The sale for Tomorrowland travel packages began at 5:00 pm yesterday.  My trigger finger was poised over my laptop.  I had a page of notes about what I intended to buy: four nights at a hostel in Brussels, bus to and from the event in Boom each day, a basic Tomorrowland ticket for the weekend. 

Times two.  I decided to buy two packages and pray that someone would join me in July.  I did my internet research about the Meininger Brussels City Center hostel.  Within the comments was the info I needed: there is a mixed gender dorm available.  Since I didn’t know if a man or woman would join me (hopefully), that’s the accommodation I’d go for.

I was staring at the little circle going around and reading the message again and again:

Do not refresh this page.  You will be automatically redirected once you can enter the shop

And then other words:

It might take some time before you get access to the shop due to the high number of visitors.  To encourage fair access, opening multiple links will result in delayed access to the ticket shop

5:20.  Still the circle.  I was to be the Zoom host for an Evolutionary Collective course running from 6:00 till 8:15 but surely I’d get tickets (or know I’m not successful) before then.

5:35.  That circle seems to be hypnotizing me …

5:45.  A yucky message appears:

Please be patient.  There are some technical  issues due to the high demand.  The shop is currently closed.  You will be notified here when the shop will reopen

5:50.  I have to get ready for the meeting.  “Guess I’m toast. All the tickets will be gone well before 8:15.”

8:45.  I’d been reflecting on our marvelous EC course, especially the sweetness of the brand new folks being introduced to Mutual Awakening.  Then it hit me …

Tomorrowland!

To the website …

The sign said my hostel package was “On Hold”, which meant currently not available. 

A few hours later, the message had changed to what you see at the top of the page.

***

I’m sad … but somehow I’m smiling.  I kept my word.  I was the EC Zoom host, despite my yearning to be at Tomorrowland.

Next Saturday general admission tickets go on sale at 5:00.  I’ll be there on my computer.

May the lottery Gods be with me

These are my friends Rani, Witold and Lola. We’re regulars at Gregor Samsa playreading evenings. As in last night …

Thank God for Harry Glockler, the owner of Gregor Samsa. Usually four evenings a week, this spiritual space hosts concerts, and sometimes playreadings. He’s created a marvel in Ghent centrum.

Yesterday the journey was An Inspector Calls by J.B. Priestley. For Act One Harry asked me to be Arthur Birling, a British factory owner, described as “a heavy-looking, rather portentous man in his middle fifties”.

“I can do that!” I thought.

I just looked at the word “portentous” and thought it meant “fat”. I can do that! But Mr. Google tells me the meaning is “puffed up with vanity”. I can also do that!

I loved playing Arthur. I have no problem puffing myself. Here he’s lecturing his son Eric:

Just let me finish, Eric. You’ve a lot to learn yet. And I’m talking as a hard-headed, practical man of business. And I say there isn’t a chance of war … Why a friend of mine went over this new liner last week – the Titanic – she sails next week – forty-six thousand eight hundred tons – New York in five days – and every luxury – and unsinkable, absolutely unsinkable. That’s what you’ve got to keep your eye on, facts like that, progress like that – and not a few German officers talking nonsense and a few scaremongers here making a fuss about nothing.

Yes! I love being absolutely wrong (or at least my character being wrong).

Twelve of us showed up, and everyone who wanted to got to read. In Act Two, I said goodbye to Mr. Birling and switched to stage directions.

Everybody was so into their parts. For all of us, I think, we’d never seen the play. We created our characters moment-to-moment, putting our unique spin on the person. Vive les différences! Three different Birlings.

The guy had a wife, a son, a daughter, and a potential son-in-law. Each became real before my eyes, and then real again in the next act. There was also the police inspector … who might not have been legit.

The best for me was Act Three. I didn’t have a part to play, so no concentrating on lines and entrances. I just drank it all in – friends and newbies flowing in the story; voices loud and soft, raucous and soothing; feeling the dark green walls; watching the inspector utter his measured words while his face glowed in the light of a lamp.

I was in Wonderland

Twelve human beings together in the mystery

Sweet

I love watching tennis. When I lived in Canada, I often went to the National Bank Open in Toronto. Twice I was in the crowd at the US Open in New York City.

Last June, having set down roots in Ghent, I took the train to Eastbourne, UK for a week of watching the women and men play at the Rothesay International tournament.

The sport is in my blood. I love the mano-a-mano or womano-a-womano moments, the ball zooming back and forth across the net. Each player draws the best from her opponent.

And now it’s the Australian Open. I follow the scores on my phone and catch a few matches on TV.

Now the question:

Who do I cheer for?

In my more sublime moments, it doesn’t matter who wins. I simply want to see great tennis – the power, the artistry, the deft touch.

