Nine days ago, I wrote about a new piece my teacher Lieven has given me – an unnamed “étude” … Number 17. A piece that is meant to teach a technical aspect of playing the cello.
I usually struggle with the notes and finger positions. Lieven emphasizes listening to the melody, letting it have its way with me, allowing it to seep inside my pores. He offered to record himself playing the two-minute piece and send it to me on WhatsApp. He kept his word.
I replied: “Thank you, Lieven.”
And he replied: “Graag gedaan, Bruce.”
I didn’t know what that meant … so Google Translate to the rescue.
The first translation: “You’re welcome”
Of course. Being polite.
The second translation: “Don’t mention it”
I know what people mean when they say this: “It’s not a big deal” or “No thank you is needed.”
But I got to thinkin’ as I looked at those three words. Of how often we human beings don’t say things that we want to say. We stay silent, perhaps worried about how the other person would respond.
I’m not saying to speak in a cruel way. A friend has gained weight and you say “You’re fat.” No.
I think we people need to express, to say things that are important to us. And ask the other one what they’re interested in.
On Thursday evening, I hosted eight friends in my living room. We read the play “Our Town” by Thornton Wilder. We had fun. Maybe none of us had experienced the play before. We jumped into the dialogue and the characters … brand new interpretations of both.
The photo is from the Internet, rather than the real us.
Much of “Our Town” centres on the love between George Gibbs and Emily Webb as the three acts unfold. Teenagers … brand new adults … and nine years later.
Before we started, I told my friends that Emily’s words in Act Three particularly moved me. I offered the group the opportunity to be Emily for the last part of the play. Three of us wanted to take it on. I wrote a number between one and ten on my pad and had them guess. Witold got to be Emily.
Spoiler Alert
George and Emily married in Act Two. Such love! In Act Three, Emily has just died in childbirth. As a dead person, she says some amazing things to Mrs. Gibbs, who has also died. They’re watching the living people lead their lives … in the present and in the past.
Wilder knew much about life. Emily speaks for him.
Live people don’t understand, do they?
They’re sort of shut up in little boxes, aren’t they? I feel as though I knew them last a thousand years ago.
Look! Father Gibbs is bringing some of my flowers to you. He looks just like George, doesn’t he? Oh, Mother Gibbs, I never realized before how troubled and how … how in the dark live persons are. Look at him. I loved him so. From morning till night, that’s all they are … troubled.
I can go and live … back there … again.
I choose my twelfth birthday.
Oh, that’s the town I knew as a little girl. And look, there’s the old white fence that used to be around our house. Oh, I’d forgotten that! Oh, I love it so! Are they inside?
Mama, I’m here! Oh! How young Mama looks! I didn’t know Mama was ever that young.
I can’t bear it. They’re so young and beautiful. Why did they ever have to get old? Mama, I’m here. I’m grown up. I love you all. Everything. I can’t look at everything hard enough. Good morning, Mama.
(Mrs. Webb) But birthday or no birthday, I want you to eat your breakfast good and slow. I want you to grow up and be a good strong girl. That in the blue paper is from your Aunt Carrie. And I reckon you can guess who brought the post-card album. I found it on the doorstep when I brought in the milk … George Gibbs … must have come over in the cold pretty early … right nice of him.
(Emily) Oh, George!I’d forgotten that …
Oh, Mama, just look at me one minute as though you really saw me. Mama, fourteen years have gone by. I’m dead. You’re a grandmother, Mama. I married George Gibbs, Mama … Butjust for a moment now we’re all together. Mama, just for a moment we’re happy.Let’s look at one another.
I can’t. I can’t go on. It goes so fast. We don’t have time to look at one another.
Good-by. Good-by world. Good-by, Grover’s Corners … Mama and Papa. Good-by to clocks ticking … and Mama’s sunflowers. And food and coffee. And new-ironed dresses and hot baths … and sleeping and waking up. Oh, earth, you’re too wonderful for anybody to realize you.
Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it … every, every minute?
Over the decades, I’ve had this obsession with being thin … but I never got there.
This morning, in the spirit of choosing a t-shirt to wear, I came upon one of my favourites. It was just the recipe to loosen up my fat.
Voilà the photo!
With an immense amount of “weight” energy in my rear view mirror, I decided to leave it where it belongs … in the past.
I have a nice tummy. While the barista Arjen presents his six-pack to me, I’m beginning to revel in my one-pack. After all, I really like curves.
