Last night Lydia, Luc and I were sitting around, drinking wine and listening to music. It was sweet. We took turns picking our favourites. One of Lydia’s choices was Dos Gardenias. As she sang along, her eyes softened. Wistful.
And she told us her story …
Lydia had long loved the song. Here’s what someone else said about it:
The two titular tropical gardenia flowers are associated with the two lovers’ hearts. Naturally, the lyrics of such an earnest love song cannot exist without passionate declarations of love, but there are also gentle kisses framed by beautiful flowers and the singer’s lament for the transient lives of the two gardenias that will inevitably wither, thus marking the end of love.
Nineteen years ago, Lydia was in the operating room, about to give birth to Baziel. She was scared about the Caesarean section that was about to happen.
The anesthesiologist was recommending that he only numb Lydia’s abdominal area. She wanted to be put to sleep.
“You’ll miss what would be one of the biggest moments of your life.”
Lydia sighed … and agreed.
As she descended into the wonders of the sweetening mind, her mouth opened. Out came Dos Gardenias, a full-throated praising of love. Her son was coming. She had to sing.
***
An interlude:
Lydia’s dog Henri just came by for a petting session. It must have lasted fifteen minutes. For much of it, we were eye-to-eye.
***
Apparently the operating room was full of laughter as Lydia sang … and full of joy. Mother and son were dancing.
Lydia glowed in the recounting of a moment in time
I have a fetish. Having a very good screen resolution on my TV.
When I first visited Belgium at my friend Lydia’s home in Maarkedal, we’d sit down to watch a TV show. And my eyes burst open! The clarity of the images was far better than in Canada. And Lydia said her TV was in the middle range while I had bought an excellent one. This did not compute.
I arrived in Ghent in January. The internet provider I’d signed up with was a good one, so I had been told. Trouble was, although the resolution was excellent during the day, it faded away to 720p or even 480p after supper. That is … blurry.
Technicians came and went. Reps on the phone tried this and that. The consensus? Everything is fine. Of course the techs came during the day when indeed everything was fine.
I had many talks with myself, with comments like “You should be more mature, more spiritual. Sharpness of image is not important.” Except for me it is! I’m willing to be seen as obsessed, living at the mercy of the technological world. Having sharpness on the screen somehow does feel like spirit is entering me, especially if the story is moving.
I changed internet providers in June. It was more of the same: every evening the blurring, reps and technicians assuring me that all was well.
For all these months of TV viewership, no one at either company said they’d heard of my problem. Was I this alone in the world? Was my apartment on the Oudburg haunted? Was my vision declining so my eyes could no longer detect the subtleties on the screen?
Throughout all this, I have remained determined that somehow the problem will be solved.
Nearly a month ago, a rep named Omaima said “I know your problem and I’ve helped clients solve it.” Oh my God – no longer alone, no longer perhaps seen as an irrational complainer.
Omaima worked with me in changing the cable connections between modem, TV, TV box and WiFi booster. For a week, everything was golden, even at 8:00 pm. And then back came the evening blur – not every night but some. (Sigh)
“You’re not giving up, Bruce!”
Two nights ago I was on the phone with Gihane, another rep. For the second time I heard the words “I know your problem.”
Gihane rebooted this and that, installed new software to deal with the bugs, and cheered me on! “This should work. Try it for the next two nights. I’ll phone you on Friday.”
And … the screen resolution was excellent Wednesday and Thursday evening!
We agreed that Gihane would phone me between 10:00 and 10:15 today. Almost always when an internet rep has said they’d phone me at a certain time, they didn’t.
So I was ready at 10:00, scared that “one more time” would happen. At 10:10 the phone rang. Gihane was thrilled that it worked, that I was finally happy with the images I see. She gave me her ID number so I can contact her if things fade again.
Here’s the Gregor Samsa bookshop on the Oudburg in Ghent. It’s only six doors down from my apartment. And it’s closing – an “endangered species”.
(Sigh)
Harry Glockler created a miracle in the room beyond the lamp. About six concerts a month for over a year. All types of music – jazz, gypsy, folk, electronic … A haven for musicians and beholders. And a space adorned with classic books in English.
Gregor Samsa is a place for lovers of the good, true and beautiful. And there isn’t enough money for Harry to keep it going.
