It was Saturday night.  Jagger was back from Italy.  And we were off to a football game – KAA Gent versus STVV from the Belgian city of Sint-Truiden.  Go Blue!

There were about 15,000 of us enjoying the festivities in Planet Group Arena.  For the first while STVV thoroughly outplayed us and I was mesmerized by the footwork of their #77.  He danced with the ball.

To our left, behind the goal net, sat the KAA fan club.  They clapped, they drummed, they chanted.  Loud!  Intoxicating rhythms!  Sometimes they’d call out to fans at the other end of the field.  And those folks yelled back.  So cool.

Club members waved huge flags.  Their bodies moved in sync.  Often snake-like left and right.  Or three claps and then the arms out wide.  Woh!  I was drawn into the flow of the noise.

As for the game, I was bored for most of it.  Very few sweet passing plays.  Very few shots on net.  Only a couple of great saves.  Two goals (for us!)  The fan action overwhelmed the game play.  And that was fine.

At the end of the match (the last home game of the season) almost all of us fans stayed in the stadium.  The KAA players walked the perimeter of the field, kicking mini-soccer balls into the crowd.

Then they stood in front of their fan club.  Each player was introduced, stepping forward into a wall of applause.

The coach was leaving the team.  He gave an impassioned speech in Dutch.  And then received a standing ovation.  Not how I remember coaches bring treated in the NHL or NBA in North America!

***

I had fun

Jagger had fun

And so did thousands of others

Saturday morning in St. Michael’s Church …

We cellists (about 40 of us – not 25) played six short pieces: Cranes, Oblivion, Russians, something from Haydn, something from Mahler and something from Coldplay.

As we waited outside the church for the door to be unlocked, I sat down beside a girl, maybe 9-years-old.  “You’re the youngest and I’m the oldest.”  She smiled.

With the rehearsals we’ve had, I’m gradually learning names, and I greeted several colleagues as we unpacked our instruments.  We would rehearse in the sanctuary before “show time”.

My cello teacher is Lieven.  Vincent is the other one.  As we found our places on stage, I saw Vincent approaching.  He said he’d be playing next to me.  My first reaction was fear – a brilliant cellist beside a struggling one.  “He’ll hear all my wrong notes!”  My second reaction was embarrassment.  “The teachers think I need help.”

“Well what’s the truth, Bruce?  You do need help.  So suck it up and play!” 

Hmm … Bruce was right.

Vincent’s playing helped mine.  He demoed the correct rhythms.  For the first time I said “The rehearsal went well.”

And then the audience drifted in.  About eighty human beings would be cheering us on.  Family and friends know that we’re students, not professional.  There’ll be mistakes.  (Tell me about it.)

Now for real.  There were passages in some of the pieces where I was spot on: the right notes, the right rhythm, vibrato for the left hand fingers, expressive bowing for the right ones.  And … passion flowing through my body.  Cool.

Then there were those other times.  (Sigh)  Lost in a flurry of notes, losing my place in the pieces, the wrong pitch, the bow squeaking on the strings.  I was grunting rather than flowing.

However!  I kept my head up when the mistakes came.  I returned to playing with gusto after I figured out where I was in the piece.  And at the end I took a full bow with my fellow cellists.  We did it.  I did it.  And the audience applauded.

That was Saturday morning.  In the afternoon, the fatigue flooded me … just in time for my nephew Jagger returning to Gent from Italy.

And new adventures beckoned …

Tomorrow morning I’m one of twenty-five cellists playing in a concert at St. Michael’s Church in Gent.  Six pieces, four cello parts.

I’ve had the thought that I’m the worst player of us all.  Yesterday at my cello lesson, Lieven told me that all of us are struggling.  After all, we’re students.  We’re learning.

But let’s suppose that I am the worst player right now.  In my better moments, I respond with “So what?”  What’s important is that I’m there, participating.  I’m moving closer to playing freely, with passion, flowing into the music.

***

I also love to watch cycling on TV.  Today Tadej Pogačar from Slovenia is way ahead in the Giro d’Italia.  The 144th and last rider is Alan Riou from France.  He’s five hours, three minutes and thirty-nine seconds behind Tadej.

Some minds see being last as “bad”.  Some might even add another layer: “That’s a bad human being.”

