I woke up this morning with the desire to dance … in a long golden dress.
I have little experience with this type of garment – basically just going to a screening of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. But so what? Men also get to pirouette.
See the gracious turn, with the fabric following in agreement. The right arm lifted high. The grand staircase awaiting our arrival.
Here’s another rendition of the moment:
The breeze blows. The stars and halo may be within or without. Either way, the being glows as she and he are taken.
Partway through this morning’s Music Theory class, our teacher walked us to a school courtyard, where we’d need to go if there was a fire.
As the group of us headed to our destination, a young woman who’d been sitting near me came up and said “Tell me about your life.”
I was stopped … and thoroughly pleased. Very few people have asked me this. Been curious about my adventures.
As we stood in the courtyard waiting for instructions, I opened my mouth and remembered the important stuff. I love telling stories.
Back in class, I leaned over to her and said “Thank you for asking.”
My new friend told me that her parents taught her to teach out to people. Good parents.
My version with people usually comes out as “Tell me what’s important to you.” I too seek to know the other human being.
I think of the magnificent John Denver song “Islands”:
And the mighty blue ocean Keeps rolling on every shore Like the spirit that binds us together We are so much more than islands
***
Thank you for the moment of asking
Dear fellow student of music
Deep down, all of us just want someone to notice us Notice when we’re hurting Notice when we’re scared Notice when we’re happy Notice when we’re brave
My daughter gave me her school progress report. It was full of good check marks, except for one that stood out.
“How am I doing, Mom?” she asked, looking up at me. Her glasses were a little crooked and smudged. She pointed to her teacher’s comment next to the one different check mark.
It said: “Distracted in large groups.”
But I already knew that. I had seen it since she was a little girl. She has always been very aware of the world around her.
After telling her all the good things on the report, I gently read her the comment. She gave a small smile and said quietly, “I do look around a lot.”
Before she could feel bad, I knelt down to look into her eyes. I didn’t just want her to hear what I was about to say—I wanted her to feel it.
“Yes,” I said. “You do look around a lot. You noticed when Sam was sitting alone with a skinned knee on the field trip, and you went to help him.
You noticed that Banjo had a runny nose, and the vet said it was good we brought him in early.
You noticed how hard our waitress was working and said we should give her a bigger tip.
You noticed Grandpa walking slowly and chose to stay with him.
And every time we cross the bridge to swim practice, you notice the view.”
Then I smiled and said, “And you know what? I never want you to stop noticing. That’s your special gift. It’s something you bring to the world.”
Her face lit up with pride. In that moment, I saw how powerful her way of seeing the world really is.
Because deep down, all of us just want someone to notice us. Notice when we’re hurting. Notice when we’re scared. Notice when we’re happy. Notice when we’re brave.
And the person who notices—that person is a rare and beautiful gift.
My urge to put finger to screen has faded away again. It’s a mystery … neither good nor bad. The yearning just walks away, without any decision or intention. Apparently without any me.
I trust in the rhythms of my life. Expanding … contracting … expanding again …
It’s only been five days, and I am sitting with my phone once more, composing a phrase or two. Something short is a beginning.
***
A friend sent me this photo, one among many. Although there’s an orange and a pink on the edges, mostly the image is black and brown.
Although the woman is throwing her body around in gay abandon, mostly the image is vertical and stationary.
I sat in Jaggers on the Vrijdagmarkt this morning. It’s my favourite breakfast place. Franky, Zita, Jo, Karin and Jill treat me so well.
There’s a sign that has been with me for two years, but one that I’ve never absorbed:
Good Food Good Mood
First of all it’s true. Add in kind service and a friend or two and you have a fine meal out.
But today I’m also seeing something else. The four words have the same “oo” spelling but for two of them the sound is “uh”. For the other two it sounds just like it looks – “oo”.
I think of someone learning English. And the question comes … “Why?” I’ve said the same during my efforts to learn Dutch.
Now broader. “I don’t know” has gradually crept into my life, and now it burns bright. In the big questions, such as “Who am I?” and “Where am I?” But also in the sense of not having the knowledge or skill to do something, such as learning a language.
And then there’s empathy. Although “Good Food Good Mood” rolls off my tongue so easily, other folks may just stare. Incomprehensible pronunciation.
The most common word in English is “the”, followed closely by other function words like “be”, “to”, “of” and “and”. These words are essential for sentence structure and form the backbone of everyday communication.
Good to know.
And you’ll be pleased to discover that I consistently misspell Word Number One.
Most of my writing is done on the device I’m holding: a Samsung S25 phone.
As you can see, spelling t-h-e is a simple thing. Start with “t”, then down to the right at a 45° angle for the “h”, finishing with the “e” way to the left and up a bit. Piece of cake.
I have no problem with the first and last, but the middle consistently eludes me. And the word becomes …
tge
There’s a lesson here. Right now it seems obvious, but maybe nothing in life is truly that. So I will leave the question unanswered in print.
On October 23, 2014 I wrote about the Tibetan Buddhist practice of tonglen in these pages. Eleven years later, I return.
