That’s Dutch for “sick”.  I am.  Dizzy, nauseous, stuffed in the nose.

There are two things I think about.  The first is “What medical help is available?”  In that realm, I visited my pharmacist today.  Keysha is brilliant.  I returned home with Paracetamol for my headache, Kaloban for general cold symptoms, and Physiomer Express for my closed nasal passages.

I know how often to take these things and for how long.  I’ve done my due diligence.

But there is so much more to the story.

I am faced with a marvelous challenge.  It’s easy for me to be good to people when my world is rolling along merrily … but what about now?

The body is struggling and the typical “go to” is to draw inward, to compress, to isolate.  What if I instead blossomed to other human beings?  Let the discomfort sit there (treating it “scientifically”) but be bigger than that.

And so I did.

I continued loving the people I passed on the street, especially the old woman sitting on a piece of cardboard with her begging cup.  She was there as I headed to the grocery store and still sitting as I walked home.

I thanked Keysha for her expertise and care, even as my mind stumbled through the details of medications.

I returned the kindness of the woman sitting at the next table in Panos.  She moved her bag so I could exit more easily.  I said “Dank u” and smiled.

My life force was low as I padded my way through the streets.  You could say the quantity of love coming off me was diminished, along with its frequency … but it was there.

So I was up to a lovely challenge

I gave what I could

And took my meds

First of all, he’s got a cool name (the “Bruce” part, I mean).  And he’s been my musical hero for a very long time.

Many moons ago, I fell in love with Bruce’s music.  I was taken with the Dancing in the Dark concert video where he invited a young woman onto the stage.  And they danced!  There was such joy in the space.

I finally got to see Bruce and the E Street Band live at the now-demolished Exhibition Stadium in Toronto.  Thousands of us danced to his songs.

Years later, my wife Jody and I heard “The Boss” sing in the Air Canada Centre just before Christmas, again in Toronto.  He wore a red hat and thrilled the faithful with his rendition of Santa Claus Is Comin’ To Town.  I was especially enthralled with his saxophone player – Clarence Clemons.  This guy was a big black fellow who made love to his instrument.  Oh, he rocked his solos!

Fast forward to my life in Belgium.  Last summer I tripped over to Amsterdam in the Netherlands to get another dose of Bruce.  Two-and-a-half hours of uninterrupted classic rock.  Sadly, Clarence had died years before.  But (wonder of wonders) his nephew joined the band, and he channelled uncle on the sax.  Magnificent.

Once I got back to Gent, I had a thought: “I’ve just seen Bruce for the last time.  And that’s okay.  I had a blast last night!”

***

And then there was yesterday.  My phone told the story:

2025 Tour

Springsteen & E Street Band

He’s coming to Lille, France on May 24, 2025.  That’s 75 kilometres from Gent!

I stared at the screen

I didn’t think

I bought

…

Perhaps “last time” is highly overrated

A friend of mine is pregnant … a newbie will be coming to the family after two sons.  She’s been waiting to find out the sex of the child.

A couple of weeks ago, I asked if she cared if it was a girl or boy.  “No, I just want a healthy child.”  Okay … but I’ve been praying for a girl.

I walked into a coffee shop this morning and she was sitting there.  I sat down and started talking about the weird dreams I’ve been having.  She listened patiently.

And then …

“I’m having a girl”

Her eyes were shining so bright!  Actually all of her was glowing.  I’m sure her name is in the dictionary under the definition of “joy”.  I sat there stunned, revelling in the purity of the moment.  All was well.

We talked about things I know nothing about – morning sickness, walking around with a huge belly.  But the radiance outshone the experiences of pregnancy. 

I smiled to be in the presence of such delight … a woman yearning to welcome her daughter to the world.

My wife Jody and I didn’t have children.  No young one has ever called me “Daddy” or grabbed my hand on the street.  I’ve lived on the edge of regret about this for many years.

Still, my life is full of connection with other human beings.  As a teacher and volunteer, I’ve contributed to the lives of many children.  And so … “Goodbye, regret.”

How about that?  A huge source of happiness in life is beyond what I’ve known, or will ever know. 

I choose “No problemo” in response

Marvels abound

I simply need to open my eyes

Timothy Leary was an American psychologist who praised the use of psychedelic drugs as an avenue of spiritual opening.

I read the quote below … and my eyes opened wide.  “O my God, that’s me talking!”

Am I alone?  No.  I have my blessed companions in the Evolutionary Collective.  But in face-to-face life in Gent, the sadness sometimes seeps down.  Still, Timothy’s right: Just say something – to someone.  Yes, they may avert their eyes.  Or … you may be on the leading edge of an astonishing conversation.