What nonsense!

Alan will be at the start line today and I hope he makes it to the end of the race on Sunday in Rome.

The last rider in the race is honoured as the “Lanterne Rouge”, named for the red lantern that used to hang off the last car of a train.

If it’s you on Sunday, Alan – waydago!  You grunted through the mountains and the rain.  You got the job done.  Congratulations.

And I have a rendezvous with St. Michael’s tomorrow

I wonder who created pink.  Quite a brilliant soul, I’d say.  Even though my favourite colour is red, sometimes I can’t resist throwing in some white.

When I was growing up, boys wouldn’t be caught dead wearing pink.  Thank God we’ve evolved.

Fish have never seemed all that concerned with what other fish think.

And shoes just want to be run or walked in.  Who cares what colour they are?

As for Home Sweet Home … why not?

To conclude this vivid musing, if Mom Nature can create fuzzy pink things on a branch, surely I can display my own inner pinkness …

I like standing in the middle, with lots of room around.  A place to breathe easy.  But that isn’t always the story of my day, or yours.  My life in Belgium has taken me to two edges, where I stare down the precipice.

Learning Dutch

Playing cello

It’s all a crescendo right now, as my final Dutch exam looms a little more than two weeks away, and I’m in a concert of 25 cellists this Saturday.

Both are new, so beyond what I know.  I experience being “without skill”, or at least with apparently not enough skill to get the job done well.

The music for Saturday is so difficult, the fingers needing to move immensely fast to play the melody of my part.  Oh well.  The new Dutch grammar and listening exercises come fast and furious, and I’m often left with my tongue hanging down in despair.  Oh well again.

The truth is that I’m doing both things, risking my self-esteem and the opinions of others.  I’m here.  I’m now.  And I’m grappling with learning two things I want dearly.  Good for me.

Saturday morning, I’ll be dressed in my finest on a stage in St. Michael’s Church, along with my musical compatriots.  We’ll play six pieces … and we’ll give our best.

On June 8, I’ll sit in a classroom with my 12 Dutch-learning compatriots.  For two-and-a-half hours we’ll write, listen to audio, and speak our new language.  Pass or fail, we’ve each achieved so much, so often banging our heads against the unknown.

***

Two reasons to smile

A few days ago, the professional cyclists were riding the Vuelta a Burgos Féminas race in Spain.  A bunch of riders were sprinting for the finish line.  

“As the sprint intensified, Sofia Bertizzolo (UAE Team ADQ) and Elisa Balsamo (Lidl-Trek) collided with the barriers.” 

Elisa was lying on the ground, and her teammate Lucinda Brand stopped to be with her before the medical staff arrived.  Balsamo suffered “a concussion, a fracture to her nasal bone and second metacarpal” bone of her hand.

“Today I followed my human instinct and not my racing instinct.  I stopped to check on my teammate after a nasty crash just meters from the finish.  I didn’t think twice about doing it and I don’t regret it.”

Good for you, Lucinda.  I bet we’ve all had physically painful moments where someone has stayed by our side … so we’re not alone.

The Union Cycliste Internationale (UCI) is the governing body of professional cycling.  They have a rule that addresses crashes near the finish line:

In the case of a duly noted incident in the last three kilometres of a road race stage, the rider or riders affected shall be credited with the time of the rider or riders in whose company they were riding at the moment of the incident.

“Incident” as in “crash”.

The riders in the crash, or those who were slowed or stopped by it, were all given the same time.  Lucinda showed up a few seconds later.  Officials said she was not “involved” in the crash. 

Lucinda left Elisa after the doctors arrived, and finished the race.  She was deemed to have finished three minutes after the rest of the riders.

Something is wrong here.  Officials in any realm of life must value kindness beyond their rule books. 

The human spirit must be honoured

There is magic when I meet you and when you meet me … when our eyes touch.

Some people don’t look at me when we talk.  Others almost find my eyes but it seems they’re more interested in my left or right shoulder.

The gift is in the middle. 

“Hello”

“I see you”

That’s my nephew Jagger.  This 20-year-old from Western Canada is seeing Europe for the first time.  He’s spent the last ten days with me in Gent and Barcelona.  And now he’s sitting in Brussels Airport, waiting for his flight to Rome.

