One from the morning, one from the afternoon.  One “lost in space”.  One joyous.  Both brilliantly intense.

1.  My music theory class

I arrived back in Gent from Canada on Monday.  I’ll call Tuesday Day One of Jet Lag.  It withered me.  Last night I slept ten hours, the same as Monday.

Day Two of Jet Lag has been worse!  I sure didn’t expect that.  I went to The Cobbler for breakfast and asked three staff members if I should go to my late morning Music Theory class. Two said yes, one no.  I went.

Our teacher would say a two-bar rhythm of notes and our job was to transcribe them.  I’m usually bad at this.  Today it was impossible.  Contrast my spinning head with the precision of listening needed.  It was remarkably intense.  Intense bad.  The flesh and the mind were weak. 

I recognized that those moments were stunning, brilliantly lit, shouting at me to appreciate them – despite the angst.  Within the wobble, I did my best to do so.

2.  La Flèche Wallonne Féminine bicycle race

The afternoon brought a 140-kilometre cycling race on TV.  My favourite rider, Puck Pieterse, was racing.  She’s spontaneous, kind to her opponents, alive.  And I love her red hair.

The last kilometre climbs a steep street (the Mur de Huy) which has an average gradient of 9.7%.  Puck sprinted past Demi Vollering, whom many people say is the best female cyclist in the world.  And Puck won!

I yelled “Puck!” as the finish line approached.  And then I cried.  My hero won.

***

Two moments

Apparently one better than the other

But maybe not

Since both were brimming with life

I just had the thought: “You have jet lag.  Don’t write in your blog today.”  It was immediately replaced by: “Write your blog while you have jet lag.”  I choose the second one.

First of all, any thought about the quality of today’s writing is drifting away.  It’s not important.  I barely have the oomph to proofread.  Oh well … I’ll write something.

I flew overnight on Sunday from Toronto to Brussels, arriving about 8:00 am on Monday.  No sleep on the plane.  At the airport I was in a lineup for Customs for over an hour and I couldn’t have cared less.  I even talked with an American guy in line about US politics.  And that’s so unlike me.  Maybe I should fly overnight more often, just to see what version of Bruce shows up.

After taking the train to Gent, it was time for a tram.  I stood at Perron 20 for seemingly endless minutes until someone told me that it was the wrong stop for Tram 4 – it had moved to Perron 18 in my absence.  Such discussions met a mind that was slowly fading away.

At last home in my apartment building.  My suitcase was pretty close to the 23 kilogram limit and I knew that the fifty steps up to my apartment was far too much for this dreary body and mind.  I went into the Bento House restaurant on the ground floor and asked Li to carry my bag upstairs.  I knew he would help me, and he was happy to.  A good neighbour.

(A little voice just said “Stop writing.  Tell them you’ll continue tomorrow.”  A response came, with respect: “No.”)

I know the prevailing wisdom about jet lag: “Stay awake as long as you can into the evening of the new place.”  I set a goal of 9:00 pm.  It seemed like approximately forever into the future.

I needed to eat.  And so came a meal at Lunchroom Martens.  It was so busy that there was no chance to talk to hosts Fran and Lieve … and I needed to talk.

Next I dropped into Jagger’s, one of my favourite breakfast places.  Thank God Franky had a few minutes to talk.  I stumbled through my words but at least they came.  Speaking, listening – I know how to do those things.

(Oh boy.  Why am I doing this?  Fuzzy head leads to fuzzy words?  Okay … that’s better than no words.)

Back at home.  “How do I stay awake till 9?  I know.  I’ll go to the CNN app and read what Donald Trump has to say.  That should jolt me awake!”  And it worked.

As the sun’s decline accompanied my own, I decided to watch a movie.  That should work as well.  I chose War Games on Prime Video.  It was the story of a teenaged guy who accidentally hacked into a US military site and started a “game” which the government thought was real: the Soviet Union was sending missiles our way!  I saw the flick maybe twenty years ago and magically remembered some of the dialogue.  I shook my head at the marvels of an older, exhausted human brain.

