Forty-two kilometres … a hero’s journey for women and men.  Five thousand people are putting foot to tarmac as I tap.  One of them is my friend Petra.

I’ve been standing on a grassy knoll, waiting for the moment of yelling “Petra!”  So many souls passed my way.  Searching every female face has been exhausting, especially when a big pack of runners floats by.  But I was not going to miss her!

And then …

Light blue jacket

Big smile turned to me

Waving like crazy

“Petra!”

The photo shows the flow of marathoners coming this way.  There was a dad pushing his little one in a stroller.  An old man wearing a Superman costume.  A young woman limping.  Running clubs with their members all glommed together.

Just like yesterday’s post about all of us being cellists regardless of ability, today all these fine human beings are athletes regardless of speed or even if they finish the race.

On the left side of the photo, the race returns to Sint-Jacob’s Church from the other direction.  You can see a runner in a red t-shirt.  Now there’s a flood of participants just a few metres away.  The crowd are cheering their loved ones.  All is right with the world.

I await Petra

***

Oi!  I miscalculated the time that Petra would come by Sint-Jacob’s again.  I was blissfully tapping out this post.  What I saw as I waited for my dearly departed friend was a continually dancing man on the sidewalk and four young women who cheered every single runner who plodded by.

And … there was a boy, maybe 8-years-old, who held out his hand, hoping for high fives from the athletes.  I bet five hundred of them passed his spot while I watched … and only five gave him their hand.  Before I sought a good spot for watching the speedy Petra, I walked over to the kid and slapped his hand.  Child and dad smiled.

***

I was blessed by the morning hours

And especially by one light blue moment

This morning was the cello concert of about twelve students of Lieven Baert.  There he is on the left, cheering on Hercule and Leonore as they play their duet, accompanied by Frederick on the piano.

I played pretty well.  I was proud of one note.  After a period of “piano” (quiet) tones, and a slight pause, a note was to be played further down the neck of the cello, in a different hand position.  Plus it needed to be “forte” (loud)!

I nailed it!

Sadly there were some other parts of the piece that nailed me, but overall … I done good.  The passion was there, the head was up, no grimaces when the mistakes came … and my smile at the end.

I was the first to perform.  Gudrun, a friend from my Music Theory class, planned on being there but I hadn’t seen her.  And then, in the last few seconds before bow met string, there she was!  Two big smiles.

The cellists were young and old, experienced and less so, accomplished and not so much.  None of that mattered.  We were drawn together by the majesty of the cello.  And the applause was rich for each of us.

Here’s a question:

What was I most proud of during the concert?

I bet it’s not what you expect.  At the end, Lieven thanked us students, Frederick the accompanist, and Vincent, his fellow teacher.  I sat there missing another name.  I stood up.

And congratulations to Lieven, our excellent teacher

Well said and needed, Bruce

We play on …

Yesterday I visited Julie, her son Raphaël, her husband Bart and her mother Annieck in Roborst, Belgium.  It’s only the second time I’ve met her in the same room.  We’re friends on Zoom with the Evolutionary Collective.

At the end of our time together, as Julie was driving me back to the train station, we both realized we hadn’t taken any pictures.  And when I was rushing to the correct train platform, we forgot again! 

Oh well.  What you see here is a photo when Julie and Raphaël visited me last summer.  He was an infant.  Now he’s two.

A true hug with a friend is a glorious thing.  We lingered.  We walked and talked … about her home, her garden and what was moving us in the moment.  It was easy, as all conversations should be.  And I sang her a song.

Julie is a healer through physical touch, a graduate of the Barbara Brennan School of Healing.  I loved sitting with her in the quiet of her healing room.

Julie showed me the wonders of her garden while Raphaël kept pointing to things and saying “Papa”.  So sweet.  There was life everywhere – the fish in the pond, the chickens in the woods, the bees in their hives, the birds in their glory aloft.  Raphaël showed me his little house in the yard.  We all need “our place”.

Bart is a miracle of creation.  He raises bees and joins in the becoming of honey.  He cultivates grape vines.  He raises vegetables from infancy.  He takes clay and a potter’s wheel, and a kiln … and ceramic miracles are revealed.  Plus he teaches his students to do the same.

Annieck just got back from a journey to Spain.  And soon she’ll be setting off again, going with friends to the Galapagos Islands, in the Pacific Ocean off the coast of Ecuador.  After her husband died, she keeps being invited by friends to explore faroff corners of the world.

It was all so alive.  And what pulls everyone together is a two-year-old named Raphaël.

Family

Once in awhile, I let the words flow through my fingers without my brain being involved … a stream of consciousness.  I just looked up when I last did this in my blog – October, 2023.  It feels like I’m overdue for more verbal spasms.  So here goes …

(I just finished a minute of aimless rambling.  The words came fast.  And I’ve decided to fix up the typos and add some punctuation – all while staying true to what bubbled up.)

