I was prepared for today.  Layers of sunscreen and a full water bottle.  If I was a wiser human being, I’d have worn a hat … but I hate hats!  Two out of three ain’t bad.

For breakfast I had smashed avocado on toast at Urban Ground, washed down with a delicious cappuccino.  Usually this is the time I take my three daily meds and some supplements, but I forgot.

Onto the tennis grounds, eager to see the first match.  Too eager.  I remembered the pills and tried to hurry their consumption.  The Omega 3 is a huge one.  I had learned (and now forgotten) not to take it first.  I took it first, with not enough water.  It stuck in my throat.

I kept drinking water but the nasty little guy was immobile.  Two voices chimed in:

1.  You’re fine.  Suck it up.

2.  You may not be fine.  Find some medical person.  Happily I chose Door #2, although my male ego was leaning the other way.

The event information fellow pointed me towards two uniformed guys.  They listened to my story and escorted me to the first aid office.  Four medical-type people turned their eyes and voices to me.  One gentleman suggested I eat little bits of my Powerbar with water.  Another said that my mind may be tricking me.  The pill may have dissolved partially in my throat and left the scene of the crime.  My brain may be saying it’s still there.

Ten minutes later the interior lump was gone.  Thank you, dear first aiders.

***

I watched two-and-a-half tennis matches in the unrelenting sun.  I slowly got dizzy and weak, despite remaining well hydrated and sunburn protected.  I was praying that Katie Boulter would win her match against Petra Martic in two sets rather than three.  She did.  And then I zoomed off to a shady bench.  Lots of folks were nearby, watching the action on a big screen TV while luxuriating in reclining chairs … in full sun!  “How are they doing that?  Why are they doing that?”

***

I’d had enough of tennis.  My legs were wobbly and my head fuzzy.  I needed to eat something for supper.  All my vacant mind could come up with was McDonald’s.  Such a sad choice.

My Big Mac didn’t go well with an irritated throat.  I did a wee vomit on the counter, and another on the street.  (Sigh)

I stumbled home to my Airbnb.  Hours later here I tap, thoroughly done with today.  Goodnight all you probably air conditioned folks.

Perhaps I’ll buy a hat tomorrow

There were two things I wanted today:

1.  To enjoy a day of tennis

2.  To be on the Zoom call with the Evolutionary Collective that I had agreed to be on

Finding a quiet place at a tennis tournament for a Zoom call is some task.  A nearby park would work, I reasoned, and yesterday I went searching online for such a thing.  I found one – near the ocean and away from traffic.  Plus it appeared to have benches … something necessary to keep the phone steady.

First thing this morning I did further research – on site.  A lovely bench welcomed me, nestled among trees.

Later in the day it indeed was my shady home for an hour.  As I did a practice with one of our EC members, she said “I hear Spanish in the background.”  Ah yes, the residents of the neighbouring bench.  Another partner saw palm fronds behind me.  “Where are you?”  Great fun.

Before the call, I was rising and falling with the tennis fortunes of Harriet Dart from the U.K. as she tussled with Marie Bouzkova from the Czech Republic in an epic three hour and twenty-nine minute match.  I left well before the end to make my Zoom connection.  I got to have both: feeling the fury of their competition and keeping my word.  Sweet.

***

Today I also watched a player I’d never experienced live – Jelena Ostapenko from Latvia.  Here she is in orange and blue:

Jelena is often grumpy on court and has a habit of not shaking her opponent’s hand if she loses.  So why do I like her?  Doesn’t sound like my type.  Simple … she hits just about every ball really hard, especially her backhand.  So little margin for error.  Sometimes she wins big and sometimes she loses big.  I love it.  (She won)

***

My day came to a rosy conclusion.  As daylight faded, I got to see my fellow Canadian Leylah Fernandez up close and personal, as she played Barbora Krejcikova from the Czech Republic.  Leylah was right in front of me, mouthing words and shaking her fist at herself.  So intense.  Such one-pointed concentration.  I cheered.  She won.  (Perhaps the two are connected)

***

The tennis ball got smashed a lot today.  Plus I held my head high in the heat of athletic battles and in being where I agreed to be.

It was good for life

I rode the Coaster bus this morning on the South Coast of England.  Seventy-four stops between Eastbourne and Brighton.  The cost?  Two pounds!  I was visiting Sue, a friend of a friend.

There’s Brighton in the picture, offering pebbly beaches and chalk cliffs.  I sat up way high in the bus, revelling in the panoramic views.

I also spent the trip wondering at the redness of my arms.  I’d spent five hours in the sun yesterday, cheering for my favourite tennis players.  I thought I’d been smart, bringing two full bottles of sunscreen to the U.K.  And I’d applied it liberally, again and again, to all exposed skin.  I’d used the same sunscreen for years … so why the red? 

On a hunch, I looked at the bottom of the bottle: “Exp. 07/2021”  O my God … the spray has been useless for three years!  Such a vacant mind I sometimes have.