Movie done at 9:20.  Body horizontal at 9:25.  Sleep.

***

I did it!  All this writing, I mean.  Hope you enjoyed my meanderings.

I’m remembering big moments from my Toronto youth.  And I like sharing them.

1.  I stood a few days ago before a stone arch at the University of Toronto.  Here came two young women.  I asked if I could tell them a story about what happened there 55 years ago.  They smiled and said yes.

I was a university student heading from one class to the next.  I looked through the arch and saw a little old man coming towards me from the other side.  “Is that who I think it is?”  Yes, it was Lester Pearson, who had recently been succeeded as Canada’s Prime Minister by Pierre Trudeau.  Pearson had not only led Canada.  He was also an international voice in peacekeeping.

“Say something, Bruce!  Thank him.”

Closer we came

Within speaking distance

And I averted my eyes

The sadness of that 1970 moment lingers in 2025.

The two women got it.  And my last words?  “Say hi if you see Lester.”

2.  Here is a marvelous space for people at the U of T:

Volleyball, standin’ around, sittin’ around.  In the background there’s a domed building.  I remember it well.

In the spirit of conversation, I walked up to a group of students – about five men and two women.

“I was a student here 55 years ago.  May I tell you a funny story about Convocation Hall?”  Instant smiles.

“I took first year psychology in that building, along with about 600 classmates.  The prof was boring.  My friends and I didn’t like him.”

“Above us was a domed ceiling.  Unknown to me, there was a  small horizontal door at the very top.  Someone devious and adventurous had found a room, or a crawl space, above the door.  Somehow they had hauled copious amounts of water up there.”

“Suddenly there was a torrent descending!  A direct hit on the poor guy as he stood at the podium.”

“Hopefully he wasn’t scarred for life.”

My companions laughed and laughed.  Contact across the generations.

***

There were other examples of my loose lips over the past few days but two should suffice.

Yes, it’s been a flood of sweet water, flowing from so many human beings.  About twenty beloveds over the past two weeks, welcoming me back to Canada.  I’ve sat 1-1 with many.  Those are my favourite moments in life.  Next is being alone.

You could say that I “bit off more than I could chew” but I was determined to embrace all who I love in the Toronto and London areas … and I kept my word to myself.

Too much food entered my body, since everyone saw meals as an expression of giving.  Naturally so.

I was committed to being “present” for each soul behind every doorbell.  And I was.

The fatigue grew but my heart stayed strong.  Each person deserved the real me.

My blogging fell away.  I watched it go and waved goodbye.  I’m no Superman.

Yesterday were my last lunch and dinner with friends in London, Ontario.  Today I’m back at the bed and breakfast of my dear Toronto friends Anne and Ihor.  Right now I’m blessedly alone in the parkland of Toronto Island, welcoming the return of my writing finger.

Tomorrow evening my plane lifts from Toronto.  Monday morning it descends into Brussels.  Home in Ghent by 12:00 pm Central European Time.  There’ll be a smiling adventure in my rear view mirror.

There is more to write.  Tomorrow morning you’ll hear from me again.

We were great friends in elementary school and then lost touch in high school.  The last few years, a small group of my Bedford Park Public School classmates has been getting together for annual reunions.  I didn’t go, but I became aware of Craig again, even though I couldn’t figure out which one he was in the group photo.

And now there’s today.  Craig and I met for lunch at EggSmart on Toronto’s Weston Road.  We hugged and smiled on meeting.

Two twelve-year-olds had morphed into two seventy-six-year-olds.  We talked of our adult lives, with Craig educating me about concert promoting and writing a column.  Very cool.  He told me that when he was choosing a career path, this was the order of his priorities:

1.  It’s fun.

2.  It’s satisfying.

3.  It produces enough income for enjoyable living.

At some point, the concerts were no longer fun … so writing became the new path.  Very cool again.

And then there was the past.  Craig remembered when I was stretching to catch a football pass and smashed into a cement post.  He thought I was dead.  (Not true!)