So here goes …

Undertaking something but I don’t know.  Within the future realm of things.  Seeing beyond my tiny nose to the insides of all you and you and yes even you.  Not knowing anything about anything.  Standing on the corner of an intersection with no street signs.  Falling into some hole of the unseen but very much felt.  Wanting company on the journey.  Wearing a patchwork quilt of life pulled tightly around me.  Seeing the fork in the road ahead and laughing at both choices.  Wondering if my underwear is clean and taking a microscope to see what’s inside my heart.  All the blood vessels are accompanied.  The bones make way.  The muscles smile.  There is so much room inside.  And the world of the woods beckons.  Come in, see me, explore, lose yourself one more time … and keep writing.  Pull together four adjectives in a row and then throw all sorts of verbs into the air.  Don’t stop.  Turn your head around and wave goodbye to what s behind.  Then turn again and smile at tomorrow.  Canada beckons in a week.  Oh what joys in the living rooms of the beloveds.  Keep seeing their eyes, feeling their heart, falling into.  And now rest.

***

Well, that was a blast of life!

No rhyme or reason

Just the river

“Sometimes you inspire people, Bruce.” 

So said the voice in my head.  And instead of my historical response of “Who, me?” I heard myself say “Yes”.

If you’re like me, we need to be moved, to be lifted by the …

Brilliance

Kindness

Empathy

Eloquence

Courage

Etcetera

… of another person.

Today Helen Keller inspired me.  And so I pass this on to you.  In 1924 she wrote a letter to the New York Symphony Orchestra after listening to their rendition of Beethoven’s “Ninth Symphony”:

Dear Friends:

I have the joy of being able to tell you that, though deaf and blind, I spent a glorious hour last night listening over the radio to Beethoven’s “Ninth Symphony”.  I do not mean to say that I “heard” the music in the sense that other people heard it; and I do not know whether I can make you understand how it was possible for me to derive pleasure from the symphony.  It was a great surprise to myself.  I had been reading in my magazine for the blind of the happiness that the radio was bringing to the sightless everywhere.  I was delighted to know that the blind had gained a new source of enjoyment; but I did not dream that I could have any part in their joy.  Last night, when the family was listening to your wonderful rendering of the immortal symphony, someone suggested that I put my hand on the receiver and see if I could get any of the vibrations.  He unscrewed the cap, and I lightly touched the sensitive diaphragm.  What was my amazement to discover that I could feel, not only the vibration, but also the impassioned rhythm, the throb and the urge of the music!  The intertwined and intermingling vibrations from different instruments enchanted me.  I could actually distinguish the cornets, the roil of the drums, deep-toned violas and violins singing in exquisite unison.  How the lovely speech of the violins flowed and plowed over the deepest tones of the other instruments!  When the human voices leaped up thrilling from the surge of harmony, I recognized them instantly as voices more ecstatic, upcurving swift and flame-like, until my heart almost stood still.  The women’s voices seemed an embodiment of all the angelic voices rushing in a harmonious flood of beautiful and inspiring sound.  The great chorus throbbed against my fingers with poignant pause and flow.  Then all the instruments and voices together burst forth – an ocean of heavenly vibration – and died away like winds when the atom is spent, ending in a delicate shower of sweet notes.

Of course this was not “hearing,” but I do know that the tones and harmonies conveyed to me moods of great beauty and majesty.  I also sense, or thought I did, the tender sounds of nature that sing into my hand – swaying reeds and winds and the murmur of streams.  I have never been so enraptured before by a multitude of tone-vibrations.

As I listened, with darkness and melody, shadow and sound filling all the room, I could not help remembering that the great composer who poured forth such a flood of sweetness into the world was deaf like myself.  I marveled at the power of his quenchless spirit by which out of his pain he wrought such joy for others – and there I sat, feeling with my hand the magnificent symphony which broke like a sea upon the silent shores of his soul and mine.

Well, Helen, you were and are a miracle in the world.  The body could not keep your spirit inside.  It was compelled to burst out into the open air, falling like a mist on the shoulders of all who were open to your majesty.

I wish I’d known you

And I know you

It’s a question you probably ask yourself every day.  (Okay, maybe not)

As I left my apartment this morning, the words seeped into my brain cells.  I had to find an answer.

1.  The server at Le Pain Quotidien.  He tilted his head and looked at me funny, muttering something.  I saw that he was preoccupied with the number of customers coming his way.  So I let go of my question.

2.  The owner of Panos Langemunt.  A smile covered his face.  He pointed upstairs, where “additional seating” resides.  I had no idea that eternal secrets were above a coffee shop.  Next time I must sit up there … and let wisdom waft over me.

3.  My friend Arjen, who’s a barista at Izy Coffee.  He pointed out the big windows.  “Turn left on that street, go straight for 200 metres, then head right down an alley.  At the end, you’ll find the universe.”

I walked into the first street and looked back at Arjen through the window.  Once I’d made eye contact with him, I pointed down the street.  He nodded and laughed.  I started walking …

4.  My friend Boaz, who was sitting in Izy.  “It’s all around us, and at least 15,000 kilometres away.”  Alrighty then.  It’ll be a long and expensive flight but I’m willing to go.  I bet the universe is hiding somewhere in the terminal of my destination.

