“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

I have many paintings and photographs in my home.  Some of the faces look out from the canvas straight into my eyes.  Such as …

Ninety degrees.  From the owl to me

Here is a painting by Norman Rockwell that has resided in my Canadian and Belgian homes:

Do Unto Others

As You Would Have Them Do Unto You

So lovely … so powerful.  But up until yesterday that power has been blunted.

In Canada I hung this work of the Spirit in a closet!  I walked in there to get something, but never to linger.

In Belgium I hung it in my bedroom, but too far from my meditation chair to really see the faces.  So I only glanced occasionally as I passed by.

More recently I replaced “Do Unto” with another painting and put Rockwell’s masterpiece in the white hearth of what used to be a fireplace.  It was beside my meditation chair but at too severe an angle to see anything.  I would have had to get down on hands-and-knees to see all the human beings present.  And I never did that.

Now to yesterday …

These faces need a home, somewhere to be loved

I needed a space.  On my bathroom wall stood a tiny painting of dolphins and waves.  I put it behind the sink, just below the mirror.

From the hearth to the bathroom came “Do Unto”.  A brown mat and black frame against a green wall.  Plus the glory of the image.  Perfect.

Ninety degrees.  From me to the people

And so the message lives

Right before my eyes

My friend Noreen is a nun in a convent on Molenaarsstraat in Gent.  She and I have been talking for weeks about going for a nice walk in the city, and this morning’s sunshine welcomed us to the cobblestones of Gent centrum.

Noreen was on a mission … and she asked me to accompany her.  We strolled our way to CVO Gent, an adult education school.  She was going to get the details about a driver education course.

Noreen is a study in perseverance.  Twice she’s failed the written test.  But so what?  She has a vision: to drive her sisters to appointments, especially the elderly ones.  And so it’s on to the classroom once more, and loads more studying.  Good for her.

As we left CVO, I pondered.  We were close to two destinations of mine.  Should I ask her to walk to Copy Cash so I could print out an insurance contract I need to sign?

The slightest hesitation yielded to “Yes”.  Noreen smiled.  And off we went.  The printer that the employee directed me to wasn’t working properly, and the instructions were in Dutch, but the persevering magically transferred from Noreen to me.  The attendant came over to help me and soon the result was produced.  It was my turn to smile.

On to the next …

“Will you come with me to witness one of my biggest moments of 2025?”

“Of course!”

We walked a few blocks to Stad Gent, the city government administration centre.  My heart was racing.  I’d got an e-mail saying that my new Belgian Identity Card had arrived … and it was about to become mine.

A warm and courteous city employee greeted us.  Noreen stood nearby as I passed an official sheet of paper to the man.  He removed the magic card from its envelope and put it into some electronic gadget.  He entered some codes.  He had me demonstrate my fingerprints.

And …

The card was placed in my hand.  The surprise of a week ago was now in print: “21 02 2027” (February 21, 2027).  My residency permit has been extended for two years, not one!  Noreen beamed.  Me too.

Later, as we continued our journey, and I imagined kissing my card over and over this evening, Noreen simply said …

Thank you for inviting me to witness this moment

Yes, it was a privilege for both of us

Life is good

I live on the second floor (third in North America) in a building with no elevator.  About fifty steps to climb.  Some folks are tired when they reach me.  I want them to feel welcome.

Two years ago my friend Marieke did a small drawing of me and I put it beside my apartment door, announcing my presence inside.  Now I want something new to adorn my entrance.  But what?

I enjoy living in the “I don’t know” as the question meanders within my mind.  It could take days.  And so it has in this case.

Strangely perhaps, I’ve recently enjoyed putting jigsaw puzzles together.  The finished ones are luminous – a sea turtle, a cat and an elephant.

I decided to go back to the Crafthub site and see if an image leapt off the screen for the pleasure of my visitors.  And it did!