I remembered shooting arrows with Craig in his driveway and embedding an arrow into his cheek.  (Also not true.  It never happened!)  He had hit another kid with an arrow in the back lane.  So much for my memory gland.

We laughed so much, discovering that we’ve become two happy people.  Yes, there have been health challenges for each of us, but our spirit is far larger than them.

Craig asked me not include his picture in this post but seemed pleased that I was going to write about our meal in EggSmart.  Me too.

***

Finding each other

Renewing our friendship

Celebrating our lives

There are so many fine human beings in my Canadian world.  I would love to write about each of them but I don’t have the energy to compose much.  So just drink in the faces of these dear ones.

In my last post I mentioned that I’d be sure to get a pic of Mary and Tim in the morning.  Guess what?  I didn’t.  Nor a photo of Eddie.  Nor of Dinah Lee.  Nor Pat or Alyaa.  I am a thoroughly imperfect human being.

But here are the kind souls who have recently graced my phone camera …

Bruce and Lyrinda

Elaine, Mario and Stella

Koula and Dennis

Adele and Bruce

Rowan, Bruce and Jaclyn

Kevin and Julia

Yes to all of us

Let’s just say that things haven’t worked out as I planned.  I thought it would be easy to write a blog post every day.  Nope.  Once I travelled down the 401 Highway from Toronto to the London area, so began a flurry of visits with the beloveds. 

I really overscheduled myself, in the spirit of including everyone I care about.  By the end of the day on Tuesday, I was toast … exhausted.  So many fine conversations and so little down time.  Same with Wednesday.  Also Thursday.

I’m writing something here so you don’t think I’m dead.  My hectic round of visitors will continue till the end of Wednesday.  Hopefully I won’t be comatose by that time.  But I will be good to all the friends who offer me their living room and perhaps bedroom.

I had intended to tell you about cool things that friends said over the past few days … but now I can’t remember them.  What I do have are photos, so here goes:

Cam and Ann

Linda, Maxine, Barb and Chrystal

Matthew and Lyrinda

And I forgot to take pictures of Linda and Tony, and of Pat, and of Arika.  Sorry, folks.

Tonight I’m sleeping in the home of Mary and Tim.  I’ll be sure to get a pic tomorrow morning.

I need sleep

I know you understand

It snowed last night here in Richmond Hill, and the white stuff has decided to linger.  Not what I was expecting in April.  Hopefully it’ll be gone tomorrow when I’m driving 200 kilometres west to London.

Cam and Ann own a home in Richmond Hill, which is attached to Toronto.  They also have a cottage in Lion’s Head, a village 240 kilometres to the north.

Richmond Hill has 220,000 souls, Lion’s Head 300.  The first says “city”.  The second says “home”.  Since the home is still buried in winter, here we are in the south.

Cam, Ann and I all love telling stories.  I often say to myself “Be quiet, Bruce.  The other person has stories too.  Let them speak.”  Thank you, wise voice.  You’re right.

So it was Cam’s turn.  This winter was brutal in Lion’s Head – there were many days windy and cold, say -10 Celsius.  When you add in the effect of wind, that temperature feels like -20.

Then there were days of deep snow, even a metre of it.  One time, Cam and Ann had attached a utility trailer to their car and were trying to back it from their lot to the road.  It was slightly uphill and icy.  Try as they did, it didn’t work.  A local man walking by whom they didn’t know tried to help for an hour, unsuccessfully.  But what amazing generosity.

Another time, the main roads were closed and only snowmobiles could move on them.  Blowing snow, close to zero visibility.  Cam and Ann had somehow driven to the highway to see what condition it was in … CLOSED.  As they stood beside their car figuring things out, a snowmobiler stopped and asked if they were all right.  He also told them that their hood was up a bit.  He put it down and said goodbye.  Neighbourly.

Lion’s Head is a family.  Ann goes to line dancing at the Community Centre.  There’s curling at the arena.  Badminton at the school.  Spring to fall there’s a farmers’ market every Saturday morning, complete with breakfast and a live country band.