In all those other moments, I pick the player that I want to win. As Canada loosens in me, so does my loyalty to Canadian players such as Leylah Fernandez. Something else is drawing me … the person who’s not expected to win, or the person who stands tall in her courage, or the one who makes me smile.

I lean towards someone young, not as strong or experienced as adult players. Someone like 16-year-old Brenda Fruhvirtova from the Czech Republic. (In Melbourne, she was overwhelmed 6-3 6-2 by Aryna Sabalenka, ranked second in the world.)

I lean towards someone who is open about her mental health struggles, and perhaps has left the game for awhile to regain her emotional balance. Someone like Amanda Anisimova from the United States. (Earlier today she beat Paula Badosa from Spain 7-5 6-4 in the third round. Paula was formerly number two in the world.)

I lean towards someone returning from a serious injury, a player who has watched her world ranking plummet during the period of rehabilitation. Someone like Emma Raducanu from the UK, who won the US Open in 2021 and then succumbed to a series of ankle and wrist surgeries. (Emma won her first match in Australia over Shelby Rogers 6-3, 6-2, and then was bounced from the tournament 6-4 4-6 6-4 by China’s Yafan Wang.)

I lean towards someone who stands up for her country in times of crisis, no matter the criticism she receives for being so outspoken. Someone like Ukraine’s Elina Svitolina, who, while treating her Russian opponents with respect during the match, refuses to shake their hand at the end. (Elina defeated Viktoriya Tomova from Bulgaria 6-1 6-3 in the second round.)

***

I lean towards those who hold their head high

And keep playing

I too used to be surrounded by books.  My wife Jody and I built and stained three lovely bookshelves which were brimming with stories and ancient wisdom.

A year after Jody died, I looked at our home and knew I had to leave.  I had to start again.  I gazed in wonder at the pile of cardboard boxes holding my accumulations, especially the books.

Other boxes contained so many CDs and so many DVDs.  Our bookshelves in my new home somehow held all these things. 

I’d read a book here and watched a DVD there but I realized there were lots of small objects I’d never looked at.  I had bought them and came to consider them as friends, as a comfort against some harsh realities in my life.

Sometime around 2021, I quietly said “Enough.  I don’t need all this.”  And so …

I gave away about 400 books

About 200 CDs

About 200 DVDs and Blu-Rays

It was my spiritual weight loss program

***

Now I’m lean and kind

I only accumulate friendships

It’s a Belgian techno music festival for two weekends in July.

I want to go!

A year ago I waited impatiently on my computer for the ticket sale to start.  Tickets were offered in a lottery to anyone who registered.  Both the first day, and the second one, I wasn’t selected.  I was sad.

Now it’s time to rev up for Tomorrowland 2024. I had no plan last time – just get a ticket for one of the weekends. Somehow I’d figure out how to get to Boom and where to stay.

This time I did my research. There are travel packages, from deluxe to modest. I don’t need the bells and whistles. So …

I have chosen to go the first weekend, take the train to Brussels on Thursday, July 18, stay in a dormitory at a hostel in centrum, be delivered to and from the festival each day by bus … and have a helluva time!

The sale for travel packages starts this Saturday at 5:00 pm CET. I’m ready. Surely fewer people will be fighting for these offers than will be the case a week later, when festival entrance tickets go on sale. Surely I will get in!

I want to dance. I’ll get tired a lot faster than the 20-year-olds but that’s fine. I’ll rest more … and then give ‘er again.

I’d love someone I know to accompany me to Brussels and Boom, and dance beside me. But no one in my world likes techno. Oh well. I’m going … whether that’s alone or with a friend.

***

I don’t know how many years I have left

Do not go gentle into that good night
Old age should burn and rave at close of day
Rage, rage against the dying of the light

(Dylan Thomas)

Time to rave, Dylan

My radar in Izy Coffee is always on for the spoken word in English. And this morning a couple were talking to Arjen, the barista.

“Where are you from?” I intruded (nicely).

“Las Vegas”.

So I learned about a place I’ve been curious about but with no interest in visiting. It would have been cool to see Celine Dion perform in one of those spectacular hotels on “The Strip” but my life has turned out fine without such adornment.

When Ryan and Amanda consider a move to Europe, the answer is “yes and no” – her yes, him no. Among my conversational meanderings as a Ghent welcome agent was this:

Just past that building [Nationale Loterij] there’s a counselling service. They specialize in helping Nevada men overcome their resistance to moving to Europe

Three smiles.

I told two lovely US citizens about three of my favourite spots in Ghent: Shazanna (an Italian restaurant full of flavours), Rococo (a candlelit cocktail bar tucked away on a cobblestone street) and the Carmelite Church on the Burgstraat (a sanctuary of quiet). Maybe they’ll visit one of them before the family leaves the city tomorrow.

