I love going to Huset for lunch.  Many friends have joined me there, and yesterday it was Prabigya.

Saartje is one of the employees and she knows me well.  As I waited for Prabigya to arrive, here comes Saartje with a wicker box.

“Last time you really liked the dinosaur that sits on the front counter so I decided to bring you more of them to play with.”

And lo and behold, the box was brimming with animals of various types.

I’m glad Saartje can see my true nature.  I like playing.  I like playing with people, to see if I can get them to laugh.  I like playing with jigsaw puzzles.  I like playing with cellos.

I gently lifted all these creatures from their home and set them on the table.  No Prabigya yet.  I thought it would be a fine welcome to have these beings all facing her.  So I set them up.  The golden horse on the right of the picture was being ornery.  He kept falling over.  Luckily the table top wasn’t perfectly level and I found a spot that would make him happy.  He neighed, as horses are wont to do.

I attempted a conversation about horses not standing up with the fellow who was on his computer at the next table … but he wasn’t interested.  Oh well.

As you can see, dinosaurs are well represented on the table.  No doubt Prabigya will be pleased.  But I didn’t want them to be front and centre.  There was a clear star of the show:

A pink pig

I knew that my friend wouldn’t be able to resist the charms of this chubby one.  So there he or she sat at the head of the parade.

***

Prabigya laughed

There was still lots of room for our drinks

Two weeks ago, I wrote a post called “The Next Song”.  I told you that I was learning a new song to sing at open mic sessions in June … “How Can I Keep From Singing?”  The lyrics and melody are lovely.

What I didn’t anticipate was how committed I was becoming to playing well with thirty other cellists this Saturday.  I’ve been practicing for two hours a day for nearly a week.  Unprecedented for this guy!

With my three days in Lille, France coming up right away, I’ve realized that I don’t have time to learn a new song.  I’ve discovered that there are different levels to memorizing.  In order to perform well, accompanied by the nervousness I feel in front of an audience, the words need to be supremely firm in my head.  I won’t get there between now and then.

There is another song that I was working on months ago.  It’s called “Spring and Summer”, written by John Denver.  I trust that I’m far enough advanced that I will calmly sing the words well in June.

What boggles my mind, however, is the song I woke up with this morning … “Catch the Wind”.  It was written by the Scottish folksinger Donovan in 1965.  Here it is:

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

When sundown pales the sky
I want to hide awhile, behind your smile
And everywhere I’d look, your eyes I’d find
For you to love me now
Would be the sweetest thing
That would make me sing
Ah, but I may as well try and catch the wind

When rain has hung the leaves with tears
I want you near, to kill my fears
To help me to leave all my blues behind
For standin’ in your heart
Is where I want to be, and I long to be
Ah, but I may as well try and catch the wind

Ah, but I may as well try and catch the wind

I have never sung this song in public.  I have no memory of learning it.  And yet in the shower this morning, the words flowed sweetly out of my mouth.

How is this possible?

I don’t know and I don’t care

There will be two songs in June

It’s a long-standing tradition for me … either to share with a friend my “Word of the Day” or to ask them theirs.  Years ago, a custodian at Catholic Central High School named Randy would ask me for a word nearly every day.  In Gent I’m the one asking.

Take today for instance.  I walked into Izy Coffee with the question on my lips. 

First of all was the barista Arjen  >  million

Then my friend Annelies  >  smile

Then my other friend Larisa  >  baby

Then Larisa’s seven-week-old daughter Zoë  >  (burp)

And how about a random male customer?  >  fresh

***

Woh … that’s a lot of words to choose from!

And one more, from Eda, a server at Panos on the Langemunt …

cucumber

While smile and fresh are sublime, cucumber definitely wins the day

I do believe I’m eclectic … which I think is a very cool word, not to be confused with electric.

Deriving ideas, style or taste from a broad and diverse range of sources

Consider the source called “sound”.  On July and August I will span the range of sound volume.

The Dour Festival in July is five days of music – techno, hip hop, and God knows what else.  It will be loud!

Here’s what the Internet says

At most festivals, the volume ranges between 95 and 103 dB.  If you’re new to decibels, let’s start with the basic level of 80 dB.  This is a sound level at which your ears can safely listen for 8 hours without the risk of hearing damage.  Every additional 3 dB halves that time.  So, for example, at 95 dB, your ears are safe for about 15 minutes.

The World Health Organization (WHO) recommends limiting exposure to 100 decibels to 20 minutes per day to avoid hearing damage.

I just bought a pair of high-tech earplugs.  The brochure mentions terms such as “linear attenuation” and “advanced filtration technology”.  You might say it sounds good to me.

If Dour’s sound level is 100 decibels, these earplugs will reduce it by 19, down to 81.  So … safe.  Plus apparently the sound quality stays high.

Yay!

And now the contrast: In August I’ll be at a nine-day silent retreat at the Insight Meditation Society in Massachusetts, USA.

My detailed sound research has revealed this analysis …

Decibel level 0

Yay again!

I’ve seen him live three times … in Toronto (twice) and in Amsterdam.  Saturday will be the fourth.

Our cello concert at St. Michael’s Church in Gent will finish at around 4:00 pm.  My train to Lille, France leaves at 4:35.  I’ll be on it.  Bruce and Bruce will be in the same room at 7:30.