5.  My friend Glenn, who works at the Soup Lounge.  He took his first finger and pressed it to my chest.

***

And there you have it

Oh … what a title!  What a struggle to simply say “Yes” to this statement.  And I honour myself for living the journey.

I love singing.  It’s easy (except for the memorizing).

I love playing the cello.  It’s difficult (period).

On Saturday I will be playing a piece called Andante at a concert of cello students.  In my moment, it will be just Frederick and me on the stage.  He’s my oh so patient accompanist.  I’ll be naked to the eyes of the audience.

I first placed the cello between my legs when I was 12.  I quit when I was 18.  I began again when I was 74.  Time flies …

The cello has such a deep tone, especially on the lower strings.  In the hands of a master, like Yo Yo Ma, it sings.  In my hands, there are moments of sweetness surrounded by many wrong notes and sometimes a grating sound on the strings.  Far from mastery.

What Yo Yo and I share is the passion for the instrument’s sound, and for touching the people listening.  Can I bring that passion to the stage on Saturday, “come hell or high water”?

(A bit of trembling)

Yes

“Success” is an elusive word for me.  Still, what if I declare success when I play with my head up, my body swaying a bit, my fingers pressed lovingly into the strings, my essence flowing into the audience?

I so declare

For years I’ve asked myself a question …

What is extra in my life?

As in not needed, superfluous, not within the core of who I am.  Hmm … It feels like I wrote about this a few days ago.  Oh well.  It sings to me today.

The question keeps returning.  So it must be important.  Some one is demanding that I keep looking.

The image that comes is skin cells flaking off.  Gradually losing the shape of a human being.  My body getting smaller … and my being getting larger.

What would my life be like if I dropped all sorts of stuff?  Such as …

1.  The question “How am I doing?” 

Today I start by not looking at my sleep app, not assessing the quality of my night time.  And also not checking my phone to see how many views of my blog post I got yesterday.

2.  Drinking beer

The result has become predictable  >  I feel nauseous and bloated.  Plus I don’t sleep well.

3.  Walking the streets with my head down

I miss so much doing this.  Such as the faces of everyone who passes by.   And the glorious rooves of ancient buildings.

4.  Watching TV shows with violence and shallow relationships

C’mon, Bruce!  What’s the purpose of that?

Oh … I just remembered the title of my recent post about all this: “Consolation”.  I won’t re-read it.

5.  Conversations in which we don’t share what’s important in our lives

Woh … that’s a lot of extra talk!  And does this mean that I’ll be silent with most human beings, because they want to stay on the surface?

6.  Watching CNN for the latest Trump news

This is political porn, looking for the latest outrageous thing said or done.  No.

***

Of course this discussion invites another question:

What’s left?

And the answer comes:

A lot

Milano-Sanremo is one of the biggest cycling races of the year, and later today I’ll be glued to my TV for first the women’s and then the men’s journeys.

I don’t understand the history of gender issues, and why men still dominate the world.  Yes, the physiology of the two sexes is different but why have men been labelled Number 1 and women Number 2?

Today’s editon of Milano-Sanremo will be the 116th for the men … and 1st for the women!  It’s been such a struggle for so many committed people to bring Milano-Sanremo Women into existence.

And consider the distances: 156 kilometres for the women, 289 for the men.  “The weaker sex?”  Nonsense. 

Plus even the names of the races: Milano-Sanremo and Milano-Sanremo Women.  In the first case, the word “Men” needs to be added.

***

Okay, enough of the speech.

I love stuff that’s brand new.  Such as today’s women’s race.  The riders appreciate that March 22, 2025 will be a date in cycling history:

I’m definitely feeling really lucky to be part of this historical return of San Remo, there’s barely a big name missing from the start list, other than Anna van der Breggen, I think, so I’m really excited.

(Cat Ferguson)

[A women’s race called La Primavera Rosa was held along essentially the same route from 1999 till 2005]

I think [having a women’s Sanremo] is a big achievement.  Honestly, in the last five years, we were really fighting for a full calendar and now I think we miss only a few races and this one is a really important one.  Everyone wants to win on Saturday because you can be in the history winning Sanremo, especially after 20 years without the race, so I think it’s going to be a big fight.

(Elisa Balsamo)

SMILE cause we are racing Milano-Sanremo Donne tomorrow!!!!!  I’m beyond grateful for experiencing the change, the growth and development of women’s cycling!  It’s been such a fulfilling journey and to be having more opportunities to race the Monuments [the most historic and prestigious races] – races with a big history – means a world to us!!

(Kasia Niewiadoma)

It’s incredible to be part of this special moment for the modern women’s peloton and, honestly, last year I could not have imagined being here.  I have really been reminded of how much I love cycling, and I know, even though it’s going to be hard, I will enjoy every moment of the race on Saturday.

(Shirin van Anrooij)

As an Italian and the Italian champion, it will be an honour for me to take part in this race, which has a unique charm.  Sanremo is something special, part of cycling history, and I think racing it, tackling those legendary roads, will be an incredible experience for all of us.

(Elisa Longo Borghini)

***

It’s time to wake up

Women and men

Men and women