Andrea, me … and all these folks:

We were eagerly anticipating. And the Bocelli smile didn’t disappoint. Still, the music was a mixed bag for me.

Andrea’s voice was so pure. His words often hung in the air … My mouth dropped open and my hands found each other.

Most of the pieces were operatic. The melodies didn’t move me and I didn’t understand the languages sung. My hero never sang in English. And so my experience wasn’t as deep as I’d hoped (until the last song!)

I yearned for the stories shining from the music, ones that will touch us human beings. I yearned for the melodies that would sweep me up in their grandeur. And I still loved the man and his voice.

A young woman in a sparkling red dress played passionate violin. Her body swayed. She rose up as the notes soared. And she smiled in the playing! Sometimes she smiled at the conductor – so full of joy. And sometimes she seemed to be smiling at her violin. They were companions on the journey.

I can’t remember her name. But maybe Google can tell me. I’ll search for “Andrea Bocelli World Tour”.

I found her! Rusanda Panfili. Magnifique.

Towards the end, Andrea spoke to us in English. He thanked us all for our “affection”. And I really got that he meant each and every one of us 12,000 music lovers. He also said that it is hard to sing, given “these difficult times”, which I took to be a reference to the tragic war that erupted a few days ago.

And then that beloved last song – Nessun Dorma. The melody is divine. It overwhelmed the fact that I didn’t know the words.

I was in awe as Andrea held the last high note for an eternity.

***

Here is Nessun Dorma at another concert. The setting is very similar to last night … orchestra and choir loving the man.

Please enjoy a gift from God

https://youtu.be/2SZsxTBCzoA?si=foBKsGg3XMbbcf9a

I’m on the train from Brussels to Cologne, Germany.  My eventual destination is Oberhausen.  Andrea Bocelli agreed to sing to me tonight.

Earlier, at Brussels Zuid train station, I took my suitcase on the down escalator.  A woman behind demanded that I let her get by.  There was no room to do so.  I said “No.  My balance isn’t good on escalators.” She tried unsuccessfully to climb over my suitcase.  (Sigh)

Scenes from my train window:

Kids zooming around a playground, way below my view

Eight satellite dishes hanging on the walls of a small apartment building

An ancient church spire with flashing lights at the top to warn planes

Speeding by a train fifty metres away, moving in the same direction

Mile after mile paralleling a freeway … so boring.  Cars are just not that interesting

Finally a broad expanse of green, hosting cows that may be wondering why we’re going so fast

So high above the streets of Liège, looking down on the heads of people walking by

At the station, a canopy above of yellow, red and transparent strips of glass

To reach Oberhausen, I’m taking four trains.  So there are three transfers, ranging between ten and eighteen minutes .  If the trains are on time, and I can speedily find the new platform, I’ll see Andrea.

I’m in Germany!  No sign.  The trees look the same.

Oh oh.  The train left Achen, Germany nine minutes late.  It’s expected to arrive in Cologne at 4:22.  My next train leaves there at 4:25.

Happily the gentleman sitting next to me got on his phone and discovered another train that leaves at 4:37.  It goes to Essen rather than Wuppertal but there’s a train from Essen to Oberhausen that will get me in at 6:44.  The concert starts at 8:00.

Life works

I’m on the train to Essen.  Four people have helped me.  Praise life.

The highest speed that I saw on the previous train to Cologne was 228 kph.  Now I’m on a really slow one – probably 60 kph.

The light is fading.  Far more compelling than the grey landscape are the passengers.  One young black woman with a huge smile is especially compelling.  And the languages soaring above our seats! German so dominant, unlike the Dutch of Belgium.  But also others that I can’t decipher.

Now the final train from Essen to Oberhausen.  More like a subway, and crammed with commuters.

I stood outside the Oberhausen train station, praying that Google Maps would be nice to me.  And it was.

Soon Peter was letting me into the apartment, showing me the lights and keys, giving me directions to the arena.

