This is Ward’s Island, one of the Toronto Islands.  Last week I sat peacefully in this chair, eating my McDonald’s and contemplating the downtown.

I was on a mission.

Before I left Belgium, my friend Lopke asked me to shout her name to nature, to the universe, when I was in Canada.  (She pronounces her name “Lope’-kuh”.)  I agreed to do it.

I asked my friends Anne and Ihor if I could do the yelling in their living room.  They politely declined.  So the Island it was.

I girded my loins on the ferry ride for the big explosion of air.  Then, after eating, I wandered familiar parkland, eventually looking through the windows of the Island church, remembering classical music concerts that had wafted over me inside.

And now to the boardwalk, moseying towards Ward’s Island Beach, which I expected to be empty in mid-April.

I had texted Lopke that her name would fly out of me at 3:00 pm (9:00 pm her time).  But I didn’t know if she’d read it.

2:45 on the boardwalk, the cement seawall to my right, followed by a mass of wet rocks, an expanse of Lake Ontario … and way over there a peninsula of trees.  Definitely nature.

Looking way ahead, there was the beach, sprinkled with human beings.  Hmm … no privacy.

I had passed a few folks on the boardwalk.  Time was marching on.  An older couple sat on the bench ahead.  I walked up to them and shared my plan.  “I don’t want to scare you.”  They smiled.  We chatted … briefly, since the moment was approaching.

2:59.  The man pulled out his camera for a video op.  I walked to the seawall, gazing at the lapping waters of the ocean.  I was ready.  So was the universe.  This would be loud …

Lop-ke!

When I log into the site of my Canadian bank, they ask me security questions.  One of them is “What is your favourite sport?”  When I created an answer years ago, it was “Golf”.  Now that’s long gone as a passion of mine, but I don’t know how to change it to “Cycling”.

What has remained is my love for golf courses – especially Tarandowah near London, Ontario, with its wild, rolling fairways and deep bunkers reminiscent of a British links course.

Last week, I pulled into Tarandowah’s parking lot and crossed my fingers.  Then I uttered these words to the young employee behind the desk:

I used to be a member here.  What I’d like to do is walk over to the eighth green.  Behind it is my favourite spot on the course.  If I’m careful to avoid golfers, will you let me do that?

Yes

And off I went, remembering the shapes of Tarandowah.  Such as …

On to the eighth!  Here is the view that still thrills me:

The grass is shaved close behind the green and to the sides.  The shot from down there (right to left in the photo) is wondrously difficult.  It’s easy to run your ball all the way off the front of the green at the left edge of the photo.

And look closely.  There’s a wavy horizontal line on the left side of the picture, down from the lighter colour of the green.  There’s a huge dip that eats golf balls.  From the bottom, you can’t even see the flagstick.  Marvelous.  I love all the curves.

***

Hmm … maybe I still love golf

I know I love beauty

I didn’t have much oomph in Canada to write but now there are a few things I want to say from my vantage point of Belgium.  The experiences aren’t fresh anymore but I’ll do my best to recreate them.

***

Gent is home.  My street the Oudburg is home.  But Robin Ridge Drive in Belmont, Ontario, Canada was home. 

Early in my visit, I spent a lovely few hours in the home of my Robin Ridge neighbours Elaine and Mario Corvaro.  But I knew there was more to do on my home street.  So a week later I returned.

Robin Ridge is a cul-de-sac of about twenty homes.  I decided to walk its length, ringing doorbells.  I wanted to say “Hi” to those with whom I’d shared many conversations over our six years together.  In effect, “I see you.”

Sladja and Chris weren’t home.

The next door was number 12, my former home.  I’d heard that there was a brand new owner – Terry Kerr.  Nice name.

After Karan and Sarah D’Souza moved into my/their home in 2022, I was afraid to visit them.  They had repainted all my colourful walls into an off-white … and I didn’t have the strength to see that.  A week ago, I was stronger.

Terry opened the door, found out who I was, and welcomed me inside.  And so was revealed the beigeing of my previous world.  It was fine.  It was Terry’s home.  I re-saw the beauty of the living room, with its view out to the farmer’s field.  The floor was still the rich dark wood of my memory.

And then a surprise.  A small cabinet I’d had installed on the wall of the laundry room had fallen down.  Et voilà!  A patch of my brilliant blue!

Terry and I enjoyed our time together.  As I walked out the door, a familiar sight:

I did that!

Sharon and John weren’t home.

John Card wasn’t home.

No answer at Marilyn’s door.

Then from across the street here comes Dan.  “Marilyn died last year.”  (Sigh)

“John Card moved to St. Thomas.”

And now a delightful conversation with Dan and Ann.

Across the street, a car pulls into Sharon and John’s driveway.

A delightful conversation with Sharon and John.

A delightful conversation with Roger and Pat.

A delightful conversation with Mary-Ann and Len.

A delightful conversation with Les.  Sadly, Sonya was sick in bed.

A delightful conversation with Jack.  Jill died last year.

Steve and Anne-Marie were away in Florida.

Bill had moved away.

Another delightful conversation with Elaine and Mario.

No answer at Eileen’s door.

***

And that was it for wandering on Robin Ridge

I’m glad I went

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