I sat with my friend Geert in Izy Coffee today.  He has been dedicated to learning Turkish so he can have free flowing conversations with his girlfriend.

I asked Geert for advice about learning a new language.  He accepted my invitation. 

Wisdom proceedth …

1.  Spaced Repetition

Spending an hour learning something and then returning to it a week later is useless.  Instead spend a few minutes each day absorbing the new stuff.  And if you forget some of yesterday’s learnings, that’s fine.

I thought of my efforts to start learning Dutch on the Babbel app.  It’s been two weeks since I looked at it.  I studied the words for I, you, he, she, we, you and they.  And today?  I remember nothing.

2.  The Feynman Method

Richard Feynman was an American physicist.  He said that to learn something you’ve been taught, teach it to someone else.  Speak it to a friend or to the mirror.

Here’s the guy:

Since Geert was sitting in front of me, I chose him.  I told him the instructions that my cello teacher gave me last Thursday.  The main points:

A.  Curve the fingers of the left hand so they don’t buzz on the string next door

B.  If you’re alternating notes on two strings, and one of the notes is an open string (no finger pressed), leave the fingers on the other string rather than lifting them off

C.  Use the full bow, from the tip to the nut, for a more flowing sound

Geert isn’t a cellist but he basically understood.  I felt the power of speaking something into existence.  I’m used to doing this by writing, but the oral expression was shaking up my brain cells.

3.  Create a Pressure Cooker

Put yourself under some stress.  Feel your commitment to the new.  Spaced repetition – every day – accomplishes this nicely.  And look for other ways to have pressure be your friend.

4.  Create a Lifestyle

This daily practice becomes a part of who I am.  I commit to the learning.

***

It’s like writing.  Virtually every day

Feels good

I love the movie Mulan on Disney Plus. I love strong women. I love chi … or life force.

Here’s the gist:

“To keep her ailing father from serving in the Imperial Army, a fearless young woman disguises herself as a man and battles northern invaders in China.”

I’ll let quotes from the film do the talking:

***

An army commander speaking to Mulan and the other soldiers:

The chi pervades the universe and all living things … But only the most true will connect deeply to his chi and become a great warrior. Tranquil as a forest, but one fire within.

Mulan’s father speaking to the ancestors:

If you had such a daughter – her chi, the boundless energy of life itself, speaking through her every motion – could you tell her that only a son could wield chi?

Mulan’s father speaking to her (10-years-old):

Your chi is strong, Mulan. But chi is for warriors, not daughters. Soon, you’ll be a young woman, and it is time for you to hide your gift away. To silence its voice.

The matchmaker speaking to Mulan and her mother:

Quiet. Composed. Graceful. Elegant. Poised. Polite. These are the qualities we see in a good wife. These are the qualities we see in Mulan. When a wife serves her husband, she must be silent. She must be invisible.

Mulan’s father:

I am the father.  It is my place to bring honor to our family on the battlefield.  You are the daughter.  Learn your place.

Mulan (17-years-old):

I know my place. And it is my duty to fight for the kingdom and protect the emperor.

Mulan disguises herself as Hua Jun. Her true identity remains a secret for a long time. Eventually she is one of the leaders as the Imperial Army defeats the invaders.

Mulan returns home:

Forgive me, Father. I stole your horse. I stole your sword. I stole your armor. And the sword … I lost it. The sword is gone. Now I understand how much that sword means to you.

Father:

It is my daughter that means everything to me.

And Hua Jun did die. For a lie can only live so long. But Mulan lived.

An army commander, speaking to Mulan and the people of her village:

She has brought honor to her ancestors, to her family, to her village, and to her country.

***

May we all be “loyal, brave and true”

What if there are messages from the Gods in the geometry of daily life?

Sometimes I hear sacred voices and sometimes I see lines. It’s up to me whether I notice and respond. It’s so easy to slip back into the figuring-out mind … and not see what’s in front of my face.

The horizontal is lovely:

Simple, elegant, level.

I’m tempted to go into a long description of what the horizontal means to me but that quiet voice inside is simply saying “No”. And I’m listening. After all, your mind may go to different places. So stretch out your body and soul and drink in the photo. No doubt it will speak to you.

***

The vertical also whispers volumes:

Do the thoughts that come speak in paragraph or poem? Are they written in bold or italics or just normal? Is their invitation right in front of your nose or hidden behind a veil?

***

Two fine directions

Perhaps the lines have no end

This is my latest piece of jewelry … actually my only piece of jewelry.  I’ll leave it up to you to figure out what body part it should adorn …

…

Done guessing?  Here’s your answer:

I went to see Naomi yesterday.  She’s an occupational therapist, someone who sells or makes braces for hands.  My right thumb is weak with arthritis and it’s hard to hold my cello bow.

I had been given a hard plastic and fabric brace last week but it didn’t work.  I could only play for five minutes until the pain and loss of grip took over.

Naomi said that one joint of my thumb hyperextends and will continue to weaken until I immobilize it.  “It’s time to think outside of the box.”  I imagined her saying “Have you considered jewelry?” but that didn’t happen.

