I had agreed to do three things over the past 24 hours.  I gave my word, and I would have damaged myself emotionally if I’d pulled out of any of them.  I haven’t had much energy post-Covid but that’s not an excuse to drop away.

A.  I hosted a playreading last night

Eight of us gathered in my apartment to read “Death of a Salesman”.  I committed to the evening about two months ago.  People were counting on me.

I’d bought the scripts and thought about how we’d divide up the parts, especially the juicy ones like Willy Loman.  The play has two acts.  I divided each one in two … so four of us would have the chance to try on “the crumple-suited sales rep facing the abyss of obsolescence”.  That worked well.  And I thought each of us had the chance to really inhabit some classic characters in literature, to fall into the speeches and conversations.

I knew the play was a long one, and there had to be time for breaks and refreshments.  Plus I was aware that if we ended pushing against midnight, my fellow readers would be scrambling for last trains and buses.  Happily it worked.

B.  I attended an Evolutionary Collective Zoom meeting

A group of us within the EC have taken on a heightened commitment.  We’ve agreed to attend a 90-minute meeting “early” on a Thursday or “later” on the next Thursday.  Since most of our members are in North America, the times are friendlier there.

Bottom line: last Thursday was 6:30 to 8:00 pm for me.  Many months ago, I asked my friend Sarah when her next dance recital was.  The answer was Thursday, October 24.  I agreed to go … and I loved it.

So, to keep my word to the EC, I was online for our Zoom meeting last night from 1:00 to 2:30 am.  No big deal.  I simply did what I said I’d do.

C.  I had an esophagus procedure done at the hospital today

This was the date I was given several weeks ago.  This time it was keeping my word with me and my health.  I showed up at AZ Sint-Lucas at 9:15 am and was heading home by 1:00.

The doctor put a long “snake” down my esophagus and into the stomach to investigate my swallowing problem.  I was asleep.  Thank God for general anaesthetic.

The result?  There’s a fungus growing in my esophagus, restricting the passage.  I’m now well equipped with medication to deal with the situation.  I can see French fries returning to my life soon!  (Except don’t call them that in Belgium)

***

I knew the past few hours would be challenging

I knew I would get the job done

And I knew my bed would be waiting at the end of it all

When my dear friend Jo died two years ago, I looked through the many messages of condolence sent to Lydia, Lore and Baziel, written in Dutch.  One word appeared in at least half of them:

Sterk

Essentially … “Be strong”.  I found it strange.  You’ve just lost your beloved.  Of course you’d feel weak and lost.

My body feels low these days.  Some well-meaning person might advise me to go to the gym but all of me says “No” to that.

This morning I went to The Cobbler on the Graslei for breakfast.  My usual approach to the dining room is climbing fifty steps up a spiral staircase.  Not today.  I took the elevator with zero guilt.

My croissant was accompanied by a little jar of strawberry jam.  I couldn’t twist it open.  I saw my server Floreaka standing nearby.  She’s probably twenty.  For a millisecond I had a male ego thought … then it disappeared.  I asked her to help, and the task was easily done.

Tomorrow I’m having a procedure done in the hospital to widen my esophagus.  I sometimes have trouble swallowing.  It’ll be with general anaesthetic.

I’m on a blood thinner medication but I’m not allowed to use it for the three days before the procedure.  To keep me protected, I needed to have an injection today in my belly.

My family doctor said “You can do it or you can visit a nurse.”  An hour ago, a nurse stuck me with the needle.  I wasn’t emotionally strong enough to do it myself.  Again no guilt.

Tomorrow the doctor will feed a long “snake” down my esophagus.  I don’t want that pain again and so I’ve decided to be unconscious while the job is being done.

***

Okay, that’s my story.  I’m choosing comfort instead of pain, resting rather than exerting, asking someone for help.

I feel light.  And I feel the light pouring in

It’s a “yes” to the reality of Now

I walked into Izy Coffee this morning, feeling the exhaustion.  Yesterday I completed everything about my Will, my Power of Attorney, and having my executor Lydia contact my beloved ones after I die.

And now I’ve crashed.  Plus Covid seems to be lingering.  This will be a short post.

Catriona, the barista, said:

Last time I saw you, you were going to sing karaoke

Bruce replied:

No, I had Covid.  I didn’t have the energy and I didn’t want to infect people

With my cappuccino, I sat down on the black couch next to my friend Samuel.  He hadn’t heard my conversation with Catriona.  Minutes later, though, he asked:

Do you sing at home?

