My radar in Izy Coffee is always on for the spoken word in English. And this morning a couple were talking to Arjen, the barista.

“Where are you from?” I intruded (nicely).

“Las Vegas”.

So I learned about a place I’ve been curious about but with no interest in visiting. It would have been cool to see Celine Dion perform in one of those spectacular hotels on “The Strip” but my life has turned out fine without such adornment.

When Ryan and Amanda consider a move to Europe, the answer is “yes and no” – her yes, him no. Among my conversational meanderings as a Ghent welcome agent was this:

Just past that building [Nationale Loterij] there’s a counselling service. They specialize in helping Nevada men overcome their resistance to moving to Europe

Three smiles.

I told two lovely US citizens about three of my favourite spots in Ghent: Shazanna (an Italian restaurant full of flavours), Rococo (a candlelit cocktail bar tucked away on a cobblestone street) and the Carmelite Church on the Burgstraat (a sanctuary of quiet). Maybe they’ll visit one of them before the family leaves the city tomorrow.

Amanda told me about a concert they attended under the Stadshal a few days ago. It’s a marvel of modern architecture among the encircling history:

Free beer was on offer. And we’re talking magnificent Belgian beers, not the coloured water that lives in America.

“And,” Amanda said, “people brought ironing boards!” They stood under the Stadshal, listening to the music. Beer and yummies resided on the boards.

Allrighty then. Totally new to me.

***

We waved goodbye with accompanying smiles

And I said what I love saying:

Have a good life

It’s a recurring theme in my life … and it’s growing stronger:

Love the moment

Whether it’s roses or thorns

This is unknown territory that is slowly seeping into the known.  And it’s not about suppressing my reactions to the bad stuff.  We all have painful times with other people, with our health, with our self-esteem.  And then there’s money, aging and not being good at some task.

In the midst of the pain, I usually let myself feel what I’m feeling – sadness, hurt, embarrassment, anger …  I wither within the experience.  I let the emotion stay as long as it wants to.

But something deeper often bubbles up, something that takes away the knife thrust of the pain:

I love what’s here right now

I experience love for what life is showing me.  I give it a lingering hug.  I don’t tell it to go away.

The hurting remains but it’s usually outshined by the mystery of being alive.  My mouth opens in awe of the tapestry I’m being given.

Then the yammering voice intrudes:

You can’t love physical pain

You can’t love failing at something

You can’t love being rejected

***

I’m sitting here in the middle of “not knowing”

The new is knocking on the door

I will let it enter

Do I look like a guy who robs banks? Or just someone who doesn’t want his cheeks to freeze in the worst of a Canadian winter?

I didn’t have to wear this balaclava often, but there were days when it was skin-saving. Such as yesterday … (except now I live in balmy Europe!)

Here’s a snapshot of the low temperatures in Alberta, a western province of Canada, overnight on Friday, January 12:

And the “W” is what the air feels like when you add in the windchill. Ouch! I used to live in Lethbridge. The coldest I remember there was about -25 C, plus the wind. But -39 C? How would I survive?

Actually that’s a thought that came to me once when I walked outside on a winter’s day in the city of Ottawa, heading to a building a few hundred metres away.

O my God! I need to run! I could die out here

Here’s what one commentator said about Friday night:

It’s going to be a cold and dangerous night tonight in Southern Alberta as the Extreme Cold Warning is still in effect. Windchill temperatures in the -50°C range are expected overnight where skin can get frostbite within 2 minutes!

It’s so cold, Alberta will be colder than the North Pole, the Arctic, even colder than Antarctica!

If you can, stay home. If you have to travel, make sure you have a blanket and food in your vehicle. If it’s too cold for you to stay outside, it’s too cold for your pet to stay outside, make sure your pets are warm.

If outside, watch for colour changes on fingers and toes, pain, numbness, a tingling sensation, or swelling. If present, move indoors and begin warming.

Keep moving to maintain your body heat and seek shelter from the wind.

Outdoor workers should take regularly scheduled breaks to warm up.

I’m so happy I’ve moved to Gent

I was having breakfast in Broodjeszaak Martens this morning.  It’s only twelve doors down the Oudburg from me.  A lovely resting spot, hosted by Lieve and her daughter Fran.

Fran has another family member – her dog Max.  He roams around the restaurant, seeing who’s there, cozying up to a person or two.

“He’s always seeking attention,” says Sam, a staff member.

