They flew throughout the night.  The stars wheeled around them, and faded and vanished as the dawn seeped up from the east.  The world burst into brilliance as the sun’s rim appeared, and they were flying through blue sky and clear air, fresh and sweet and moist.

(The Subtle Knife by Philip Pullman)

The white canvas sits on the easel … untouched.  And the paint brush rests in our hand.

Tomorrow is anew

It’s never been before

Just like us

I’ve said this for a year or more, without really “getting” it.  It was in the realm of a wise thing to say.  There’s been an undercurrent of ego, a touch of “look at me”.

Today feels different.

Before I dive in, I know there are times when the statement isn’t true.  If I’m sick in the hospital, it’s crucial what the doctor brings back to me.  His or her knowledge will assist me back to wellness.

Also, the bar three floors down from my apartment has entered into an agreement with me: Their terrace, which is below my bedroom, will be quiet at midnight.  For me to sleep, it’s important that they keep their word.

Now back to the main idea …

I experience myself as love.  I throw it out into the world.  May it fall on all shoulders.  What if I’m totally unaffected by what returns, or if anything returns?  I mean it – totally.  My eyes grow wide at the thought.  I would be free.

***

Here’s one of my favourite stories:

John and Harry were imprisoned together for many years.  They were both abused by Nick, their jailor.

Finally they’re released.  Months later they go for a coffee.

Harry: “Have you forgiven Nick?”

John: “Never!  After he what he did to me!?”

Harry: “Then I guess you’re still in prison.”

***

I often radiate

That’s enough

You don’t have to radiate back

Yesterday I watched one of my favourite Christmas movies: It’s A Wonderful Life.  It’s the story of a good man who’s falling apart … George Bailey.  Financial disaster.  Yelling at his wife and kids, who hardly recognize him anymore.  All is lost.

Clarence Odbody is an angel who has been sent down to Earth to help George weather the storm.

Clarence is also a good man.  He has something for George to experience … disappearing from the planet.

“You’ve been given a great gift, George … a chance to see what the world would be like without you.”

No George.  No one to rescue his kid brother from a fall through the ice.  And so the 9-year-old boy dies.  No one to carry on the Bailey Brothers Building and Loan after his father dies.  And so no one to give poor families a break on their loans. 

No one to be kind to everyone he meets

And what about you and me?  Who has been touched by our kindness?  Whose lives would have been diminished if we’d never come along?

I ask you to look back through the years and see the faces who are smiling when they think of you.  Faces that will remember you even as death approaches.  Really get that you matter.

I’m doing that now

And the smile comes

I matter too

Don’t we all

She is Mary Oliver.  Many words have been written about her, but not today by me.  The most precious words are those that flowed from her hand and heart.

Here is one of Mary’s gems:

What Is the Greatest Gift?

What is the greatest gift?
Could it be the world itself – the oceans, the meadowlark
The patience of the trees in the wind?
Could it be love, with its sweet clamor of passion?

Something else – something else entirely
holds me in thrall
That you have a life that I wonder about
more than I wonder about my own
That you have a life – courteous, intelligent – that I wonder about more than I wonder about my own
That you have a soul – your own, no one else’s
That I wonder about more than I wonder about my own
So that I find my soul clapping its hands for yours
More than my own

***

May our eyes do what they’re designed to do

Gaze outwards, into the big wide world

And find the beauties there

Yesterday’s cyclocross race in Gavere was won by Fem van Empel from The Netherlands.  Here she is:

She’s a pretty young woman.  But beauty is far beyond youth and high cheek bones.  What do the eyes say?  Because I think true beauty resides there.  There is determination in her gaze.  “I will not give up.”

And what about perfect skin?  Specks of mud do not diminish her.  Nor the red spots where her cycling glasses were rubbing.

And now even more dirt:

The smile cannot be extinguished by exhaustion and cold and mud.

For the truest beauty, it takes two.  Loving each other, celebrating each other.  “We did it!”

And a cycling image from the road.  Beauty in an 81-year-old:

***

It’s the eyes

It’s the upturned mouth

It’s the spirit that won’t be denied

It’s a little town near Gent which today was the centre of the cycling universe.  I went.

Cyclocross is all about mud – uphill and downhill.  I wasn’t going to miss it. 

***

As I sat waiting for my second bus this morning, I decided to do a variation of loving the people I see.  I simply looked straight ahead and wished well everyone who came into my field of vision.

I could drink in pedestrians on the far side of the street.  People in cars over there were just momentary shapes, while close to me were blurred vehicles, each no doubt containing human beings.  I loved them all … because it’s a nice thing to do.

