One of my favourite parks in Gent is just a ten-minute walk away.  It’s mostly a playground.  There’s a bench there perfect for sitting and thinking.  I showed you a picture of it a couple of weeks ago … can’t remember what I said.

I strolled over a few days ago and placed my rear end on its accustomed spot.  And here’s what I saw:

I hope you can enlarge the photo.

As for the presence of lifeforms, there are three folks walking near the left edge and a lone cyclist just to the right of centre.  Ohh … and one pigeon.  That’s it.

I sat with sadness about there being so few flesh-and-blood beings present, even though it was a perfectly good moment in a perfectly good park.

I communed with the trees.

***

And then there was yesterday afternoon.

There was brightness beyond the sunshine.  On the left, a boy is flying high on the circular swing.  To the right of the tree, two women reflect on the events of the day.  Behind the climber, a few folks walk beside the street.  Then a family is enjoying a picnic at the table. 

Some tables remain from the neighbourhood sidewalk sale.  A boy considers whether to join a bunch of kids having fun inside the inflated castle.  You can see some of them upstairs, no doubt ready to slide down to the first floor, where huge punching bags provide a good workout for young arms.  (Not in view.  Take my word for it)

The castle sits in a playing field ideal for football and basketball.  Usually it’s humming with kids and teens.

***

And there you have it.  Both versions of Speeltuin Godshuishammeke have their appeal.

But I love the infinite variety of human beings!

Apparently 30,000 people showed up at the European Championships Road Race yesterday in Hasselt, Belgium to cheer on the women cyclists.  Make that 30,001.

I took the train to Hasselt, spent half an hour with my friend Bart in the Izy Coffee store there, and then a bus to the tininess of Overrepen.  From there it was “te voet” (on foot) through another village called Kolmont, and onto the 600-metre climb known as the Kolmontberg.

The women would be doing the climb twice and I wanted to find the viewing spot that would make me supremely happy.  I realize my perfect is unlikely to be yours … but that’s part of what makes the world go ’round.

Here’s my view:

The riders would sweep out of the far trees and zoom right towards me for half a kilometre.  In the photo, I’m not standing in the middle of the road.  It curves to my right and starts the climb. 

And then the real thing.  First the convoy of official motorcycles:

And 100 women going like a bat out of hell:

Oh, the power as they swept past me!  I decided that the moment was for my eyes, not my camera lens.  And also for my mouth …

Allez!  Bravo!  Magnifique!

The second time through, I left the cell phone in my pocket.  I watched the peleton burst out of the trees and bear down on me. 

Coming … coming … Here! … Going … going

It was a long and magnificent day, punctuated by beer and two out-of-this-world hot dogs (with mayonnaise and sauerkraut).  Yum.  All in the company of cycling fans speaking Dutch too fast for me!

As folks wandered back to their cars, I walked wearily back to the bus stop.  Then back to Bart in Izy.  After he’d closed the store, I experienced something rare for me these days – riding in a car.  Bart introduced me to the joys of Leuven and Brussels.

And then drifting towards home … blessed home

The day showed me two minutes of 100 women riding their bicycles

And so much more

I was back in the world of substitute teaching, before I became a teacher of blind children.

The school was brand new to me, as was the assignment.  I was to spend the day teaching swimming.  The trouble is … I don’t know how to swim!  I was thrown in the deep end when I was six, and blacked out.  Ever since, the smell of chlorine has struck fear in my heart.

Well at least I’d make some money.

I found myself in a library – lots of computers, not many books.  Through a big glass door I saw the school.  It was called “Wanneer Hall”.  In an homage to my current Dutch struggles, “wanneer” means “when”.  The door was locked.  No Entry.

A door on the other side of the library mentioned the school entrance.  When I opened it, there was some kind of cable car sitting above a bottomless pit.  Hmm … “bottomless pit”.  Sounds like a few of my life moments.

I’ve drawn what the cable car looked like:

To reach the school (and the swimming pool!) I had to leap out the door onto that top ledge, grab the cable, and hang on for dear life as the car descended.

My stomach was also plummeting, along with my heart.  All this to earn a few bucks.

And then …

I woke up

No more teaching

No more drowning

Thank you for being here, Gent

Just a photo … one that says it all. 

I could wax poetic about love, feeling the flow of words from my finger to the world.  Sometimes I do that.  Not today.

Let the touch of faces enter you.  Take awhile to let these two beings find their way to your heart.

…

And one more photo:

This one hangs by the entrance of my apartment.  The girl softly connects.  It’s fine that she’s pretty but there’s a universe beyond that for me.

Every day she reminds me of how I want to be with people.

And … that’s enough words

I stood this morning on the Zuivelbrug, a bridge over the Leie River.  The rain fell softly.  I saw my friend Glenn through the vertical windows of the Soup Lounge.  We often banter back and forth, and sometimes he offers me wisdom.  I gladly receive it.

He lifted his arms and then lowered them with a fluttering of his fingers.  Rain!  Meaning from a distance.