“Me too!” says Bruce.

Max was visiting the folks at the neighbouring table.  I reached out my hand.  He reached out his head.  I scratched.  He sighed.

At one point Max extended his paw.  I held it in the air for twenty seconds or so.  Max was happy.

Later he sat on the floor near me.  We both felt the rhythm of the petting.

And then Max wandered off …

***

Life comes

Life lingers

Live leaves

It’s worth a smile or two

My friend Lyrinda sent me the photo at the end of this post on my birthday.  It was from the school yearbook where we taught.

I look back on my years of teaching with a smile.  Although my official job was working with blind and low vision children, my secret agenda was to talk to any kid or teen who was willing.  My favourite word in teaching is “conversation”.

With only a couple of exceptions, I can’t remember anything I said to a student. Makes me giggle … just another glowing example of how much I forget stuff these days.

What I do remember is my heart. The physical version is pretty much the same as thirty years ago – a little added wear-and-tear I suppose. The spiritual version was pretty wide open during my teaching years. And it’s even more so now. I see the beauty in others very easily.

Did I make a difference as a teacher?

What a silly question, Bruce! The answer is overwhelmingly yes.

Some of those no longer young people will remember you fondly, even if they don’t remember your name. Some will know that your teaching subject was “life” … and the lessons remain

It’s a long way from my teen years. I played the cello well back then. My favourite memory was being part of the All-City Orchestra. We played at the opening of Toronto’s new city hall in 1967. It’s still an amazing building:

We set up in the plaza you see. An old man slowly climbed the podium steps. He was Sir Ernest MacMillan, a Canadian conductor and composer. His body shook as he held the baton. He led us in Land of Hope and Glory. I was so happy. Six years later Sir Ernest was dead, having left a long path of musical contribution to Canada.

I got to be there. I got to play. I got to feel the orchestra members around me. We soared.

***

I want to soar again. I want that surge of joy within the music. Fifty-six years after quitting the cello, I once again sit with the instrument between my legs. The flow of the bow. The occasional purity of the melody played.

I’m far from the sweetness of my teenaged playing. And that’s okay. As they say in martial arts, “I put myself on the mat”.

My teacher Lieven is hosting a cello concert on January 23, featuring his child and adult students. I will play a tune called Latin Nights. So far so bad. The fingers of my left hand aren’t remembering the notes well. They have a good idea about “first position” but “fourth position” is literally a stretch.

And the notes are often not written on the beat. The curved lines you see in the sheet music mean that the notes below them need to be played smoothly, with one long bow stroke. Ha! I’m not there yet.

As I’ve said before in other moments, I promise to play with passion on the 23rd. I aspire to produce a lovely tone, to play in tune, to get the timing right. But it’s not within my power to promise that. What I can say is that I’ll hold my head high, sweep the bow across the string, let my body sway to the music … and feel the joy of it all.

So there

It was simple this afternoon.  I sat with a friend in a coffee shop.  No big deal.  Just simply sweet.

Our eyes were open.  Our gaze was soft. Our conversation flowed between things that were important to us.  No competition.  No grandstanding …  no “Look at me!”

“Here’s my life.  What’s yours like?”  It didn’t matter what was said, what feelings were shown.  Everything was accepted, even if our viewpoints weren’t always the same.

It was easy … and the moments stretched out.  I felt limp.  Like there were no bones inside, nothing holding a structure fast.

What was next was unknown.  The future minutes could be unlike the previous ones.  No matter.

The ordinary was here, but it was shimmering.  Something unknown was being shown the light of day.  We rested into being so okay. 

There was nothing to teach, nothing to learn.  Differences in age, gender, personality were meaningless.  Just two human beings curious about what would emerge next.

I liked it

You’ll be happy to know that it’s 3:47 pm. I’m 74.

Many moons ago, mom told me that I was born today at 10:00 am. That was in Toronto in Eastern Canada. Gent is six hours ahead. So … in eleven minutes I turn 75.

I’m smiling a lot right now. My face feels like breaking. That’s a long time to live! And to live happily. And to contribute to human beings. And to love music.

Did I mention that it’s 3:51? Well it is.

It’s a supreme countdown. It’s been a great life … so many chapters in so many places. So many friends. Jody. Rita. So many conversations. So many adventures. And a lot of coffee!

3:54. The smile won’t stop. And why should it? It’s been a journey and I know it will continue in my new hometown, and around the curve of the Earth.