Admit it.  You aren’t like them.  You’re not even close.  You may occasionally dress yourself up as one of them, watch the same mindless television shows as they do, maybe even eat the same fast food sometimes.  But it seems that the more you try to fit in, the more you feel like an outsider, watching the “normal people” as they go about their automatic existences.

For every time you say club passwords like “Have a nice day” and “Weather’s awful today, eh?” you yearn inside to say forbidden things like “Tell me something that makes you cry” or “What do you think deja vu is for?”

Face it, you even want to talk to that girl in the elevator.  But what if that girl in the elevator (and the balding man who walks past your cubicle at work) are thinking the same thing?  Who knows what you might learn from taking a chance on conversation with a stranger?

Everyone carries a piece of the puzzle.  Nobody comes into your life by mere coincidence.  Trust your instincts.  Do the unexpected.  Find the others.

***

Hello

I went to bed at 11:00 and got up at 8:00 … and I’m exhausted.  The Polar sleep app on my watch says I slept eight hours.  Huh?  Impossible.

Somebody was talking to me all night.  Or were they moaning?  Were my neighbours awake at 3:00 or did my mind make all this up?

The dreams came hard and fast.  At one point, I was surrounded by people wearing grotesque masks.  They were howling at me.  It felt like the painting you see – The Scream by Edvard Munch.  Terrifying.

It felt like rapid-fire images all night.  Such as an orchestra stage with no musicians, just upside down music stands.  I snapped awake at least ten times, often to pee, but always to startle.

I was lost in an amusement park, rushing up to people asking “How do I get to the Prince of Wales Hotel!?”  No one knew.  I worked at the PW in the Canadian Rockies for five summers as a young man.

There was a sickening all through the wee hours, and a slow dying.  Yuck.

Thank God for the morning sun, for a warm shower, for the pumpkin spice latté I’m now sipping in Izy Coffee.

***

And yet my head keeps spinning

I feel the call of my bed

Say yes, Bruce

I knew that the Ramberg would be on my menu again today, this time for the men’s race.  It’s a short cobbled climb (0.2 km) with an average gradient of 11% … brutal.

Yesterday I stood at the top.  The road narrows for the last 50 metres – only room for two cyclists at a time.

Today I found the street that would take me to the bottom of the climb.  There were no police officers yet so I started walking up the slope.  Here’s the view looking down:

This is the wide part of the street.  You’re looking down but the photo doesn’t do it justice.  It was steep.

A perfect spot to see the racers zoom by, I thought.  The police disagreed.  An officer told me I had to leave.  Only street residents could stand and watch.

I smiled and pointed to a name plate on the building beside us.  It said “van Baarle”.

“I’m Mr. van Baarle!”  Sadly I slaughtered the pronunciation.  The officer smiled back and gently said “Move on.”  That was fun.

I crammed close to the barriers with hundreds of other cycling fans.  We cheered outrageously when the riders turned the corner and started up the climb.  Listen:

Some of the athletes were thrilled with our yells … like this guy:

So cool!  So loud.

The elite folks were doing three laps in the Leuven area – so they passed by my position three times.  The second go round, Mathieu van der Poel led about eight other cyclists up the Ramberg.  Wow … power and speed.

Myself, I wasn’t feeling too powerful.  I had been standing in one spot for probably two hours and my feet were dying a slow death.  So I said goodbye to my new spectating friends and stumbled down a slight slope.  My legs and feet were screaming, and I imagined a young kid saying to his mother “There’s an old man.”  I suppose he was right.

I found a bench with a long view up the hill.  My phone told me that Mathieu was now alone in the lead.  I waited patiently for his arrival:

You can see a glom of very fit climbers to the right of the church.  When it was Mathieu’s turn, he got out of the saddle … and sprinted!  My God.

***

Mathieu won

And so did I

On the train now, with Gent beckoning

The elite women rode their World Championship gravel race today – 135 kilometres.  I decided to take the train this morning from Leuven to the start in Halle.  An early beginning for me.

I’d heard that thousands of cycling fans would congregate today in Halle.  Would I see anything?  No matter, I’ll go anyway.

An hour of fields, homes and Brussels neighbourhoods eventually deposited me in Halle.  Off the train, I followed the crowd to Pozzosplein, a big square full of metal barriers, cyclists in their national colours, places to drink and eat … and countless fans of the sport.

My first stop was the race administration office.  A wonderfully kind man tried his best to trace out a route for me – train and bus – so I’d be able to cheer the riders halfway through the race, rather than just at the start and end.  He worked so hard for me!