And we talked about the glories of song.  Something shines and fills the room far beyond the human voice.  When we open our mouths to sing, out come the vibrations, the sweetness of the lyrics, the flow of the melody.  The world is touched.  Within the body is a line of yearning that curves upwards from the toes to the mouth.  And the song emerges to seek out the far corners of the universe, to colour human spirits beautiful.

And … I can’t access any of that right now

My mouth is silent

The words of love are dormant in my lungs

***

But why not smile about the “not now”?

All will be expressed again …

What then is important?

How shall I apportion my time?

Who will I befriend?

And what say I of the one in the mirror?

***

Don’t prioritize your looks, my friend, as they won’t last the journey

Your sense of humor, though, will only get better with age

Your intuition will grow and expand like a majestic cloak of wisdom

Your ability to choose your battles will be fine-tuned to perfection

Your capacity for stillness, for living in the moment, will blossom

Your desire to live each and every moment will transcend all other wants

Your instinct for knowing what (and who) is worth your time will grow and flourish like ivy on a castle wall

Don’t prioritize your looks, my friend, as they will change forevermore

That pursuit is one of much sadness and disappointment

Prioritize the uniqueness that make you you, and the invisible magnet that draws in other like-minded souls to dance in your orbit

Judy Dench

Years ago, a friend told me about her father.  When he died, she found out that he hadn’t told anyone about his after-death wishes, and so it became a mess to decide what to do.

I remember saying to myself “That won’t be me.”

And so it isn’t.

Lydia and Luc were my companions in Liège yesterday.  Awhile ago Lydia agreed to be the Executor of my Will, and also my Power of Attorney.  She’ll make decisions about my property and medical care if I’m no longer able to.  Thank you, Lydia.

It’s been straightforward about my Will but the Power of Attorney is another story.  Belgium and Canada look at those documents very differently.

Making sure that “Ik wil niet worden gereanimeerd” really happens has been an ordeal.  Do not resuscitate.

Lydia has copies of almost all the documents she would need … five more to go, and we’ll deal with them this afternoon.  Yay!

But there’s something else – the Samsung S23 phone that sits in my hands right now.  She’d need passwords … easily done.  And then there’s my gigantic list of contacts.  I’m spent a few emotionally draining hours writing down stuff for her.  And here’s the result:

When I die, Lydia needs to contact 38 companies, organizations and government agencies.  That’s essential.  I hope she’ll also reach 42 friends.  I want them to know that the body is no more.

It was much easier describing Liège yesterday but today a future reality called death is front and centre in my mind.  And so I’m telling you.  It’s the right thing to do.

Later today, once we’ve examined those last POA documents, I will be complete (“flat”) with this topic.  And I will smile.

I’ll let you know when that moment occurs.

***

Now!

Today my friends Lydia and Luc invited me to join them on a train trip to Liège, Belgium.

Few words … lots of pictures:

The train station in Liège – glorious curves and colours.

Lunch at the Bovaria.  I had a scrumptious ragu with big fat noodles.  Délicieux.  (We’re in the French part of Belgium)

We sat on a bench in front of La Boverie art museum for a long time … watching people stroll by and leaves flutter down.

Inside was a marvelous exhibition: Les Mondes de Paul Delvaux (a Belgian surrealist painter).  Here are my three favourites:

All these faces, sadly none of them smiling

I wonder what she’s thinking.

And this young woman.  Waiting for?  Going to?

What a colour in the sun!

We turned a corner in Liège centrum and saw this.  I gulped.  I also knew I had to do it.

La Montagne de Beuren … 374 satisfying and exhausting steps.

And then back down by tiny streets, our day nearing its end.  What a privilege to share this majesty with friends.

Sinc moving to Belgium, I’ve got used to forms that are incomprehensible because they’re written in Dutch.  This morning I encountered one that was also a mystery, written in English.

It’s from the Canada Revenue Agency, entitled Application for Refund of Part XIII Tax Withheld.

A Canadian company prepares my taxes.  My income is from pensions in Canada.  There are all sorts of rules for Canadians living outside the country.  I don’t understand them.  I keep praying that my tax person does understand the intricacies.

I was told in April that there’d be a long delay in receiving my 2023 refund.  And it’s still not in my account.

Now this letter with the magic word “refund” front and centre.  But what do I put in all those boxes?

Once again I follow the good graces of my tax professional.  She’s a good person and empathizes with my lack of knowledge, plus my long exhales.  And maybe, just maybe, I’ll end up with more money than I expected.

As I get older, I’m more willing to not know.  It says nothing about me as a human being.  Just that my version of intelligence doesn’t reside in the realm of analysis.