3:56. I think I’ll tell my fingers to go still for a bit. See you in four minutes.

…

4:00

75

100%

Thanks for being part of the ride

Zoom is a marvel. In our Evolutionary Collective meetings, I can see 49 of us on one screen. When someone says something cool, lots of us are nodding. And the us includes folks from many parts of the world, people who know how to connect deeply with other human beings.

On Wednesday and Friday, I had a problem. After the breakout groups ended (we’re randomly paired with another person) my video disappeared. And the “Start Video” button didn’t respond. (Sigh)

I have some computer knowledge but it’s closer to none than lots. Both times I left the meeting, turned my laptop off and back on, unplugged and replugged my webcam, and returned. On Wednesday I had video, on Friday I didn’t.

And then there’s this weekend. Over Saturday and Sunday the Core group of the EC are meeting for a total of 12 hours. I had reached out to a techy friend in the group for help but so far he hadn’t found a solution.

Towards the end of our first breakout session yesterday, I was holding my breath. “Please, may my face appear when we get back to the large group!”

No such luck. My little rectangle was black – just “Bruce Kerr” showing. (Sigh again)

I left the meeting. I tried the previous strategies, plus rebooting my router. I pressed the F10 key. Still black.

I tried coming back on my phone. The “Start Video” button wouldn’t respond.

Three people in the meeting were searching for solutions. In the background of my head there was a touch of despair. I knew that late in Sunday’s meeting (today), I was to lead a small group of us in an exercise. No video … no leadership. And I had given my word to lead. (A lot more sighing)

Our job as EC participants is to update Zoom to the latest version before a meeting starts. I had done this. I noticed the screen had looked a little different. There was a “Leave Meeting” button at the top, beside one that said “OK”. I didn’t pay attention.

It was looking like all I could do for the weekend was listen and see people. I couldn’t speak, participate in the practices, or be seen. Then Mimi, one of the participants, mentioned in the group that Zoom had updated and there was now an “OK” button on the screen. She thought it had some importance.

I pressed the “OK” button.

And there was my face!

It turns out that there was a short message beside the button that said the session is being recorded. Oops. Hadn’t seen it.

So … it appears that my problem has been solved. I would like to be a totally alert human being but clearly that’s not the case.

I give myself credit. I’ve worked very hard since Wednesday to find a solution. I delved into issues that are definitely not my strong suit. And I didn’t give up.

***

It’s humbling

But it’s “OK”

Thank you, Mimi

Friends at the café Yo’s Place told me about an open mic session to take place last night. So why not go and open my vocal cords?

The venue was Salvatore’s on Sint-Salavatorstraat in Gent. As I walked in the door, the two fellows you see were hanging the painting you see. Big smiles of welcome came my way.

Pat (on the left) and I got talking about life and his painting. He asked me to name it and I chose “Onward”, because of horses and people moving to the left. Too bad that part doesn’t show up in the photo.

Pat was so so easy to talk to. English was a bit difficult for him but he wanted me to feel included. So did the host, a young man named Kobe. He was glad I found his place.

Then there were Damian (wearing a cool fur hat with ear flaps), Muhannad (a black fellow whose name has n’s rather than m’s) and Omar, a drama student. They all were happy that this newbie showed up.

That was it! Six of us. Kobe said that last time about fifteen folks showed up. I was happy with six.

I volunteered to go first. As I walked to the front of the room, I could feel how calm I was. Unexpected and delightful. Something is moving in me.

I sang a song I’d never shared in public – Loving Arms. It’s a wistful tale of love let go of … and later longed for. My eyes stayed open, and roamed among five faces. I believe I reached all of them

I asked Kobe if I could sing another song. He smiled and said yes. A surge of pleasure burst through me. Clearly my need to sing, to reach out, was larger than my fear of performing.

It was Pat’s turn. He wondered if it was okay if he spoke in Dutch, and of course I agreed. I was touched by him asking permission. Pat’s words flowed as he gestured towards his creation. He was one with his art. Later he told me that the painting was about what refugees faced – physically and emotionally.

Kobe performed a short play for us, playing all the characters. A police officer stood above a seated guy who was being accused of a crime. Kobe moved from standing, to sitting, to standing again as the conversation unfurled. It was a hilarious story of each person asked the other for ID, to prove they really were who they said they were.

***

A lovely evening

Why not wander into the night and see who’s there?