A silly thought just came … Will I write about tonglen as well as I did years ago?
Who cares? “Good writing” just isn’t important. May my heart be in the words then and now.
A week ago I felt tonglen re-emerge … in a meditation session. I knew once more that the in-breath was for drawing forth the pain of us worldly beings. The out-breath was for pouring love into us all.
I thought of a few friends who are suffering right now. In came the sadness, the hurt, the despair. They dissolved in my heart. Out went love to the dear ones … and to everyone.
Love, peace, happiness – they’re all fine words. And each of us is deserving of them. I contribute to their unfurling.
Now it’s Izy Coffee. Big windows. Humans within and without. I breathe in, not knowing the stories of their lives. And I breathe out, something good pouring from above, filling their blood vessels, muscles and organs.
Rita MacNeil was a Canadian singer-songwriter whose huge soul accompanied her large body. She spoke to me in songs such as “Working Man” and “Home I’ll Be”.
One of her compositions has especially resonated within me for decades. It speaks of something that won’t make sense for many young people: staying at home.
Yes, there is joy in getting out there in the world and seeing what’s there. In wondering what’s around that corner. Exploring. Perhaps being “a stranger in a strange land” … not knowing where to go or how to be.
Rita sings about Cape Breton Island, on Canada’s Atlantic coast. So many of her friends headed to the bright lights of Toronto, seeking more.
And I’ve seen you at the station With your arms outstretched and waiting To welcome home the travellers Who went searching after dreams
And they never fail to mention How your life’s been one dimension And you smile at good intentions Knowing well they’ll never see
Rita stayed. Generations of Islanders spread before her. Yes, she sang concerts in big cities but she still lived in Big Pond on Cape Breton. She knew her friends and neighbours.
And you never left the old ties When the changing winds came by You walked beside the old mill Turned your eyes upon the green hills
I have wandered from Canada to Belgium. Gent is now home. It’s no longer London, Ontario. Rita and I are not the same.
Although I’ve chosen roaming, I deeply respect Rita’s choice to stay.
In the heart that never wanders Lies a peace that comes with morning It’s knowing when the day is done You’ve realized your dreams
This time my friend and I (and her cat) didn’t visit the dementia unit. I was disappointed, but there were other fine human beings to say “Hi” to.
What I remember in life are moments rather than long stretches of time. And the residents of the home provide me with many.
One woman (I’ll call her Angelina) was delighted to see the kitty cat. I watched as her eyes and smile went wide and her hand reached forward. The again and again of skin on fur.
And Angelina’s radio was playing Toto’s “Africa” …
I bless the rains down in Africa Gonna take some time to do the things we never had, ooh-hoo Hurry boy, she’s waiting there for you
The eyes, the kitty, the tune
The words, the voices raised as one
It was magic.
Next it was “Monique” of the bright eyes. She loved that I loved the plaque that stood at her bedside … mother and child.
Monique’s glasses had disappeared a few days ago, and she couldn’t see the glorious display of family photos on the side wall. I was sad for her.
On the wall behind another woman hung a portrait of a girl. It looked like a very old photo. “Is that you?” I asked. Upon translation, she replied “No, that’s my grandson.” Now he’s a young adult.
Oops. Being wrong one more time. And I can live with that quite nicely.
We ended our visit in the cafeteria. It was full of residents and kids of 10 or so, playing bingo together. The occupational therapist running the show gave lots of girls and boys the chance to call a number into the microphone.
How marvelous … the very young and the very old, enjoying each other’s presence.
Here’s a picture of me on the Torso Rotation machine at Basic-Fit Korenmarkt.
Okay, I lied. (About the me part)
It’s one of the thirteen exercises I do on my strength training days. I have an app called Hevy which charts my progress about the weight I lift for each one.
Ah yes … that seductive word progress. In the spirit of “More, better and different”.
What do I want? Simply to be healthy. And to continue living in my apartment till I’m 90 (14 more years). I’m about 50 steps up from street level and my building doesn’t have an elevator. So I need to be strong. Bulky muscles don’t interest me. Instead I love my red living room walls.
Back to Torso Rotation. Over the last month, alarm bells have been ringing but I only heard them yesterday. I have been seduced. Since July, I’ve watched with pride as the weight lifted rose from 40 to 130 pounds. “Strong man”, my mind whispered. “Getting close to the territory of the big guys!” (Actually, that wasn’t true)
The alarm sounded because my movements were sudden jerks, not the smooth flow that my Canadian trainer taught me. I was going too fast left and right. And I was banging the weights! Loud. That’s a major no-no, disrespectful of other gym patrons.
So yesterday the epiphany: Do it right, Bruce. Proper form. A natural rhythm. Cut the weight in half and see what happens.
I chose 60 pounds. And I flowed. I felt the stretch in the obliques (muscles on the sides of the abdomen). I was … home.
Hevy told me that the total weight I lifted yesterday for all exercises was about 2000 pounds less than a few days ago. I smiled. “So what?” The rhythm was back, plus the slow contraction and expansion of muscle.
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