A Cavalier King Charles Spaniel

Are you ready for joy?  Here it is …

I ordered the puzzle.  The company expects it to arrive between March 30 and April 1.  I fly to Canada on the 4th.  And I’m determined …

To have Charles grace the wall beside my apartment door by then.

It will happen

On Sunday I looked at my phone and saw this text from my Internet service provider:

Dear __________ customer, your payment promise has been registered.  If you have not made the payment yet, please pay the amount of 538,94 euro to account number BE00 0000 0000 0000 using the reference 735/0392/11428.  Bear in mind that your telephone, Internet and TV will be suspended if you do not honor this promise to pay.

Oi!

“How could this happen?” I agonized.  “I pay by automatic debit.”  I phoned the company but the billing department was closed on Sunday.  And my mind continued to slump overnight with “What does it mean?”

On to Monday, talking on the phone to a company rep.

“I can’t find any reference to 538 euros, sir.”

“That’s strange.  I’ll look it up.”  I opened my text screen, and there was a text from the company on Sunday.  Google Translate told me it said “We will call you back as soon as an employee is available.”

Huh?

I ran my finger down the screen.  The third message indeed talked about 538 euros.  The date?

December 9, 2023

Silly not-paying-attention me

The rep and I laughed.  All was well, with the possible exception of my having tossed and turned for hours overnight.

***

On to the next:

I sang two songs at Minard last night.  And now, determined to avoid the scourge of false modesty, I will say this:

I nailed it!

I invited the audience to join me in the chorus of “Day Is Done”.  And now, determined to avoid the scourge of vanilla description, I will say this:

They sang!

Barely perceptible during the first chorus, softly during the second, and full-throated during the third.  I was so happy.  Having people sing with me is my favourite part of performing.

Then I sang one of my top five songs of all time … “The Rose”.  Some of the best lyrics I’ve heard.  What is love?  The pain of not having any.  Hope for the appearance of the beloved.

When the night has been too lonely
And the road has been too long
And you think that love is only
For the lucky and the strong

Many in the audience “got it”

I was happy

I am happy

Here I am on the black couch.  A few minutes ago, I wondered what I would write about today.  And then …

A group of school kids walked by, wearing their light green vests.  “I’ll write about them!”  Write about what – I don’t know.

Another thought:  “I want a tour group to come by in the next half hour so I can take their picture and wonder aloud about them too.”

“And if the tour doesn’t show up, I’ll say something silly about that.”

***

I grew up in Toronto, and I remember the magic of some school trips, such as the two-hour bus we took to Stratford to watch a Shakespearean play.  I had little clue what Bill Shakespeare was meaning with his words, but that was okay … I was somewhere new with my friends!

I was accepted.  I was “part of”.   May it be the same for each kid who just tripped by the Izy Coffee windows.  No one left out.  Everyone talked to.  And talking.

I also have memories of being a teacher on these trips.  Counting heads on and off the bus.  Being vigilant about cars.  Looking for any child who seemed “out of it” and saying something (anything) to them … with a smile.  From my mind to theirs: I see you.

***

And now for the adult tour group.  Have you seen them walk by?  I sure haven’t.  Perhaps I should scour the streets of Gent in search.  And if I find them, I can say “Please walk over three streets and pass by the windows of Izy so I can take your picture and reflect on what your lives may be like.”

***

Still no one.  Oh well.

I love guessing what country the group is from.  Sometimes the leader holds up an umbrella with a flag attached as she or he walks along.  Then I don’t have to guess.

Whether I know the country or not, I’m curious.  “Do you have the same joys and sorrows as me?  What can I learn from you?  What can you learn from me?”

“Is it warm where you live?  Do people sit outside on terraces?  Is there a sweet energy in your town?”

***

Should I end this post now or continue to wait, showing infinite patience, my finger itching for a photo op?  Decisions, decisions …

I know.  I’ll set a time limit.  It’s 10:32.  If the tourists don’t make a magical appearance by 10:45 I’ll shut things down.

(Staring out the window)

***

10:45

Niet

Bye