Anyway, consider Exhibit A:

I’ve often demonstrated my unusual thumb angle to friends in the spirit of “See how cool I am?” but Naomi told me to say goodbye to that attempt at humour.  Instead I’ll start wearing the brace three hours a day and work up to maybe twelve.

It’s an experiment, and I’ll report the results next Thursday. The demo brace Naomi gave me was too small but if it’s working she’ll make one for me that fits.

Meanwhile, later yesterday I had my group cello lesson with Lieven.  Would it be a thumbs up or a thumbs down?

Up! I could play for fifteen minutes at a time before my dear thumb needed a rest. Oh … I love progress.

***

I moved from Canada to Belgium

The task continues to be huge

And someone immense is holding me

I’ve worked hard to have my music theory teacher’s Dutch speaking show up in written English.  I have not been successful.

I downloaded at least fifteen apps that translate from one language to another.  Each one’s microphone shuts off when the speaker pauses.  If I press the microphone again, the previous English disappears.  If I focus on the English translation first, then I miss the next things he’s saying.

I bought a lapel microphone so an app like Google Translate can hear what words are being spoken in Dutch.

I discovered the Live Transcribe app for Samsung phones.  It doesn’t translate but apparently it gives an accurate written record of the Dutch that is being said.  I used it in today’s class.  Then I copied and pasted it paragraph by paragraph into Google Translate, taking screenshots of the results. This took the whole two hours of the class.  I learned no music theory in real time.

Tonight I looked at the photos. A few were hopeful:

I sort of get it.

However, consider how well your brain handles this translation:

Huh?

And just one more: (I won’t torture you with endless examples)

(Sigh)

I’m not totally out of ideas. I just Googled “most accurate translation app”. What came up was one I hadn’t seen before: DeepL Translate. I’ve downloaded it, ready for the musical mysteries of next Wednesday.

Whoever said life is easy?

Not me

(Although sometimes it really is!)

There they are … two little electronic thingys that may hold my future at the Poel music school.

My friend Geert says that Google Translate is excellent at converting the spoken word from one language to another. The problem is that without a microphone the app can’t hear what the teacher is saying.

Amazon has provided a solution.

I sat in Izy Coffee this morning eager (and scared) to put Geert’s theory to the test. I unboxed the microphone and removed little plastic bits. And bonus (!) the instructions were in English.

“Why am I so nervous?” The answer was clear, as I’m sure it is to you.

My plan was to get everything set up and then wait till the barista Arjen didn’t have any customers waiting. I’d have him pin the microphone to his shirt and then talk some Dutch. Then the screen on this phone would show a marvelous English translation.

The instructions were simple but my mind was not. It was roiling in fear.

As I was about to approach Arjen, I realized that the microphone wasn’t charged. I found the company’s website and discovered it took two hours. So the moment of truth has been delayed.

I’ve been at home now for half an hour, and guess what? The little red charging light just went out. The beast is ready for action.

I’m about to pin on the microphone, plug the receiver into my phone and open Google Translate to English > Dutch. Wish me luck.

***

Success! (I guess) What I know is that the words I spoke showed up on the screen. Good. I don’t know if they were translated accurately to Dutch. The microphone was six inches from my phone. How will it do when the teacher is wearing it, and it’s five feet from the phone?

Everything was cool as long as I continued to talk. When I paused, the microphone shut off. I wonder what will happen if I press the “Conversation” button rather than “Microphone”? Let’s find out:

***

Nope. The microphone doesn’t stay on after the first speaker completes a thought, even though in real life there’s a pause before the second speaker starts.

Oh well … so far so good. Something has been accomplished. Now I’ll head back to Izy and pin the microphone on Arjen.

***

Arjen is busy so I asked Inge, another Izy employee, to help me. And there’s good news!

The Dutch and English that showed up on my phone was at least 90% accurate

The noise reduction button on the mic seemed to filter out the music from nearby speakers

I had the thought that Google Translate was learning Inge’s voice (!) She was later able to pause a bit longer without the microphone shutting off

***

And tomorrow is my music theory class at Poel. May I get enough of what Mattias is saying to allow me to stay at the school

All fingers crossed

Three colours here … each unique, each standing on its own, not influenced by other tones.

Green is lovely but it exists because of its neighbours yellow and blue.

I wonder if there are eight billion different primary colours on Earth.  Even though each one was created by a mom and dad, the result is always someone previously unknown in the history of the world.

Yes, I’m speaking to you.  Perhaps you do (or will do) great and big things.  Or great and small things.  Either way, they are your things.  Unduplicatable.

Your flavour of yellow, blue or red exists in this moment.  There’s no preamble, no period of adjustment to slowly become your colour.  You have been your version of brand new since day one.

Explode it into the world

I bet you know a thing or two about failing.  I sure do.

In 2018 I set off with about eighteen others on the Tour du Canada, a cross-country bicycle ride.  I lasted four days.  I didn’t have the bike-handling skills or the endurance.  What I did have was fear, especially of the semi-trailers blasting by three metres to my left.

