music for Saturday is so difficult, the fingers needing to move immensely fast to play the melody of my part. Oh well. The new Dutch grammar and listening exercises come fast and furious, and I’m often left with my tongue hanging down in despair. Oh well again.
The truth is that I’m doing both things, risking my self-esteem and the opinions of others. I’m here. I’m now. And I’m grappling with learning two things I want dearly. Good for me.
Saturday morning, I’ll be dressed in my finest on a stage in St. Michael’s Church, along with my musical compatriots. We’ll play six pieces … and we’ll give our best.
On June 8, I’ll sit in a classroom with my 12 Dutch-learning compatriots. For two-and-a-half hours we’ll write, listen to audio, and speak our new language. Pass or fail, we’ve each achieved so much, so often banging our heads against the unknown.
A few days ago, the professional cyclists were riding the Vuelta a Burgos Féminas race in Spain. A bunch of riders were sprinting for the finish line.
“As the sprint intensified, Sofia Bertizzolo (UAE Team ADQ) and Elisa Balsamo (Lidl-Trek) collided with the barriers.”
Elisa was lying on the ground, and her teammate Lucinda Brand stopped to be with her before the medical staff arrived. Balsamo suffered “a concussion, a fracture to her nasal bone and second metacarpal” bone of her hand.
“Today I followed my human instinct and not my racing instinct. I stopped to check on my teammate after a nasty crash just meters from the finish. I didn’t think twice about doing it and I don’t regret it.”
Good for you, Lucinda. I bet we’ve all had physically painful moments where someone has stayed by our side … so we’re not alone.
The Union Cycliste Internationale (UCI) is the governing body of professional cycling. They have a rule that addresses crashes near the finish line:
In the case of a duly noted incident in the last three kilometres of a road race stage, the rider or riders affected shall be credited with the time of the rider or riders in whose company they were riding at the moment of the incident.
“Incident” as in “crash”.
The riders in the crash, or those who were slowed or stopped by it, were all given the same time. Lucinda showed up a few seconds later. Officials said she was not “involved” in the crash.
Lucinda left Elisa after the doctors arrived, and finished the race. She was deemed to have finished three minutes after the rest of the riders.
Something is wrong here. Officials in any realm of life must value kindness beyond their rule books.
Bruce's Blog 