I’ve loved his life, his joie de vivre, his lyrics, his melodies, his performances.

In 1985 I was in the throes of divorce.  I had left home and was staying with a friend.  I hunkered down in bed and listened to No Surrender on my Walkman:

Tonight, I hear the neighborhood drummer sound
I can feel my heart begin to pound
You say you’re tired, and you just wanna close your eyes
And follow your dreams down

Well, we made a promise, we swore we’d always remember
No retreat, baby, no surrender
Like soldiers in the winter’s night with a vow to defend
No retreat, baby, no surrender

Thank you, Bruce, for being with me then … and ever since.

Thank you for My Hometown, If I Should Fall Behind and Badlands.

I’ll wait for you, and should I fall behind, wait for me

Welcome to France, Bruce

”

It’s fascinating (and scary) to express myself in public when my skills aren’t great.  “Society” seems to say that showing yourself musically, theatrically, artistically or athletically needs to happen within a context of excellence, rather than participation.  I disagree with society.

On Saturday, May 24 I’ll be participating in a cello concert in Sint-Michielskerk, a lovely Catholic church in Gent.  Thirty cellists will make music: about eight short pieces, with a melody and three harmonies for each.

Here’s our venue:

You might say that such a grand space deserves professional ability, but again I say no.

Some of these cellists are far better than me.  A few are less skilled.  And future musical growth beckons us all.  What we share is a love for our instrument  … how it can “sing” notes high and low, how it can draw tenderness from our souls.

We had a two-hour rehearsal this morning.  Five days ago, seeing my current musical limitations, I committed to practicing the pieces for two hours each day until the 24th.  (I told myself that I would call our two rehearsals “practice”, just so I didn’t get totally obsessive.)  And so far I’ve kept my word.  I will continue to do so.

I struggled this morning.  The usual culprits: some wrong notes, some scratchy sounds bow-to-string, some misreading of rhythms.  But I was there!  I played.  And I had some fine moments.  During one piece (Jesu, Joy of Our Desiring by J.S. Bach) I was carried into the joy of playing a harmony section to another group’s melody.  Oh yes … it’s why I sit in my cello chair. 

Even though my dream is to sing beautiful songs and accompany myself on the cello, there’s a place in my future for … the orchestra.

Shall we play?

This photo got me thinking … about the lives we human beings live.  And mine.

When I pass by 80-year-olds on the street, it’s easy for me to see only the present moment, with possibly its creased skin, its halting steps, and elderly clothes.  But the past stretches way back in these lives.  Perhaps mountains were climbed, bridal bouquets were thrown, children were welcomed to the world.

I often say that the last time I looked I was 25.  In fact this photo is me at about that age, “a man of the mountains” … self-described.  Soon to be a consumer of spiritual books: from Jiddu Krishnamurti to Da Free John to Carl Rogers to Ken Wilber.  A true believer within Werner Erhard’s “est” organization.

I look back with fondness at the life of this young man.  He was a good soul, kind to others.  And I still am.  Here’s a photo of the current version of Bruce:

I love him too

We carry each other through the rest of our life

I like walking into my favourite coffee shops and saying silly things to the staff.  Today Panos Langemunt, Izy Coffee and Jaggers were my victims.

Which way is left?

Since the person was facing me, she or he would do this:

No, that’s right!

The human would then correct me, showing me the true right way:

No, no … that’s left!

The responses I received ranged from wide smiles to tilted heads and “Huh?” faces.  And therein lies my goal … to have people interact with me, to play the game.

***

Of course there are other pointing possibilities.  Maybe tomorrow I’ll present this one in Izy:

But the ultimate expression of arms and hands has to be this:

Spreading the joy

The warmth of skin … without it being sexual.  Closeness.  Together.

Two faces caressing from the side

Forehead to forehead

One finger pressing gently just above the eyes

One hand on each side of the beloved’s face

Holding hands

Rubbing the other’s hand

Touching the hair

And other expressions I can’t think of

***

Lingering

Words optional

At peace

Stephen King draws me into his novels … his characters, his twists of plot.  And also his style of writing.  I usually follow his example when I create these blog posts.

King “encourages writers to be lean and precise in their word choices.  This means carefully considering every adjective and ensuring it adds value to the sentence, rather than simply being used to embellish … Instead of relying on adjectives, King encourages writers to find more vivid and impactful nouns and verbs to create a more compelling and engaging reading experience.”

“King also cautions against using multiple adjectives in succession, as they can often become clunky and weaken the sentence.  He advises focusing on the most impactful adjective and omitting unnecessary ones.”

And then there’s Stephen’s distaste for adverbs.  They can modify (and supposedly enhance) verbs or adjectives.  He would say “She jumped!” rather than “She jumped powerfully!”  His famous quote: The road to hell is paved with adverbs.  “King’s advice is rooted in the belief that effective writing relies on strong verbs and nouns that convey meaning directly, rather than relying on adverbs to modify them.”

I have a special distaste for adverbs that are supposed to give additional meaning to an adjective: “The sunset was stunningly gorgeous.”  And even more distaste for adverbs that diminish the intensity of an adjective.  Here’s my personal list of revulsion:

Somewhat

Moderately

Slightly

Fairly

A little

A bit

Kind of

Sort of

To a degree

Relatively

Pretty

Rather

***

I vote for

Simple and direct