So into Izy Coffee I strolled, eager to demonstrate the wonders of the human body. I knew five customers who were sitting there – Michelle, Boaz, Geert, Tita and Jacques. I faced each of them in turn, removed the creases from my t-shirt message, and stuck out my stomach. Some laughs returned to me, some stares.
The truth?
In those moments …
I was free
Yes, I will continue going to the gym and walk a lot in the streets of Gent. I will stay healthy. And I will love my tummy.
As I was walking towards Minard last night for the open mic session, my heart was wide open. The bigness of life surrounded me. All was well.
Inside I introduced myself to Kevin, the host for the evening. He seemed like a nice guy. I enjoyed talking to the fellow beside me and the couple behind. I sipped my ginger beer and watched the music and poetry of the first three performers.
And then a break, after which eight of us would take turns standing onstage for three minutes during the open mic part of the evening.
My heart was reaching out to whomever I beheld. Soon it was my turn at the microphone … and I began loving the whole audience. Thoughts such as “How well will I do?” were far, far away.
I said a few words about John Denver, who wrote the song I was about to sing: “Spring/Summer”. I invited the ones sitting before me to sing the chorus, and demoed the words …
Oh, I love the life within me I feel a part of everything I see And oh, I love the life around me A part of everything is here in me
Time to begin.
(Ten seconds of me silently gazing at the audience)
I smiled
“I forgot the words of the first line”
(Ten more seconds)
I raise my index finger
“I remember the words!”
And I sang
***
Those were precious moments at the beginning. I stayed open within the not-remembering. I didn’t go to “I’m bad.” I trusted that life onstage would work out, that the universe would provide … and it did.
***
I’d noticed that for some previous open mic performers, Kevin had walked to the front and sat on the stage as the three minutes approached. Once he stood up, right beside the performer. The signal for “Time’s up.”
My turn. Here he comes. A smile within the singing.
Kevin sitting on the stage. Me singing the last verse (to be followed by the chorus).
Kevin standing up and sidling up to me as these words were about to emerge:
And oh, I love the life around me A part of everything is here in me
A tiny part of my brain thought of turning to Kevin and singing the final words to him but I’d be turning away from the microphone, and the audience wouldn’t hear.
So I kept facing forward, put my hand on Kevin’s shoulder, and heard myself sing a new final line:
On Saturday Lydia and her daughter Lore visited me. Eight years ago, I met Lydia on a hiking trail in Canada. We became friends. She showed me Gent. I fell in love with the city. I moved from Canada to Belgium.
So Lydia is the reason I’m here!
Lydia stayed overnight on Saturday. We went to a marvelous Italian restaurant called Osteria for dinner. The food was sublime, but came second to the conversation.
Before dinner, we saw my neighbour Dirk in the stairway. We laughed together. And … Dirk invited us for breakfast.
Sunday morning, a fine time was had by all. And the same thing as Saturday night: excellent food, more excellent talk.
As we roamed wide through the experiences of our lives, Dirk told us about the advice he gave his young sons long ago. Dirk is a storyteller. I sat there transfixed.
He painted a picture of the conversation: dad animated, lots of gestures, a passionate voice. Here’s Dirk’s advice:
1. Don’t Judge
You don’t walk in the other person’s shoes. You don’t know what their childhood was like. Have they been nurtured or diminished? It’s fair to comment on how another person’s behaviour has hurt you … but do not throw them out of your heart.
2. Travel
The tendency is strong to say “My way is the way” or “My people are better than their people.” The trouble is, if you never sit down and talk to someone whose background is way different than yours, the beauty of “difference” will remain hidden. So get out there in the world and look around. If you don’t have the money or health to take planes and trains … read. Authors, cultures, fiction/non-fiction – travel!
3. Stay Horny!
And not just sexual. What are your yearnings? Follow them. Go towards what moves you and let go of experiences that leave you “flat” or wounded. Think of your deathbed: Please … no regrets, just smiles that roll over the span of a life – people loved, places embraced, moments of wonder.
I’m taking two medications to kill the fungus in my esophagus. It’s often made it difficult to swallow.
One of the two is a liquid called Nilstat, or Nystatine, to be taken four times a day. A few weeks ago, my pharmacist told me that Nilstat wasn’t available, so she gave me Nystatine – identical.
Yesterday I realized that my bottle of Nystatine would be empty at the end of today, so I headed to Apotheek Sluizeken.