But back to the good stuff …

Sue was there at my scheduled stop, smiling like she’d known me for a century.  She suggested we visit the nearby Royal Pavilion, built in the 1880’s by England’s Prince Regent, a young man who would one day be King George IV.  He hosted lavish parties for the rich and famous at the Pavilion.  A flaring ego with an obese body.  He sounded like a pompous ass to me.

Here George’s dining room.  Cozy.

In the massive kitchen stood a replica of a typical dinner party menu.  Here’s a portion:

I counted the number of foods in the entire menu – 119.  A volunteer said that the cooking staff had to have all the items available.  If Lady Macbeth wanted pheasant in truffle and wine sauce, that’s what she got.

Here’s Sue enjoying the opulence of another room:

We had many other adventures on the day.  Sue was a marvelous host.  But my eyes are sinking in the west.  So it’s time for sleep …

I wish you goodnight

Today was day one of qualifying for the Rothesay International tennis tournament in Eastbourne.  Twenty-four women were trying to get one of the six spots still available when the tournament starts on Monday.

The only ticket I could get today was a general grounds admission, which allowed me access to three courts with very little seating.

So … I got to be very close to the six women playing three matches on Court 12.  I saw the sweat and the stretching muscles.  I heard the huge exhales and “boing” of racquet against ball.  It was intense.

I marvelled at the line judges.  They loudly called “Out!” when the ball missed, sometimes incurring the wrath of the player who felt hard done by.  Once, seconds before the ball was to be served, a judge leapt from her chair, corralled an umbrella that had opened with the wind, and then scurried back … ready to make the next call.  What a willingness to act when there was a need.  What precise movements to get the job done.

I watched my favourite player in the world make a stirring comeback from one set down to take her match in 2 hours and 17 minutes.  Camila Osorio from Colombia.  Both her and Magdalena Frech from Poland hit many astounding shots.  After Camila had signed countless programs and big tennis balls, and taken lots of selfies, I made eye contact with her and simply said “Congratulations”.  Camila said “Thank you very much.” 

***

Tonight I was one of hundreds at the Eastbourne Bandstand.  We sang along with a Fleetwood Mac tribute band.  Well actually I hummed because I didn’t know the music.  Fleetwood and I have hardly known each other.  Here they are:

And then there was dancing.  I shook a leg or two.  Feel the vibe …

We had fun – we the audience and they the band.

***

I was dragging myself home an hour ago when I stumbled across a bar full of more singing and dancing folks.  Portugal beat Turkey 3-0 in Euro 2024 and it was time to celebrate:

***

And that is enough for one day …

The train is lulling me.  It’s time to rest.  My ten-day journey in England has begun.  I’ve worked hard in learning Dutch and re-learning the cello.  It’s worth a smile or several. 

Today four trains take me to Eastbourne, south of London.  A professional tennis tournament awaits.  Yay!  So does a lovely city on the English Channel.  On the beach sits a bandstand built in 1935.  During my stay I’ll be there three times watching tribute shows for Fleetwood Mac, U2 and Neil Diamond.  Yay again!

***

Now the Eurostar train from Brussels to London.  My seatmate is a young woman from Cologne, Germany … Anastasia.  Her immediate smile suggests that a conversation is coming.  And we talked for the whole two hours.

I know my stories, and Anastasia was interested.  But hers … Wow!  She’s dedicated to the person and music of Taylor Swift.  I told her that I had a general negative impression of Taylor.  But then I admitted I had nothing to base that on!  Just some stuff that a few people had said.

I don’t know her music.  I don’t know her lyrics (which Anastasia thinks are often amazing).  So how can I have any opinion about what Taylor brings to the world?  I vow to listen.

Anastasia is going to Taylor’s concert tonight at Wembley Stadium, along with about 90,000 other human beings.

And what’s she doing tomorrow night?  The same thing.  How about Sunday?  Ditto.

Some of her friends admire her courage: doing what she loves doing, and going to London alone.  Other friends think she’s crazy.  Anastasia doesn’t mind.  So emotionally strong for an 18-year-old.

We talked about life … and then we said goodbye.  She became one of many in St. Pancras Station.  It was time to find her Airbnb and dress up for the Taylor show.

***

For me it took two trains to get to Eastbourne from London.  I exited at East Croydon and looked for a pub.  Jean, my Airbnb host, wouldn’t be home till 5:30 and it was only 2:30.

I found Porter and Sorter.  I said hi to five local guys who were watching Euro 2024 – Ukraine vs. Slovakia.  Perfect.  A sports bar.  I sat with them.

I talked to the guy next to me about football, British beer, Belgian beer.  He and his friends didn’t seem to be cheering for one team or the other.  Their conversation was king.  I loved the talking … and I was yelling and clapping for Ukraine.  Two late goals gave them the victory.  Yes!