And then …

I looked over to Glenn and raised my arms with the same vibrating fingers.  Next the arms straight out to the sides, fingers still alive.  Then in to my heart.  Now way up in a V shape, yearning for the universe.  And finally a deep bow to my companion behind the glass.  Glenn smiled.

So did Yannick, my postman.  He was crossing the bridge as I was flourishing.

Perhaps I’m strange … with a touch of loveliness

When I was a teenager, I dreamed of playing Camille Saint-Saëns’ The Swan on the cello.  Today, after fifty years of absence from the instrument, I’m dreaming again.

I started with my cello teacher Lieven last September.  I have had moments of fine playing, flowing deeply into the music.  Mostly, though, it’s been a grind: out-of-tune notes, a scratchy sound on the strings.  I have despaired.  My head keeps falling down and I keep raising it again.

Yo Yo Ma is a brilliant cellist.  I will never play The Swan like him.  But that doesn’t matter.  We share something far beyond our senior citizenship.  We hear the beauty inside the melody.  Our bodies vibrate with the deep notes of the cello.  Our playing can take us into realms of the Spirit … where listeners may be touched.

I need to get that sometimes there is passion seeping out from my left hand on the fingerboard and my right on the bow.  A connection happens with the audience even if the technique is faulty.

My playing abilities will continue to improve.  May my yearning for the cello never die.  And may someone hear me play The Swan someday.

Here’s Yo Yo to inspire you …

https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=3qrKjywjo7Q&si=WrnGUu5KUBONm6al

These are two words that didn’t show up yesterday in my one-syllable journey.  They too are fine examples of simplicity and directness.

I love it when someone asks a question and the response is simply “Yes”.  No elaboration, no fanciful descriptions.  No “but” or “mostly” at the end.  No “Today it’s that way.  Not sure about tomorrow”.

A lovely example from my current life:

Are you at home in Gent?

Yes

My mind doesn’t feel involved in the response.  All of me speaks.

The same for “No”.  I read an interview with Ben O’Connor, an Australian cyclist who finished second in the recent Vuelta a España (Tour of Spain), a three-week race.

“There was never a moment when I completely exploded. But Primoz was a deserving winner and he deserves to win this Vuelta a España.“

O’Connor may be looking to fight for a Grand Tour victory in the future but he remains with his feet on the ground. Asked if he thought he could ever beat Tadej Pogačar or Jonas Vingegaard or indeed Roglič, he answered simply – “No”.

***

Well said, Ben … and Bruce

Some words shine for me.  There’s an extra oomph in them, a touch of Spirit.  And most of those words are short.  They’re a laser beam that seeks out my heart.

Of course my words may not be your words.  Perhaps you have your own list.  Or maybe this seems rather unimportant.  Either way … all is well.

These words shimmer inside me.  I offer no explanations, just the letters that have found each other …

Adjectives and Adverbs

strong

big

soft

clear

sweet

wild

far

Nouns

key

breath

peace

joy

home

bed

soul

kids

heart

death

love

Verbs

love

ask

dream

go

sing

point

bow

***

And three more:

you

me

us

I love this curve of the Leie River.  It used to be that a white duck mingled with his or her friends.  But not yesterday.  A twinge of disappointment wove through me.  And then a thought came:

The others have just as much “duckness” as the white one.  They each have their big talent (maybe deep diving) and they share the same duck joys and sorrows.  They just don’t have white feathers.  Look inside, Bruce.

***

I watched a woman and man talking outside of Izy Coffee.  They stood there for at least five minutes, clearly enjoying each other’s presence.

It was time to say goodbye.  They touched.  And then she whirled away from him, starting up the street.  I watched her face.  The smile lingered.  And how lovely is that.

***

I often have deep thoughts.  Such as …

Why do people swing their arms back and forth when they walk?  (Left forward, right back > Right forward, left back, etc.)

Why don’t they throw both arms forward at the same time, and then back?

Of course the legs take turns too.  Or maybe they don’t have to.  We don’t have to walk.  We can hop.  (Legs forward, arms forward > Legs forward, arms back, etc.)

Okay … some of my thoughts aren’t particularly deep

That’s all right

I’ll keep thinking

It’s hard to write this title.  I keep my word.  But not this time.

A week or so ago, I told you I’d be singing at an open mic last night.  I didn’t go.

I could have written about something else today.  You probably wouldn’t have remembered my promise.  I could have silently let yesterday fall into the past.  But I would have known.  “When in doubt, Bruce, communicate … tell the truth.”

I could list a whole bunch of reasons why I didn’t show up … but I don’t want to do that.  If I did go down that path, I can imagine two general responses from you, my readers:

Those are reasonable reasons.  It’s good that you didn’t keep your word.

Those are unreasonable reasons.  It’s bad that you didn’t keep your word.

Instead of all that analysis, I choose to sit quietly with the fact that I didn’t do what I said I’d do.  As well, I see that I need to be careful about promising things.  If the promise is tied to a certain date, I need to anticipate what life will be like then, and whether it works to promise that I’ll do something.

I love the expression “On we go”

After all the good stuff and all the bad stuff, I continue

There’s a lot of life still to be lived