Anne-Marie stared into her computer screen and said “They’ve stopped production of Nystatine, and Nilstat will be available next Tuesday, or maybe a bit later.”
Oops.
The notes accompanying the Nystatine bottle made it clear: “Make sure you have enough for the weekend, when pharmacies may be closed. This medication needs to be taken every day to be effective.”
Anne-Marie suggested I go to Coop Pharmacy nearby to see if any of their many stores has my meds. So I did. Inge, another lovely pharmacist, spent half-an-hour looking for a solution.
There was no Nilstat or Nystatine in any of their pharmacies in Gent. Finally Inge found a bottle in Oostkamp, near Bruges. She phoned, and the pharmacy agreed to hold it for me. Since the rest of yesterday was full, I knew this would be a Saturday train to Oostkamp. The pharmacy closes at 1:00 pm and it was a thirty-minute walk from the train station. Doable. And so I planned my morning.
Catch the tram at 9:53 at Gent Sluizeken. Train to Oostkamp at 10:43. Piece of cake.
9:40. I leave my home for the tram stop. I decide to take a route that goes by the big windows of Apotheek Sluizeken. Legs churning. “I have enough time.”
I catch a glimpse of someone moving inside the pharmacy and decide when I get to an unobstructed window I’ll wave. And there was Ann, another lovely pharmacist, waving her arms and jumping up and down. Come in!
So I did, with the seconds to tram arrival counting down in my head. “A box arrived this morning!” Ann said, as her hand ripped through the cardboard.
Et voilà … out jumped a bottle of Nystatine!
Yesterday Ann had found a pharmacy somewhere in Belgium that had my medication, and had it couriered here.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you, Ann!”
Postscript: I went back to Coop and talked to Inge. She’ll have the pharmacy in Oostkamp send their bottle to her. So I’ll be all set for the next two weeks.
Learning to play the cello again is more of an art than a science. Sadly, I’m still struggling with the details, and less often seeing the wide open sky.
I know five positions – places to locate my fingers on the neck of the instrument. Of perhaps I should say “know of” rather than a deep knowing of the soul.
When I’m learning a new piece, my teacher Lieven wants me to soon leave behind the technical … and fall into the melody, feeling it in my fingers. A major challenge!
Last week, Lieven was working with my fellow student Xan and demonstrated playing an étude for him (a study), with a lot of moving between positions. My ears and eyes turned to the melody. It soared. I fell in love. And I knew I’d be playing it, that I’d be soaring too. Figuring out the positions – yes – but also entering the realm of angels.
The étude doesn’t have a name. I don’t know who wrote it.
I studied hard and still I was confused – especially with dictation, where the teacher says a two-bar rhythm of notes and we write it down. Some of the examples were in 2/4 time and some in 6/8. So far, I’m pretty bad at this.
The exam was from 10:00 till noon today. At 8:30 I started roaming around Gent centrum, finding staff members I know at various eateries and shops. I asked them to pray for me, or at least send me good vibes at some point during the two hours.
They all said yes. Here are the prayer power folks:
Glenn in Soup Lounge
Dominique in Panos
Paul in the Press Shop
Lies in Izy Coffee
Sévrine in The Cobbler
That’s a lot of well-wishing!
I also had the ongoing support from the Core group of the Evolutionary Collective … even though none of them knew about the exam. And the same from many friends in Belgium and Canada.
Before the exam started, I looked around at the other seven students and silently sent them my love. I wonder if anyone noticed. If not, that’s okay … I sent it.
I needed every minute of the two hours. I found most of the exam extremely difficult. My confusion about dictation continued on its not-so-merry way.
I may have passed and I may have failed. Either way, I’m proud of myself. I did my best, week after week, to absorb lessons that were spoken and written in Dutch. I’m just scratching the surface in my understanding of the language. Thank God for classmates Jan, Veronique, Gudrun and Isabelle. They’ve helped me figure things out (some things).
This afternoon I knew I needed to study. I’m also sick with some stomach thing.
Wednesday is my Music Theory exam, and I find the learnings difficult to achieve. It seems like many others in the course are far more able. Oh well.
So I studied for two hours today, especially about hearing intricate rhythms and transferring them to paper. This amid the nausea.
In my better moments, I ventured far beyond little old me. I thought of all the people throughout history who have grappled with the same study/sick dilemma.
And all among our current eight billion souls who know the story well.
And … just maybe … there was someone in India and another in Ecuador this afternoon who were dealing with the same challenge in real time with me.
Bruce's Blog 