***

A strange house blew by me on the bus.  I saw the front wall and a side one.  The only windows were long horizontal slits, no more than 30 centimetres high.  What kind of world view does that give you?  Not much, I’d say.  I hoped that the other two sides of the building were open to the world … so the residents could have some mental health.

***

As I approached Gavere, I realized that my cell phone would soon be on life support.  Google Maps kindly showed me that there weren’t any restaurants or pubs (cafés in Belgium) near the bus stop by the cyclocross course.  So I got off earlier, in the town centre.  Now to find an outlet for charging.

The café was already jam packed with cycling fans at 11:30 – two hours before the first race.  I checked the walls, and there in the far corner I spied a lonely power bar.  We were about to become friends.

I sat at a table with my beloved cappuccino and watched the display of humanity … all cyclocross fans, I guessed – 90% men, all ages, even a sprinkling of kids:

Almost everyone had a Jupiler in hand, sometimes one in each hand.  It’s an “ordinary” Belgian beer, 5.2% alcohol, with a weaker taste than spectacular brews such as Westmalle Tripel.  But Jupiler accounts for 40% of beer sales in this country.

I simply watched the friendships, the joy of about to be watching cyclocross, and the number of empty bottles that sat on tables.  I was happy sipping my cappuccino.

***

Did I mention mud?  At the admission gate, I checked out people’s footwear.  Maybe a third of the folks wore high rubber boots.  They’d been down this road before.

Lying on the grass to form a less oozy path were 3-metre long slabs of metal.  Often I was slip-slidin’-away on them, and on the soaked grass.

No matter.  I was there to see riders’ kits almost unrecognizable with the brown splatters.  And any exposed skin was dotted with wet dirt.  Plus the faces were studies in filth and exhaustion.  The human determination to finish the race, to push a little harder, to pass the rider just ahead … was on display.

Here’s a pic of the men’s race beginning.  At this point I’d moved from the world of ooze to the civility of reasonable sand:

***

Gosh it was fun!

Even though my legs tightened up with all the standing

There are bigger things in life

In Belgium Christmas is celebrated on December 24.  I went to Maarkedal yesterday to join eleven other human beings for the celebration.  People such as my friend Lydia, her children Lore and Baziel, and her mother Marie-paule.

1.  Christmas Dinner

Around the long table we grilled our meats, vegetables and eggs.  Voices filled the air … mostly Dutch, some French and occasionally English.  My Dutch and French are thoroughly basic, and virtually non-existent when folks talk fast.

So I listened to the music of unknown conversations.  I watched faces brighten in joy at the punchline of a joke.  I danced with the other dancers.  I was included, and I felt it.

I had a long talk with Marie-paule about the troubles in life and how love is bigger than them all.  We talked slowly (!) and mostly in French.  Often I couldn’t find the right word but we still met.

2.  Overnight

It’s a logical progression: too much food and too much champagne  >  nausea.  Those six letters stayed with me for most of the night.  Sitting on the side of the bed with my plastic barf bag (like Düsseldorf!) wondering if the explosions would begin.  Unlike Düsseldorf, they didn’t.  Thank God.

When, oh when, will I learn the error of my ways?  I can’t eat like I used to, and alcohol is approaching the status of poison.  This man needs his sleep and a calm tummy.  Perhaps when I’m older I’ll wise up.

3.  On the Train With Baziel

He’s a medical student and had to get back to Gent to study.  Exams are looming.

Baziel visited me in Canada in 2019 as a young teen … and now he’s a young man, one who can absorb astonishing amounts of medical information.

We talked about family.  We talked about cycling, including tomorrow’s cyclocross race in Gavere (I’m going!).  And then I asked him to tell me about something he’s learning right now.

Baziel chose cancer.  He spoke clearly, using basic terminology, to communicate with the old fellow sitting across from him.  I learned about the complex mutating of genes, and how a tumour seems to have a consciousness as it tries to trick the body.

This was not the kid begging to go to McDonald’s every second day.  This was the future Dr. Baziel.

4.  A WhatsApp Call From Canada

Cam Clark is my oldest friend.  We met when we were 15.  Tonight he and his partner Ann Higgins phoned me from across the ocean.  Their voices were sweet.

Cam and Ann live most of the year surrounded by the woods and lake of Lion’s Head, Canada.  They love sitting outside in the morning and watching their tomato plants grow.  They love going for a walk on their shady road, a trip that takes fifteen minutes back and forth “without talking” … and three hours when there’s life to share with neighbours.  Lion’s Head is home.

We rambled through the years on the phone, and then towards April, when I’ll visit Canada – and them.  It’ll be a blessed reunion.

