My friend Sabrine is visiting me for two days.  She’s a friend of Lydia, who on a long ago hiking trail in the Canadian Rockies asked me to accompany her to Senegal.  Which led eventually to me … being … here!

I had made a dinner reservation for Friday night at an amazing Gent restaurant called Dish.  It’s my absolutely favourite place to celebrate life with my guests.  Before then, the afternoon beckoned with its glorious unknownness.

I usually led as we meandered through the streets of Gent centrum.  Sometimes I asked Sabrine to … and so it was – left, right or “keep going”.  No agenda.  No big tourist attractions.  We passed so many “ordinary” buildings that had a shine of their own.

And we sat on benches.  We watched people.  I told Sabrine that I was sending them love.  And then there were the long views, where I turned my eyes to the sky.  My friends the seagulls occasionally said hi.

Dish was a marvel – small portions of delicate flavours.  All the time in the world to savour.  And Doreen – the brilliant chef and smiling being.  Sabrine and I were welcome in Dish.

All that was Friday.  Today is Sunday.  Sabrine left this morning.  The Saturday between was pretty cool too.  The hours were full and laughing.  Strangely, given the rhythms of my life, they didn’t include writing.  Oh well.  Here I am now.

My neighbour Dirk invited us for breakfast yesterday.  He’s unique in the world, having immersed himself in theatre and the other arts, and having returned so much joie de vivre to those around him.  Like Sabrine and me.

Take a look at the breakfast table:

Where did that coffee go?  And do you recognize what’s in the little dish in the middle?  It’s a fig.  You may be aware of my hatred of raisins.  Many years ago, I expanded my list of distaste: currants and dates.  I had tasted them both and they were similarly yucky.

Later, in a spurt of dubious wisdom, I added figs.  The trouble was, I’d never tasted one.  At yesterday’s breakfast table there sat one – uncut.  I frowned.  “Just a raisin in disguise.”  Dirk cut it for me and placed it on the dish.  “Hmm … sure doesn’t look like a raisin.  Actually it looks pretty good.”

It was delicious!  So much for Bruce’s historical wisdom.

Our triad of discussion roamed over the tapestry of life.  Three people who really enjoyed expressing themselves.  Perfect.

I’m trying to remember.  We might have been talking about the magnificence of Firenze (Florence), a city in Italy.  Dirk mentioned a man named Stendhal, who wrote about being “overwhelmed by beauty”.  Dirk knows what that’s like.  So do I.  And most likely so does Sabrine.

Three lovers of life

Chatting aimlessly

Cozy together