And would you believe that my first year of university, in 1967, was in accounting?

I barely believe it myself

Tonight my friend Sarah is performing a dance recital in the city of Roeselare.  She told me months ago about today.  And here I almost am.

I’m in Tarterie in the neighbouring city of Kortrijk.  I’ve decided to roam around centrum, but first there’s cappuccino.

As I sat down, a big black-and-white dog cozied up to my left leg.  I petted her head and back for a few minutes … two contented beings.

And then she was gone.  I can yearn all I want for a lingering companion but Stella clearly had places to go, other people to meet.  I didn’t have the presence of mind to take a photo.  Perhaps she’ll return.

She came back into the room, approached a young girl for a minute or so, walked away from her, glanced at me … and kept going.  So briefly, this love.

***

I’m sitting on a bench in a large square in Kortrijk centrum.  Several cafés are filling with devotées of fine Belgian beer.  My stomach doesn’t want to join them.  I suspect that me not feeling the energy of this city is simply me not feeling the energy of me.

“Healthy food, Bruce.”  And so dinner is on the terrace of the Hawaiian Poké Bowl, also on the square.  The tummy is smiling.  And here come the cyclists:

***

Now I’m in Roeselare.  Sarah will be dancing in De Spil, a cultural centre.  Voilà:

Just Sarah and a pianist.  Haunting.  So mysterious.  Her feet floated above the floor.  She wore a grey wool blanket, surrounded by others …

At one point, Sarah hunched down and piled more blankets on top of her.  Light from the side showed a tortured soul.  She implored us: “Speak to me!” … “Look forward, not back.”

We stood at the end.  It was brilliant.

And now weaving through Roeselare streets to catch my train home to Gent.

May we all sleep well

I got up from the bench that gave me a fine view of the Historiche Stadthalle, ready to enter in.

A young couple was sitting nearby.  I walked over to them and said …

I’m going to a concert over there, to hear a singer whom I’ve wanted to see live for thirty years – Chris de Burgh.  I’m really doing this!

They both smiled.  It didn’t matter that they hadn’t heard of Chris.

Here’s the hall, with some 76-year-old guy onstage:

When Chris first came out, we gave him a two-minute standing ovation.  Such is the love for the man.

Chris sang my favourite song of his – “The Snows of New York”.  I vow to sing these words to an audience some day:

You have always been such a good friend to me
Through the thunder and the rain
And when you’re feeling lost in the snows of New York
Lift your heart and think of me

And then there was this …  I pray that the video will work for you.

I wish I was sailing away, sailing away
Sailing away, in your arms tonight
In your arms tonight

I walked out of the Stadthalle with a heart brimming over and a smile on my face.  I sat back down on the same bench.  The world was alight.

I ate last night at an Italian restaurant called Osteria.  I’d really enjoyed the Gent version.

Since my favourite flavour is pesto, I was drawn to Maccheroncini Pesto Genovese on the menu, complete with pine nuts.  Surely my esophagus could handle foods I love.

So careful … this recent version of Bruce.  “No beer.  Just have water.”  I’m a wise old guy.

Still water or sparkling?  Since coming to Europe I’ve discovered the joys of sparkling, so I went with that.  Two small bottles.

An amazing meal, chewed slowly, washed down with plenty of water.  I was following Dr. Lagae’s instructions to a T.

(Sigh)

Two hours later, in bed, I had trouble swallowing.  I wanted to belch but I couldn’t.  Carbonation – the unseen enemy!

I started walking around the apartment.  Little burps occasionally appeared.  More walking … two hours more.  More frequent belches.  Throughout the night, I’d guess a hundred of them.

Finally I thought I could sleep … and I did, on and off, till the early morning light.

If I’d been at home in my squeaky-floored apartment, my neighbour Dirk downstairs would have heard every footfall.  But I was in a modern building in Wuppertal – silent toes.

Today I’m trying to be even more careful about what goes in my mouth.  So far so good.

***

I haven’t written about the wonders of  Wuppertal.  Here’s one:

A monorail curving above the river!  What could be better?  I stared and stared.

I’m heading back to my Airbnb home for a … nap.  Why not?  My body is saying yes to the lie-down.  I need to be in peak form for Chris de Burgh’s concert tonight.

***

Here is the Historiche Stadthalle before the concert.  Afterwards I’ll come back to this bench for a photo with lights glowing. 

Between now and then, I’ll revel in Chris’ music.  He’s been a hero of mine for decades.  Finally I get to see him live.

Good for me