It was 7:15.  “How do I pay on the bus?”  “I have to charge my phone some or I’ll have no ticket to get in.”

Peter’s explanations were longer than I wanted.  Time was so short.  I hope I was polite (but maybe not).

I was finally on the street, walking fast to the bus stop.  This time Google Maps was wrong.  What I thought was the stop was just a widening of the pavement.  And Bus 957 floated by.

I found another bus at another location.  A woman speaking in French tried to help me navigate Oberhausen transit.  I didn’t understand.

However …

At 7:59 my eyes beheld this:

More tomorrow

Patricia Albere, founder of the Evolutionary Collective, recently talked about pressure.  It’s a good thing.  Life is richer when we have moments of essential performance.

Today two sources of pressure are living in me:

One

I’m often the Zoom host on EC calls.  It’s marvelous to have a wide open mind and heart but there comes a time when a job needs to be done.  The 30 or 40 people online need me to produce the result of a technically smooth meeting.  I don’t want to make any mistakes that would distract them from connecting with their partner.

Earlier this week, I was all set up on Zoom ten minutes before the session was to start.  Folks were arriving onscreen.  The teacher looked to be meditating.

And my screen froze …

I tried pressing Control-Alt-Delete to turn off the laptop.  No response.  Press and hold the power button > same.  The teacher had texted me that I seemed to have lost internet connection.  “Yes.  I’m trying to get back on.”

I wouldn’t call my reaction calm but it was … even.  Unlike the keys, my fingers and mind hadn’t frozen.

Finally (two minutes later?) things started working again.  With five minutes to go, I was back in the meeting.  I did the various tasks that were necessary.  And at the top of the hour I welcomed the participants.

Sometime during the session, I thought of the tennis champion Billie Jean King, and her marvelous quote:

Pressure is a Privilege

Indeed

Two

I want to sing for people.  Two nights ago, I enjoyed a concert at a small hall in Gent called Minard.  There were about five scheduled performers sprinkled throughout the evening.

The MC announced that after the break, there’d be some “open mic” time.  “Sign up for a spot.”  I didn’t.  I didn’t have a song ready.  Besides I was just plain scared.

However …

“The next open mic opportunity will be on Monday, November 13.”

I’m going to sing on the 13th.  You heard it here first.  The head will be held high – with the voice perfect or imperfect, the melody in tune or not, the words solid or unsure.

No matter the quality, I will sing Paint the Sky with Stars … passionately.  I will reach the audience.  I will fill the room.

I will be afraid.  And I will keep going.

Right now I know the melody.  I know the key to sing in – one that will allow me to hit some delicious low notes.  The pressure of the next month is to learn the words!  Some of them already live in my soul:

Suddenly before my eyes
Hues of indigo arise

Others have trouble finding their way from the phone to my lips:

Night has brought to those who sleep
Only dreams they cannot keep
I have legends in the deep

Hmm … much concentration needed.  Daily repetition.  And confidence that when the moment comes, so will these words.

Of course the pressure will be most pointed when I step onstage and bring my lips close to the microphone.

Bring it on

We study together as we uncover the innards of the Dutch language.  Today Paula invited me to her apartment which she shares with her boyfriend Giovanni.

The studying floated away in favour of lunch and talking about life.  Paula is from Argentina and wanted me to taste an arepa, which she had discovered at the home of a Guatemalan friend.

I watched her hands prepare corn tortillas accompanied by scrambled egg, avocado and white cheese.  I saw the grace and sureness of eggs being cracked on the lip of a pan.  And I smiled at the flavours that came together in my mouth.  The talking was richer when accompanied by the delicious.

Paula is a coach, helping people discover the impact of attitude on the body.  She’s also a yoga instructor.  And an artist:

The eyes drew me.  And Paula described the circular flow of energy at the bottom left, where yellow, green and red are drawn from their separateness into union.