***

Christmas 2024

I hope it was a blessing for you and your loved ones

Merry Christmas

It’s a 2004 animated film that Jody and I watched many times before she died in 2014.  It was, and still is, magic for me at Christmas time.

Kids are invited onto a train heading to the North Pole, shepherded by a conductor who looks suspiciously like Tom Hanks.

The kids are asked to believe … in Santa, in goodness.  After many adventures, we end up in a square full of elves, with a gigantic Christmas tree in the centre.

And here comes the big man … white beard and red suit.  He’s wondering who should receive the first gift of Christmas.  He chooses our hero, who is unnamed in the film:

Guess who Hero Boy is looking at.

And of course there is also Hero Girl – such a kind person:

The same someone has her attention.

Also pulling at our heartstrings is Lonely Boy.  Love comes to him from Hero Girl and Hero Boy, as well as from two large men – one in red and one in blue:

Hero Boy is given a jingle bell by Santa but forgets it in his sleigh.  After the train trip home, Hero Boy wakes up on Christmas morning to find his sister handing him a gift … “From Santa”.  It’s the jingle bell.  Both Hero Boy and his sister ring the bell, and both hear the clear tone.  But mom and dad can’t hear it.

As the film closes, Hero Boy has become Hero Man:

At one time, most of my friends could hear the bell, but as years passed it fell silent for all of them.  Even Sarah found one Christmas that she could no longer hear its sweet sound.  Though I’ve grown old, the bell still rings for me, as it does for all who truly believe.

Many years ago, I worked at St. Mary’s Choir School in London, Ontario, Canada.  One time, two classes of 12-year-olds watched The Polar Express with me. 

As the credits were rolling at the end, I stood before the kids and held up three jingle bells on an orange cord.

Silence

Stillness

Many mouths open

…

And I rang the bells

I’ve lived in the Patershol area of Gent for coming on two years.  My apartment is fifty metres from what I see as the most beautiful building in the city.

My fascination with the sculptures on the walls has faded as I’ve morphed from tourist to resident.  How sad.  I’ve never wanted to get “used to” anything or anyone.  My eyes need to see the freshness of each moment.

So I lingered this morning …

I joked with a couple that I was the architect “about ten years ago.  I designed it so it would look really old.”  They smiled and wished me a Merry Christmas.

Together we gazed at the images: the woman, the eagle and the flame; the player of the lute; and sitting with “man’s best friend”.  Gentle on the wall … timeless.

And then above:

So many faces.  And mom with her little ones, blessing all below. 

One particular being especially drew me in:

Such a beautiful flute lies alone on the shelf

It shone brightly

Freshly polished without need of help

But without wind, no music was produced

So he picked it up

In hopes of making this flute a part of him

So he placed his lips gently upon it

Along with his fingertips

Tenderly he used his fingers

As he began to blow

Closing his eyes as melodies started to flow

(Shaun Bolden)

***

Home

1.  Around forty years ago I met another Bruce Kerr.  He was the husband of one of my co-workers.  And I remember being dizzy as I looked at him. 

I want to meet another one.  How would this Bruce react now to seeing a compatriot?  Perhaps I’ll never find out.

2.  Number One came to mind because of a conversation I just had with Sabrina at Jaggers, a lovely breakfast place.  She was waiting for her brother to arrive.

“He turns 76 in January.”

“So do I!  What’s the date?”

“January 11.”

“January 9 for me.”

And I waited, hoping I’d get to meet someone so close to my birthday.  But he didn’t show up.  After I went inside to pay, I said “Salut” to Sabrina and started walking away.

“Here he comes!”

Across the Vrijdagmarkt square was a man with a white beard.  I approached him and said:

“January 11, 1949.”

His eyes widened.  We talked for a minute and then smiled our goodbyes.

And so my search continues for another January 9, 1949 baby.

3.  Also this morning I met a fellow from New Zealand who’s lived in The Netherlands for the past thirty years.  I asked Herman what’s a typical phrase that one Kiwi would say to another.  He smiled and out came words unknown to me:

“She’ll be right, mate?”  (Basically “How’s it going?”)  Thank you, Herman.  I’ll use it the next time a Kiwi comes my way.

4.  For many years I’ve enjoyed going into a business where I know the staff and saying:

“I’d like to speak to someone more intelligent than me.”

My memory says that only once, long ago in Canada, has someone replied “Yes.  May I help you?” 

I yearn for a second time.  Watch out – Jaggers, Izy Coffee, Panos and other establishments where Bruce Kerr is known.

***

That’s enough meandering through my brain cells

Time to watch people and love them silently