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

It’s 4:20 am for my friends in Belgium.  It’s far more friendly for my friends in Canada.

An eight-hour flight yesterday from Frankfurt, Germany to Toronto.  Rishi and I laughed a lot and said light and airy things to each other.

And then there was Bob Dylan.  Air Canada offered “A Complete Unknown”, the new movie about a young Dylan breaking into the music scene in New York City.  Oh … I loved it.  The actor playing Bob was brilliant and he sang the classic songs so well.

I was enthralled as I watched people listening to Dylan’s songs for the first time, folks who were stunned by the power of his lyrics.  Songs such as “Blowin’ in the Wind”, “The Times They Are A-Changin'” and “Don’t Think Twice, It’s All Right”.

The most jolting scene was at the Newport Folk Festival of 1965.  Dylan came onstage with a band backing him, and him playing electric guitar.  Sacrilege!  I watched many in the audience booing the musician they had revered, some even throwing food.  The courage of the man!  Turning folk music traditions upside down – and damn the consequences.

There’s a battle outside and it’s ragin’
It’ll soon shake your windows and rattle your walls
For the times they are a-changin’

Thank you, Air Canada

***

I’m too tired to keep going.  I learned a lot about shirts today, and about rental cars.  To be unfolded tomorrow.

Goodnight, everyone

Just to write those words feels special.  I begin.

And here come the moments:

1.  On the train to Brussels Airport, a giant “GTA” sign flashes by.  It’s graffitied in pink against a brown brick wall.  My head jerks.  I don’t know what the letters mean in Belgium but in Canada they stand for the Greater Toronto Area … about five million people.  And so the question wobbles me: “Where am I?”

2.  Four levels of escalator take us from the train station to “Departures” at the airport.  After each pause, there’s a lineup for setting foot on the moving steps.  I wait for a short Oriental woman, bowing ever so slightly.  She bows deeply.  Contact.

3.  In the Departure lounge called A43, talking to a fellow from Frankfurt, Germany, which is where I’m flying to before winging my way to Toronto.  We talk about Germany and Belgium and Canada.   He seems emotionally “flat” so I made it a goal to have him smile.  I think I said some silly things … which I now can’t remember.  He smiled.

4.  What a cool logo!  So simple, so strong.

5.  I’m trying out a new chair.  I love that it faces out to the wide open spaces.  I hate that it has these huge wings that enclose me, like blinders on a horse, so all I can see is straight ahead.

6.  I’ve always loved the moment of takeoff, such as today.  The plane rolls along to the correct runway.  Engine noise climbs while the beast stays put.

And then … The pilot releases the brakes (or something) and we surge forward.  Oh bliss!  The power.  The speed.  The lift.

7.  On the way to Frankfurt, I talk to Esther, a young woman from Kenya who lives in Belgium.  She’s flying home to see her mom.  We smile a lot … about flying, about family, about what “home” means.  And I asked about her hair.  Esther tells me all about dreadlocks and wigs.  Very cool.

8.  Now I’m sitting aboard Air Canada Flight 843 as we look at what movies are available and await the safety demonstration.  Guess I’ll lose the Internet soon so I’ll call it a day for blogging, even though I’m eight hours away from Canada.  So my title is a misnomer … but I’ll get there.

See you tomorrow

Yes, I think of yesterday, mostly with a smile.  Yes, I usually live in the moments of today.  But there is also tomorrow … when a plane lofts me to Canada.

What is the future of my sixteen days in Toronto and London, Ontario?  There is a framework to it: staying with friends, having lunch with other friends, swooning into concerts at Toronto’s Koerner Hall and London’s Aeolian Hall.  But so much is uncertain.

Tomorrow’s post will be called “Canada: Day One” and eventually there’ll be a “Canada: Day Seventeen”.  In between there’s lots of room for mystery.

Will I fall in love with a Canadian woman who just knows that she wants to live in Gent for the rest of her life?

Will my flight to Toronto somehow set down in Singapore, without my luggage?

Will I sing Dylan’s “A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall” to friends in the evenings?

Will I sit in Boston Pizza on Toronto’s Front Street, savouring their decadent nachos and a Rickard’s Red beer?  (It’s my favourite Toronto restaurant)

Will I drive a car for the first time in three years, revelling in the fast highways and the quiet side streets?

Will I have conversation after conversation that go straight to our hearts, full of love and possibility?

Will I essentially change my wardrobe into a sea of rich colours?

Will I sit in the quiet of London’s Victoria Park, remembering the splendour of Sunfest and the Home County Folk Festival?

Will I have a window seat from Frankfurt, Germany to Toronto and feel the clouds’ embrace?

Will I return to Belgium?  (The answer is Yes)

***

Off I go

When I was growing up in Toronto, the only time I heard French spoken was in a classroom.  Most French-speaking Canadians live in another province – Québec.

And did I ever hear Dutch spoken?  Maybe on a downtown street as people passed by.  I probably would have said “What’s that?!”  The sharp sounds are worlds away from the flow of French.

And here I am sixty years later, living in Belgium, where the official languages are Dutch, French and German.

Today was my Music Theory class.  It’s naturally taught in Dutch, since Gent sits within Flanders, a predominantly Dutch region.  I passed levels one and two of language training but it’s still largely a mystery to me.  I recognize words but making sense of sentences spoken quickly is beyond me.

After class today, four of us guys lingered.  Jérome was having a problem.  I later found out that his accountant was charging him a lot of money.  Jan and Ben were chiming in with words of wisdom.  I sat there silently.

What unfolded was lovely to behold.  The guys flowed in conversation, mixing in French and English sentences with the Dutch.  It looked effortless for them.  I was in awe.

What a different world it is in Europe, in many ways.  I embrace the new moments.  I embrace my new home.  I am one fortunate human being.

But first … breaking news!

Canada Has Invaded the United States

Can you believe it?  Early this morning, troops poured over the border near Montreal, Toronto, Calgary and Vancouver into the US.  Resistance is minimal.

Apparently Donald Trump has been offered a job serving coffee at a Tim Hortons in Toronto.

***

April Fool’s!

***

Now, about the really exciting news.  On Saturday I’ll be in Canada … and I’m going to buy ten new shirts.

I bet the last time I bought a shirt was ten years ago.  How’s that for longevity?  Clothes just haven’t been important to me.

But now the collars are fraying, the fabric is thinning, and I’m starting to hide my shirts under sweaters.  But guess what?  Here comes spring – too hot for sweaters.  So it’s finally time to act.

I did a Google search for “permanent press shirts in Gent” and came up with approximately nothing.  Now Canada beckons, and Toronto’s huge Yorkdale Mall.  There’ll be all sorts of clothing shops, perma-press shirts of infinite colours and patterns.  And yes, I want colour.  Maybe I’ll buy one shirt for each room in my apartment!  Red, green, blue, yellow, purple  and orange.  Why not?

I love perma-press.  Take them out of the drier when still a bit moist.  Hang them on hangers.  Et voilà!  No wrinkles, no ironing.

I’ve had a ritual this week, celebrating the end of one shirt each day, wearing it for the last time.  All worn out.  Today I’m adorned with a lovely but ancient mauve one.  I used to wear it with a tie at parties and fancy concerts.

Last time

You’ll be happy to know that I land in Toronto on Friday at about 7:45 pm local time (1:45 am Saturday in Belgium).  On Saturday at noon I pick up my rental car.  And 1:00 pm or so will see me walking the expanse of Yorkdale, with all the time in the world to find the ten precious shirts that say “Yes”.

Soon I’ll be a happy wearer

And actually … I’m already happy