Then there’s the creation of her five-year-old nephew in Mendoza, Argentina, where auntie is reaching out to the young one.

Now another expression:

Paula had been teaching two young girls Spanish … and the universe said it was time for them to part.  Her drawing of goodbye asked the kids to think of her after she was gone.  And when they did that, the three of them would be joined in love – no matter the geography.

***

Both my stomach and soul

Were nourished this afternoon

I took the train to the coast yesterday … to the North Sea … to Oostende.  I was visiting my friend Marieke Janssen.  She and six other women artists were exhibiting their work in the De Feniks Gallery.

Marieke was excited.  She’d already sold five of her paintings at the show.  And she was going to share the gallery with me.

We walked near the beach beside cafés full of Sunday celebrants. They were raising their glasses to each other and feeling the sun on their faces.  Our steps were light.

We walked the old streets and some newer ones.  Our destination was lunch at Café du Parc.

I thought of art as we strolled.  The beauty of colour, line and shape.  At the café I savoured my mussels and Tripel Karmeliet beer … and the conversation with Marieke. As a latté approached, I looked down at the table. And this is what I saw:

Sugar for me and cream beneath. So elegant. The curves of the cone. The perfection of one part meeting the other. And something hidden.

***

The walking revealed the majesty of buildings – so many different ones. I was drawn to the vertical, the slender, the reaching for the sky:

I wondered if one family occupied all four floors. I loved the roundness of the balcony and the transom windows. I wanted to open the door and say hello.

***

At the gallery, I lingered with every Marieke work of art. And my eyes lingered longest here:

This is life, I figure. Folks enjoying the presence of others. Celebrating anything that comes to mind. Exploring other lives.

I wanted to buy the painting and hang it in my home. Marieke said the price was 420 euros. I let it stay on the wall.

***

The expressions of Oostende reside in my mind and in this post. That’s sufficient. I don’t need to own the cream-and-sugar presenter, live in the building or have Marieke’s partiers gaze down at me in my living room.

Letting them go

And having them be mine

Deep in the Learning Dutch website is a video.  The challenge is to learn the numbers from 1 to 100.  I find it hard to wrap my mind around the basic structure.  If I’m looking for 75, the word starts with the 5 and ends with the 7.  Vijfenzeventig.

The video goes above and beyond a language lesson.  Yes, I hear the numbers spoken – by a five-year-old, ten, twenty … as I see their open faces.  The whole life span before my eyes. 

I was transported to the vastness, the wonder of beholding members of the human family.  My family … and yours.

Here they are:

And each has a story to tell

My life is floating … rolling … dancing.  I’m doing the new and renewing the old.  I’m writing. There are people in my corner cheering me on.  “You can do it, Bruce!”

If you’ve been reading my posts for the last ten days, you know what I mean when I say “Often I can’t finish the sentences in my head.”  My face sags sweetly.  I see the beauty of … everyone.

***

Then there was last night.  I woke up in the wee hours, nauseated.  I sat on the edge of the bed and belched, over and over again. Finally under the covers again, the “sick” word just left. I softened. And I was gone.

On waking, sadness came. The dream was vivid. It still is. I was a student. My classmates were milling around, speaking to each other. But no one looked at me. Every time I ventured into eyes, they were aimed somewhere else.

I walked from group to group, my hand pulling a suitcase. I was perpetually arriving. Or was it leaving? Certainly not in the middle of things.

I walked down a corridor. A ramp painted in raucous colours led me to another common area, full of life. Blues! Reds! Yellows! And kids laughing and bouncing. I was invisible in this world.

Enough of that youthful joy. Up the ramp again to my part of the school. Except it wasn’t mine.

I saw a girl I knew and walked up to her.

Hi, Bonnie!

Hello. (With a plastic smile) You’re … Bruce?

(Sigh)

***

Belonging … not belonging

Living … dying

I am ______.  I like _______.  But then things change.  These days I feel fluid rather than solid.  My world is moving rather than staying put.