Keeping in mind the approximate speed that the women would be doing, I’d have to leave Halle before the race started to catch them at the mid-point.  No thanks.  I decided to stay put.

I couldn’t get close to the start line so I wandered down the road.  And slowly the crowd thinned.  I picked a spot up against the barrier, at a place where the road curved.

Exactly at Noon, I saw fireworks explode where I thought the start line was.  The women were coming!

I wanted to take a photo from a good distance, enlarge it for this post, and then put the phone down in time to see Puck Pieterse swoop by.  (She’s my hero)

Here’s the pic.  Puck is the fourth orange (Netherlands) jersey from the left:

However by the time I lowered my phone, all I saw was the back of Puck’s head.  Oh well.

About fifteen minutes after the women set off, the next group to start was men age 50-54.  Getting near the start line was no problem this time.

Here’s what my neighbours looked like:

So fit!  Truly athletes.  I applauded them inside my hands.  The fellow next to me mentioned that he wasn’t all that fit.  I smiled.

Some of the guys chatted with their colleagues before the gun.  Some were intensely in their own world.  I loved them all.

I took the train back to Leuven, remembering a name from the World Championships website: the Ramberg.  It’s an extremely narrow cobbled climb in Leuven.  The riders would tackle it twice, the second time only about two kilometres from the finish line.

Could I make it in time to see the leading women climb the slope … twice?  Surely at least once.

I walked super fast from the Leuven train station, Google Maps jiggling in my hand.  But I was hungry – very!  Another estimated time of cyclists passing by was in my head but there was nothing in my stomach.  I kept looking for a bakery along the route – nope.

One block from where Google said the Ramberg was … sat a Carrefour Express – a grocery store.  Yes!

A warm spinach and cheese roll, a chocolate croissant and a Coke Zero made their way into my backpack.  I arrived at the top of the climb, where one of the police officers said “Stay back.  The riders are coming.”

It took twenty minutes, but he was right.  Here’s the evidence:

I stood in this spot for close to two hours, cheering everyone on two wheels.  (I saw Puck twice!) 

Allez!  Magnifique!  Well done!  Bravo!

What a thrill to see the cyclists blasting by me – both the elite women and the age group riders that started after them

I talked to my spectating companions in English or broken Dutch.  And finally I was all cheered out.

Tired but happy

I made it work

And I’ll do it again tomorrow … for the men

Probably not the train to Halle but definitely the Ramberg

KU Leuven is a Catholic university founded in 1425, making it the oldest university in Belgium.  I went walking through the halls of the school’s library today.  Here’s the reading room:

Just a few diehard studying humans on a Friday afternoon but the audio guide voice said the place is packed when exams are closing in.  I thought of the thousands of students who have sat in those chairs and climbed the stairs to the books of the second and third levels.

The library was on another street in 1914 when German soldiers burned it to the ground, with the loss of 230,000 books.  It was rebuilt on the site where I stood, only to burn again in 1940.  The sadness of war.

A plaque hangs outside the reading room:

This gentleman was head librarian from 1921 till 1961.  He supervised the restoration of the library only to see it destroyed again.  And one more time he led the renewal.  No doubt he loved reading the treasures within those pages.  Is there sorrow in the face?

Today was my day to explore Leuven before the Gravel World Championships of cycling on Saturday and Sunday.  I knew, however, that accumulating touristic attractions wasn’t real life.

So at breakfast I talked to the Thai owner of Rosetta while savouring the mysteries of avocado, egg, cheese and soft bread.  She’s happy in Leuven, and no doubt her smile contributes her rating of 4.9 out of 5 on Google Maps.

Although in general I live in the moment rather than questioning tomorrow, I spent an hour on a bench, trying to figure out how I’ll see the women cyclists in the middle of the race, not just at the start and finish.  And sadly I couldn’t find a public transportation solution.

Tomorrow morning I’ll take the train to Halle, where the riders start.  I’m praying that race officials there can help me in my quest.  Eventually I’ll take a train back to Leuven for the finish.  Whatever happens, I’ll be immersed in the gravel cycling world.

I saw marvelous sights at the university.  Here are a few photos:

A Buddha created about 1800 in Burma (now Myanmar)

Another hour of my non-touristic time was devoted to conversation about life with Lieze, the barista at Izy Coffee in Leuven centrum.  Happily there were very few customers so I got to float in her wisdom.  I said a few cool things too.