Amanda told me about a concert they attended under the Stadshal a few days ago. It’s a marvel of modern architecture among the encircling history:

Free beer was on offer. And we’re talking magnificent Belgian beers, not the coloured water that lives in America.

“And,” Amanda said, “people brought ironing boards!” They stood under the Stadshal, listening to the music. Beer and yummies resided on the boards.

Allrighty then. Totally new to me.

***

We waved goodbye with accompanying smiles

And I said what I love saying:

Have a good life

It’s a recurring theme in my life … and it’s growing stronger:

Love the moment

Whether it’s roses or thorns

This is unknown territory that is slowly seeping into the known.  And it’s not about suppressing my reactions to the bad stuff.  We all have painful times with other people, with our health, with our self-esteem.  And then there’s money, aging and not being good at some task.

In the midst of the pain, I usually let myself feel what I’m feeling – sadness, hurt, embarrassment, anger …  I wither within the experience.  I let the emotion stay as long as it wants to.

But something deeper often bubbles up, something that takes away the knife thrust of the pain:

I love what’s here right now

I experience love for what life is showing me.  I give it a lingering hug.  I don’t tell it to go away.

The hurting remains but it’s usually outshined by the mystery of being alive.  My mouth opens in awe of the tapestry I’m being given.

Then the yammering voice intrudes:

You can’t love physical pain

You can’t love failing at something

You can’t love being rejected

***

I’m sitting here in the middle of “not knowing”

The new is knocking on the door

I will let it enter

Do I look like a guy who robs banks? Or just someone who doesn’t want his cheeks to freeze in the worst of a Canadian winter?

I didn’t have to wear this balaclava often, but there were days when it was skin-saving. Such as yesterday … (except now I live in balmy Europe!)

Here’s a snapshot of the low temperatures in Alberta, a western province of Canada, overnight on Friday, January 12:

And the “W” is what the air feels like when you add in the windchill. Ouch! I used to live in Lethbridge. The coldest I remember there was about -25 C, plus the wind. But -39 C? How would I survive?

Actually that’s a thought that came to me once when I walked outside on a winter’s day in the city of Ottawa, heading to a building a few hundred metres away.

O my God! I need to run! I could die out here

Here’s what one commentator said about Friday night:

It’s going to be a cold and dangerous night tonight in Southern Alberta as the Extreme Cold Warning is still in effect. Windchill temperatures in the -50°C range are expected overnight where skin can get frostbite within 2 minutes!

It’s so cold, Alberta will be colder than the North Pole, the Arctic, even colder than Antarctica!

If you can, stay home. If you have to travel, make sure you have a blanket and food in your vehicle. If it’s too cold for you to stay outside, it’s too cold for your pet to stay outside, make sure your pets are warm.

If outside, watch for colour changes on fingers and toes, pain, numbness, a tingling sensation, or swelling. If present, move indoors and begin warming.

Keep moving to maintain your body heat and seek shelter from the wind.

Outdoor workers should take regularly scheduled breaks to warm up.

I’m so happy I’ve moved to Gent

I was having breakfast in Broodjeszaak Martens this morning.  It’s only twelve doors down the Oudburg from me.  A lovely resting spot, hosted by Lieve and her daughter Fran.

Fran has another family member – her dog Max.  He roams around the restaurant, seeing who’s there, cozying up to a person or two.

“He’s always seeking attention,” says Sam, a staff member.

“Me too!” says Bruce.

Max was visiting the folks at the neighbouring table.  I reached out my hand.  He reached out his head.  I scratched.  He sighed.

At one point Max extended his paw.  I held it in the air for twenty seconds or so.  Max was happy.

Later he sat on the floor near me.  We both felt the rhythm of the petting.

And then Max wandered off …

***

Life comes

Life lingers

Live leaves

It’s worth a smile or two

My friend Lyrinda sent me the photo at the end of this post on my birthday.  It was from the school yearbook where we taught.

I look back on my years of teaching with a smile.  Although my official job was working with blind and low vision children, my secret agenda was to talk to any kid or teen who was willing.  My favourite word in teaching is “conversation”.

With only a couple of exceptions, I can’t remember anything I said to a student. Makes me giggle … just another glowing example of how much I forget stuff these days.

What I do remember is my heart. The physical version is pretty much the same as thirty years ago – a little added wear-and-tear I suppose. The spiritual version was pretty wide open during my teaching years. And it’s even more so now. I see the beauty in others very easily.

Did I make a difference as a teacher?

What a silly question, Bruce! The answer is overwhelmingly yes.

Some of those no longer young people will remember you fondly, even if they don’t remember your name. Some will know that your teaching subject was “life” … and the lessons remain