Residents are watched out for, cared about, loved.  Everyone, including a few handicapped folks, is included.  Of course nothing’s perfect …

But it’s home

I’ll choose a warmer month next time

I’ll choose Lion’s Head

I’m at the home of my friends Cam Clark and Ann Higgins in Richmond Hill, just north of Toronto.  Cam is my oldest friend – we’re both 76.  But also in the sense of when we first met – we were 15.

Tonight we laughed and reminisced … and appreciated the span of our lives together.

Cam and I loved playing tennis at our neighbourhood courts.  Over the years, guess how many times I beat him.

Never

We both played cello in high school.  Tonight we talked about Anthea East, the principal cellist in the orchestra.  I sat beside her as we played.  She was so good, and so pretty, and I was so tonguetied.  A few years after graduation she was riding a bike in Europe, hit her head, and died.  Such sadness relived 55 years later.

Cam and I both enrolled in the Commerce and Finance program at the University of Toronto.  I was going to be an accountant.  Perhaps Cam had visions of being a captain of industry.  We both became teachers – Cam in high school physics, me with blind kids.  In the living room we tried to remember the boring details of Actuarial Science, and soon moved on to cheerier topics.

Later in life, we went on a cross-Canada road trip in a tiny car called Pepsi.  We saw marvelous things.  We met marvelous people.  And we knew so little about life.

Once we went on a two-week canoe trip in the wilds of Ontario’s Algonquin Park.  I couldn’t swim.  Bugs ate us.  Our last meal was rice and instant mashed potatoes.

Cam has lung problems.  He’s ultra-sensitive to chemicals.  He warned me not to wear cologne of aftershave on my visit.  Cam can’t go to restaurants anymore, or any place where there’s lots of dust.  I’m essentially healthy.  Why him?  And why not me?

Our love for each other flows over the decades.  We hadn’t seen each other for four years and here we were tonight, not missing a beat.  Comfy in each other’s presence.

***

Hmm.  I have so little energy to write

And I want to write

My new Canadian stories need to be told

On to tomorrow

Here are my friends Anne and Ihor in their Toronto home, which over the years has often been my home as well.  Such kindness coming my way.

Tonight we went for dinner to their favourite spot, a simple little diner called Wally’s.  A few days ago the Prime Minister of Canada (Mark Carney) and the Premier of Ontario (Doug Ford) sat in a corner booth, discussing how they’d combat Trump’s tariffs.  Tonight it was just “little old us” enjoying the smiles and kindness of our two servers – Kat from Poland and Galina from Slovakia.  Everybody helped everybody enjoy life.

As Anne drove us through suburban Toronto, familiar names popped up on signs, as in a long ago dream.  Tim Hortons coffee shops, Mark’s Work Wearhouse clothing stores (now called Mark’s), a Home Depot renovation centre, Petro-Canada gas stations, …  Back home amid the history of me.  But actually my true home is Gent.

Yesterday it was me behind the wheel in my Kia rental car, named “Jed” by me.  I was nervous as I left Budget Car Rental: I hadn’t driven in three years, and the twelve-lane 401 Highway gave me pause, but Jed and I did great.  I had fun being proficient with lane changes, and figuring out where to be when for smooth freeway entrances and exits.  “I’m still a good driver!”

I thought it would be easy to shop for my ten new shirts (to replace my ten falling-apart ones).  Just pick a big mall (Yorkdale) and roam the clothing stores for a couple of hours.  Wrong.  In two hours I’d accumulated two shirts that I liked.  And when I tried them on at home, the sleeves were too long!  As they say in baseball, I was batting zero.

Most of the colours I found were muted and boring.  “We basically serve the corporate community.”

Malls.  Too much light.  Too many huge video displays.  Too few vibrant shirt colours.  I loved that the aisles were jammed with people, but that was about it for satisfaction.  After many more hours, I had four cool shirts in my hands, six ordered online (size 16 neck, 33 sleeve) and twelve black underwear briefs.  Plus a consumer headache.

Thank God that my jetlag has been moderate.  Still lots of sleep asks me to join it.  And tomorrow I’m off to a new locale – Richmond Hill – and friends who call that community home.

Goodnight, dear ones