Dinner on the Oude Markt:

There’s a gentle slope just in front of the guy in the red pants.  I loved watching cyclists swoop down.  Actually I loved finding the eyes of countless diners, strollers and pedallers … though very few of those eyes noticed mine.  That’s okay.

An hour ago, as I was stumbling towards my bus, I came upon rhythm – loud, infectious smile-creating rhythm:

Thanks, guys and gals

And now my bed, please

(Not quite … it’s only 7:24)

I don’t know what I was thinking yesterday morning.  The temperature was 7 Celsius when I set off for breakfast.  “I’ll need my toque and mitts,” I reasoned.  So I stuffed them into my coat pockets.

At some point in the day, I got tired of bulky unneeded pockets, so I put the things into my backpack.  I saw no need to remember when that was.

Hours later, after four stops, I returned home and reached inside for my extra clothes.  I pulled out the red toque.  And then the mitts.  They felt light … I guess one mitt will do that to a fellow.

Arghh!  Where’s the other one?

I love my mitts.  They were my partners for many Canadian winters.  I call them friends.

And then there was one:

I searched the pack some more, then the floor, my coat.  Mittless.

One thing I’ve learned: When there’s a problem – act.  Don’t let it fester overnight.

“Okay, Bruce.  Retrace your steps.”  And off I went into the world.  I began with Stop #4 – the Press Shop on the Langemunt.  I’d picked up two books that arrived in the mail.  Paul and I searched.  Nothing.

Stop #3 was Izy Coffee, also on the Langemunt.  I’d sat there for an hour, writing a blog post.  No extra objects on the couch, on the floor, or in lost-and-found.  (The sighs started)

On to Stop #2, my Music Theory class in room A101 at the Poel music school on Poel.  I knocked on the door and was welcomed by a piano teacher and her young students.  No mitt.  Downstairs in the office, Frank rummaged through his pile of clothing odds and ends > same result.

One more chance, appropriately named Stop #1.  I had breakfast at The Cobbler in the Post Hotel on the Graslei.  Surely this was where I did the transfer deed from pocket to pack.  Except it wasn’t.  Everywhere was clean and devoid of finger warming objects.

Did I mention?

Sigh

And then the question that every person on Earth has asked at some point …

Now what?

I knew that I’d be travelling today to Leuven for three days of exploring.  And that the low on Friday will be 4 Celsius.  Plus my hands get cold fast.

“Bite the bullet, Bruce.  Buy new mitts!”

I slumped down to A.S. Adventure on the Zonnestraat.  I knew they had good outdoor clothing.  A lovely young saleswoman was determined to find the right mitts for me.  We wandered from one spot to the next, and then to the next.

Et voilà:

They’re thermal.  They’re water repellent. They’re soft on my skin

And there are two of them!

***

Closure

Bittersweet happiness

Bring on the chill, Leuven

I like those two words.  I never know if this moment could be the last time … I am with a person I love … I do an activity I love … I’m in a place I love.

Last night was a last time.

I love our Evolutionary Collective meetings online.  Five years ago, I took on the task of being a Zoom host once a week.  I struggled to learn.  Sometimes my mind is wide open.  As a Zoomie, I had to focus, a skill that’s been elusive for much of my life.

Anywhere from 10 to 50 human beings have depended on my technical skills so that the meeting is what it’s meant to be: a time for spiritual connection with another human being, and with the whole group.

I have served our community well as a Zoom host.  Despite my many mistakes, I have been committed to the people who show up onscreen in their little rectangles.

Guess what my biggest stress has been on these calls.

…

Okay, here it is: the Internet.  So many times when I turn on my laptop forty minutes before a call, the little “world” symbol shows up on the taskbar – no connection.  I’ve coped well  with the sudden surges in heartbeat.  However …

About two months ago, the world obligation showed up on my lips.  Not a good sign.

After two weeks of feeling into a future decision, the future became the present:

I don’t want to do this anymore

And so last night’s session was my last as a Zoom host.

I felt the nostalgia (and the happiness) as my fingers did all the prep before the folks started showing up.  Carolyne, the teacher for the evening, came on early.  I thanked her and she thanked me for our service to each other, and to the EC members.

The Zoom host welcomes the participants at the top of the hour.  Last time for those sweet words.  Last time to pair people up for the Mutual Awakening practice.  Last time to send out messages so the members know when to switch into a new phase of the practice.

There’s a period of sharing in the large group as the meeting flows towards its close.  I looked at all those rectangles and loved each soul within.

Then it was time for me to unmute everyone so we could say goodbye.  I smiled for the journey it’s been, and for all my companions.

***

And so it ends

A chapter closes

I bet there’ll be some cool plot twists in the next one