Good for him!

There are lots of people who’ve influenced him … including mom, dad, his two brothers and me.  That’s good.  We all need to learn from others.  But this guy has soared beyond.

I had a few questions for Jagger:

Do you want to visit some churches?  >  Yes

Shall we do a lot of walking?  >  Yes

Do you want to meet local people?  >  Yes

Do you want to go to a playreading?  >  Yes

There you have it – the ultimate “yes” man.  Last night Jagger sat in a circle of us playreaders.  He took a part in “The Seagull”, written by Anton Chekhov, and gave ‘er.  My friends loved him being there and participating.

And in the spirit of not being joined at the hip to a 75-year-old, one afternoon Jagger played soccer with Baziel and his friends, with a lot of guy talk at McDonald’s after.

The coolest for me is his six-day journey in Italy.  He’s figuring out the transportation and accommodations for Roma, Pompeii, Napoli and the Amalfi Coast.  I know he’ll be spontaneous, curious to see what’s around the next corner.  And not knowing Italian will not faze him.

Jagger comes back to Gent on May 25.  That night we’re going to watch KAA Gent play football (soccer) in Ghelamco Arena.  We’ll have fun … and he’ll have Italian stories to tell.

I’m proud of Jagger

He’ll have a great life

Jagger and I walked into St. Michael’s Church in Gent yesterday.  There are marvelous wanderings available in the sanctuary – paintings, sculptures, a domed ceiling, candles glowing.

But I just wanted to sit.  To drink in the quiet.  I chose a spot with a long view to the front of the church. 

No

“That’s strange,” I thought.  “I love long views.”  True, but I was being drawn elsewhere. 

A circular staircase appeared … and I followed.  The sitting was natural and true.

I gazed upwards, and beyond where I could see.  There was a curving, a lightness in the air, a gentle pulling beyond the known.

I stayed put for a long time.

Someone else can write about possible meanings.  I’ll just continue to revel in the wood, the scarlet of the carpet, the grapes.

I rest within the beauty

I’ve been taking cello lessons with two other adult students for eight months or so.  Our teacher (and another one) have arranged a concert for at least 25 student cellists on May 25 at the awesome St. Michael’s Church in Gent.

I get to be in an orchestra!

We had  our first rehearsal last night.  For me … it was a disaster.  No exaggeration. 

But even as we finished, I was smiling.  It’s been so long.  As a teenager, I played in my high school orchestra – strings, brass, woodwinds and percussion.  I belonged.

Before, during and after the rehearsal I looked around the room.  So many of us, with our cellos and bows and sheet music.  Most of the players were young (kids, teens, early adults).  Other than me, I’d say the oldest cellist was about 40.

(By the way, this photo isn’t us.  I got it off the Internet)

As poorly as I played, all my problems were outshined by the joy of playing with other musicians.  I’m where I need to be.

Here’s a list of my challenges, which I can feel dimming even as I tap:

1.  There were six short pieces, including one that I found really difficult.  So I focused on practicing that one, pretty much ignoring the other five.  Bad decision!  I got all sorts of notes and rhythms wrong.

2.  My bow had been damaged and I’d got a new one recently from my music store.  It’s important to put rosin on the hairs so that they’ll stick a bit to the strings.  I thought I’d applied lots of rosin but halfway through the practice it had worn off.  The bow sliding on the strings essentially means NO SOUND. 

3.  The group of us was divided into four sections, each playing different notes and rhythms from the other three.  I sat beside a friendly young man who was playing different notes than me.  I couldn’t hear “my group” of cellists!

4.  Often I couldn’t absorb how quickly the conductor wanted the piece to be played.  So I got lost a lot, sitting with the bow on my lap till I figured out where we were.

5.  I wear a splint on my thumb because of arthritis.  Without it, I can’t hold the bow for longer than five minutes.  The splint rested securely on my thumb last night but after about forty minutes the digit weakened – and so did the sound.  Plus there were eighty minutes to go!

6.  All the conductor’s instructions were in Dutch.  “Of course.  That’s the language in this part of Belgium.  You expected English?”

***

A perfect storm of problems

And a bright sunny day of musical togetherness