I sat in a hotel room for two days in Abbotsford, B.C., waiting for a flight east to Toronto.  I was in shock … crushed … wasted.  My self-esteem was gone.  Happily it returned.  Even though I don’t want to ride a bike anymore, I can look myself in the mirror and smile.

What’s true is that I failed in the task of riding across Canada.  That’s worlds away from being a failure. 

***

I’m enjoying the Vuelta a España on TV.  It’s a three-week cycling race in Spain.  The Friday and Saturday stages were in the Pyrenees – the mountain range that straddles Spain and France.

Remco Evenepoel is a young Belgian cyclist who won the race last year.  Friday’s stage crossed four mountain passes in its 135 kilometres.  He was considered one of the favourites for victory.

Remco finished 27 minutes after the winner.  He failed … spectacularly.  Not sick, not injured.  The legs were weak.

The cycling world was shocked.  Remco was inconsolable.

“I didn’t sleep too much,” he revealed. “I had a very bad night [with] negative thoughts in my head.” His defeat on the Aubisque, Spandelles and Tourmalet had hit him like a punch in the stomach. “It was a difficult evening with a lot of tears and crying,” he added.

Two people stayed with Remco in his sorrow: his wife and the team’s sports director.

“They talked a lot to me because I wasn’t motivated to start anymore; my big goal had disappeared, and there was a lot of disappointment. But the words Oumi said to me, literally, were, ‘Champions always answer with the pedals, and if you do it, do it for me.’ And that gave me the motivation to go for it today.”

What happened on Saturday was that Remco won the 156 kilometre stage, also full of mountain passes.  The photo shows him crying at the end.

***

From one of my favourite songs, The Mary Ellen Carter …

Rise again, rise again!
Though your heart it be broken and life about to end
No matter what you lost – be it a home, a love, a friend
Like the Mary Ellen Carter, rise again!

At 9:55 am I rounded the corner and there sat a pianist, playing brilliantly.  I held my head high and sat down on a nearby bench.  This time I was not leaving.

The gentleman played three or four songs and I applauded after each one.  About ten people came, lingered, then left.  And here come four more.

As I contemplated the impact of fear that stops me, I lifted my head to see the expressive fellow gesturing for me to play. I walked over. The same “not good enough” thoughts invaded my mind.

And I sat on the piano bench …

The fingers were tight but they basically knew what to do. Jerky morphed into smooth. The left hand told me what chords to touch, ones that were friends with the right hand melody.

It wasn’t any known piece. I just played. As the last note hung in the air, my hands rested on the keys.

I did it! There was even a bit of applause from the crowd (about six people).

I hit some wrong notes. I kept going. “Play with passion, Bruce … just like the cello.” Okay.

The other pianist (I love that I said this) told me about a ten-year-old girl who had played this piano last night. She just gave ‘er … no self-consciousness. If her, why not me?

I asked my friend to take some photos as I played some more. Here are two of them:

I’m happy to see my face and hands … at play

***

What I really want to do is play this piano and sing. There’s an old folk song called Catch the Wind, sung by Donovan. Sooner rather than later, a few members of the public will hear this under the Stadshal:

In the chilly hours and minutes
Of uncertainty, I want to be
In the warm hold of your loving mind

To feel you all around me
And to take your hand, along the sand
Ah, but I may as well try and catch the wind

And my fingers will sing along

I was walking near the Stadshal yesterday – the modern open building in Ghent centrum that’s such a contrast to all that is ancient. There was piano music in the air.

I came close. The fellow you see was caressing the keys, and flowing with a melody I didn’t know. I stayed.

Wasn’t it time for me to sit down at this keyboard and let my fingers wiggle?

No, it wasn’t. I enjoyed the man’s music and the woman who next took the seat. Then I walked away … not yet ready.

***

Today is here. I’m a ten-minute walk from the public piano. Perhaps I’ll stroll over there.

But my small mind intrudes:

It’s awfully hot today

There’ll be a lineup of potential players

I’m not a good pianist

Et cetera et cetera

“Awfully boring talk, Bruce. Finish your coffee and head to the Stadshal. Bring your fingers.”

Okay. To be continued …

***

I didn’t play

Mere metres from my cappuccino, I turned onto a side street. Voilà:

I heard the sound of piano. Thirty seconds later I heard applause. My head dropped.

At the Stadshal, here is what I found:

The same guy from yesterday was still playing brilliantly. About forty people were milling around. Most of them clapped after every piece.

My friend also sang a few songs while playing. I want to do that too. I quietly hummed along to ABBA’s SOS.

My rear end was firmly attached to a bench throughout. I wasn’t brave enough.

I talked to the pianist and found out that the piano is locked up every night within the colourful structure you see behind it.

Although he, and a couple in the audience, encouraged me to play right then … I didn’t.

(Sigh)

Tomorrow morning at 10:00, a city employee will unlock the cupboard and pull the piano out into the light of day. I promise you that I’ll be there for that moment. And I’ll play.

I told the couple this. I wonder if they’ll come. A very small audience would be lovely.