Five years ago golf, basketball and hockey were a big part of my life.  Now they’re not.  Golf was the only one I played so I’m mostly talking about watching on TV.  I had heroes.  Sometimes my well-being rose and fell with the fortunes of these athletes.  Not a good idea.

***

Here’s Brooke Henderson from Canada.  I used to know when she teed off.  I knew her1 stats.  I went to tournaments and followed her from hole to hole.

The Masters was my favourite tournament.  The magnificent emerald green fairways, the history, the drama of the back nine on Sunday …

Gone

***

Do you realize that the Toronto Raptors won the NBA championship in 2019?  We were led by Kawhi Leonard, one of the best all-round players in history.  When he gave an interview, I hung on every word.  Here he is:

I remember watching the final game of the NBA finals on the big screen, with hundreds of us loving the Raptors.  And then … “We win!”  Oh joy!  High fives and hugs all around.  I was swept up in the flow of basketball, in the crowd cheering after every home team basket, in the tension of down-to-the-wire.  And now?

Gone

***

Mitch Marner plays for the Toronto Maple Leafs in the NHL.  He skates like the wind, passes the puck so softly … as an artist.  He was my most recent Leafs hero:

My love affair with the Leafs began in the mid-1950s.  I lived in Toronto.  Saturday night was Hockey Night in Canada on TV  – black-and-white TV.

The Leafs last won the Stanley Cup in 1967.  I was at the parade, and loved the speeches from Frank Mahovlich, Tim Horton …  I was a fanatic young boy.  But in 2023 …

Gone

***

It’s fine to say goodbye

And lovely to say hello

Part Two of yesterday’s conversation was initiated by me:

What city would you love to visit?

I asked my friends to let an answer bubble up rather than think about it. What comes immediately?

Bart started … Porto. In Portugal. He was smiling.

And Bart’s second favourite came quickly – Sevilla. In Spain.

Now it was Larisa’s turn: Porto. So wife and husband saw together.

And the ball was passed to Geert: Edinburgh. In Scotland.

The woman at the next table was enjoying this. I asked her the question … and she didn’t know. “I’ll come back to you.” Minutes later, I did. Firenze. (Florence in English) In Italy.

Then there was me. Firenze. But I broke my own rule, talking about the marvelous art and the Ponte Vecchio, the bridge where Dante fell in love with Beatrice. “No explaining, Bruce.”

This morning, absent of analysis, one word came: Prague. In the Czech Republic.

Well said, everyone

Let us love the world

No … not the people in the photo – my friends at Izy Coffee.

I told myself years ago that I’d never again read a gossip magazine, and guess what I’m doing (in Dutch)?

Larisa told me that the words are basic, perfect for a newbie Dutch learner.  She was sitting with Bart, Geert and me this morning.  They want me to succeed in my new language.  So does the barista Arjen, who was leaning into our conversation.

“Speak to us” was the message, however unsure and full of mistakes in grammar, vocabulary and pronunciation.  “And we will speak to you” – slowly and clearly.  Thank you, dear friends.  My journey will be long … and I am accompanied.

At one point Larisa stood up and walked out of the coffee shop.  She lives only steps away.  Ten minutes later she was back, with a copy of Story in her hand.  “For you.”

And so, not only will I steep in the basics of my new language, but I can catch up on the latest from Hollywood and Monaco (yuck to the second point).

Everyone sitting around recommended Arjen as the perfect Dutch speaker and language partner.  And when I watch him, I see how welcoming he is to every customer, including me.  Guess I’m going to be drinking a lot of coffee!

***

I feel renewed.  I’m going to study hard and do all I can to stay in this course.  I see that during class time I’m not good at absorbing new material.  So be it.  I vow to keep my head up when the new starts to overwhelm me.

I have a lovely apartment – perfect for learning.  My friend Paula from the class will have studying sessions with me.  We can teach each other.

I will succeed