One of the fellows was Scottish.  I told him I couldn’t understand what he was saying, that I was learning Dutch and maybe I should add Scottish to my studies!  Laughs all around.

***

Now I’m in Jean’s apartment, sharing the space with Willow – a very young cat.  I’m sure we’ll be fast friends.

And then there’s tomorrow …

In our marriage, Jody and I usually held hands as we walked along.  She died ten years ago and I miss the touch.

I was in a brief relationship a year ago, and I held hands with the woman some, but I felt she didn’t really want to.  “Sort of” is no basis for a long-term love.

In the wee hours of this morning, I awoke from a lovely dream.  An unknown beloved and I were holding hands during a long walk – sometimes the palms cupped together and sometimes the fingers interlaced. 

We met people in the neighbourhood and stopped to talk, our arms dropping to our sides.  And then we were off again, our hands finding each other.

It was lovely.  It was real.  It was for a long time.  May it happen for me during the waking hours as well.  Before I die, please.

I retired from teaching on June 19, 2014.  I was finally free of my employer’s expectations.  I decided that the next day I’d start writing a blog … on WordPress.

So on June 20 I started, and ten years later I’m still here.  WordPress has become Jetpack.  A few years in, I began copying the posts to Facebook.

But back to the first entry.  Here’s a sample:

I retired yesterday and decided to declare 4:00 pm as the end point of my teaching career.  My wife Jody and I have a lovely home on a deep lot.  At the back of our lot are maybe 20 metres of trees, and then it’s on to a farmer’s field and beyond that a wide expanse of trees leading down into a ravine.

…

On the far side of the soybean field, the trees stretched in a wide arc.  I wanted to know their names.  I couldn’t remember many of the species I saw.  And then … poof!  The names meant nothing at all.  Trees were there, just standing there, being trees.

…

I had brought a fancy watch that I received from my school board as a retirement present.  At 3:55, I put my eight fingers inside the metal band.  “Thank you” bubbled up, and it didn’t matter who it was aimed at.

At 3:59, I started watching the second hand count me down to a new life.  And guess what?  It arrived.  I threw my arms into the air and smiled.  Wherever I am now is very fine.  I think I’ll write.

***

And write I’ve done: 1905 posts

Some people have listened

So on I go …

I was sitting innocently in my living room yesterday afternoon.  A single word entered my mind: “flood”.

Huh?  What does that mean?

Slowly an answer came to mind.  “Flood the world with goodness.”  Flood as in an overwhelming benign power.  No one gets hurt.  But many are shaken with the impact.

Perhaps that sounds like a flaring ego but it doesn’t feel that way to me.  Right now there’s a surge outwards in my being, a flowing out.  And it’s not a gentle touch.  It’s closer to a slap on the face. 

“But I thought you said nobody gets hurt”  >  “Yes, that’s true”  >  “Then what are you talking about?!”  >  “It feels like a demand that all of us wake up, really be with people, give.”

Another day, another couch.  Still the blasting outwards is here.  I ask myself if this can be my way of being for the rest of my life.  If I look backwards, at my history, the answer would be no.  “You can’t keep this up.”  But what if I said no to history?  My eyes point forward.  So can the rest of me!

***

I’m sitting quietly

And I’m moving

I just signed up for more Dutch courses, starting in September.  I’ll be taking Level Three until January, 2025 … focusing on speaking rather than writing.  Also a shorter course about how to pronounce Dutch words.  I need both.

Geert is a friend of mine who told me his motivation for learning Turkish is basically the challenge of tackling something new, not to discover Turkish friends or visit the country. 

That’s not me.

I don’t care about keeping my brain active on the edge of the new.  I want to talk to people!

I’ve been told that Level Three is far harder than Level Two.  And I found Two plenty hard.  Have I bitten off too much?  Should I “settle down”?  (Ha!)  I say no.  I see my future as giving to people – my time, my singing, my cello, my conversation.

What is your life like?

Here’s mine …

The thoughts intrude:  You’re too old.  Just hang loose.  Drink beer.  Looseness and moderate alcohol consumption are fine things but my head is being gently turned in another direction.

May I have the eyes to see what’s over there … and to act accordingly

I was walking to Dutch class this morning when a poster said hello from an alley.  I stopped and stared.

The words “Wij bereiken meer” mean “We achieve more” … but achieve feels too small.  This girl is giving ‘er – no holding back, full self-expression.

Wow!

Yes, she’s in a choir, and her job is to blend, not dominate.  I get that.  But O my God … she’s alive.

There’s no self-reflection, as in “How am I doing?” or “I hope they like me.”  There’s simply the melody and the lyrics.  And reaching the audience.

***

Here’s one of my favourite YouTube videos.  The choir is Johns’ Boys from Wales.  The song is inspiring.  But look at the open mouths, the smiles … and the faces of those who are receiving the gift.

https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=U9sMNkpOH6g&si=7Fxzvq_4o9EfDS2H

May we all express