Yesterday evening was my last concert at Gregor Samsa. There will be three more – on Friday, Saturday and Sunday – but friends have invited me away for the weekend.
Merle and Rianto sang together for some songs and individually on others. I forgot to take photos but here are two commercial shots:
Such beauty of voice … blending two souls, making songs of love and life their own. It was precious to sit in the front row, to feel the books smiling, to gaze up at the dark wood ceiling resplendent with beams that aren’t quite parallel.
I walked out the door for the last time, feeling the immensity of sacred space.
And I thought of the phoenix.
“The ancient Greek world regards the phoenix as a magical bird that lives long, dies into flames, and is born again.”
“Nice guys finish last.” So said the baseball manager Leo Durocher. On Sunday, Leo was proved wrong.
Sepp Kuss won the Vuelta a España, a three-week cycling race in Spain. Here’s a celebration with his teammates only minutes before the finish line:
I love the pointing.
Most especially, Sepp is a nice guy to his wife:
This photo is so real … the joy, the love.
Sepp includes just about everyone, even folks whose hands he’s touching for the first time.
“In his two Vuelta stage wins – the first in 2019 and the stage six victory this year that set his GC challenge in motion – Kuss slowed down in the final kilometer of the stage to high-five fans lined up along the roadside barricades.”
(GC means “General Classification”. The winner of the GC has the shortest overall time at the end of the race)
Take a look:
What’s this fellow like? What you see and hear is what you get.
Teammates are revered:
Robertand Dylan were pulling 90% of the stage. [Riding in front of Sepp, protecting him from the wind] It was a long hard day and they were up there all day so just big hats off to them, they were amazing. And then Attila was there on the last climb and Primoz did a lot of work for me there on the last climb and on the flat as well with Jonas.
After a stage in the middle of the Vuelta. Sepp had been wearing the red jersey, which indicates the fastest rider so far:
I’m really happy. When I crossed the finish line, I thought I had lost the jersey. And I wasn’t even sad because I gave it the best I could on the climb.
And reflecting on winning the race:
No, I’m not different now that I’ve won La Vuelta, not at all. I’ll still be me. It’s life changing for sure. I think I’ll look back on this experience with a lot of fun memories. It’s still sinking in, I think it’s gonna take quite some time. Now, a big celebration. Family, friends are here, and that’s gonna be really special, to be with the riders and the staff, tell the stories of the last three weeks. So many memories and good times.
Izy Coffee is such a gathering place. I walked in there just before noon today wearing one of my favourite t-shirts:
There’s a fine line between numerator and denominator
Only a fraction will understand
I hadn’t even sat down when a woman approached me, loving my shirt and wondering if I was a mathematician. We talked for a bit.
A nearby couple were craning their necks to hear. More gabbing ensued … and I joined them.
Julie and John are from Adelaide, Australia. They’re on a 14-week tour of Europe, celebrating their marriage and John’s impending retirement as a teacher.
They were heading to Brussels tonight and wanted to know what I’d suggest they’d see in Ghent.
Their eyes told me a story and I knew I wanted to show them a few things. Not the big, touristy stuff (like the Gravensteen castle). Instead walking ordinary streets seeing ordinary people doing ordinary things.
I told my brand new friends that moments like this – sitting with one or two other people – was the best thing about my city. The old buildings, the rivers, the cafés are all cool … but everything pales before human contact.
John and Julie accepted my invitation to be their tour guide. I told them about the small and magnificent Carmelite church on the Burgstraat, how the late afternoon sun floods through the stained glass, lighting up the sacred statues. They smiled. The church was closed until 2:30 but I said I’d show them where it was.
And off we went …
On the way, we stumbled upon a narrow curving side street. “I wonder what’s down there,” I thought. We entered. Ambling along, we approached what appeared to be a dead end. But there was an opening to the right. As we turned, there was … a door. It was a dead end. And we laughed. Who cares? We were splorin’.
We stood in front of the church. I knew the energy within that would have drawn us inside had the door been open. I remembered the private park behind the building that I’d been privileged to see a few months ago.
I had found an office and a woman gave me permission but today I couldn’t remember where the office was. However I knew the church had a bookstore nearby.
The store opened at 1:00, in 45 minutes. So we kept strolling. Not a care in the world as our feet floated us along.
Now another tiny street, full of homes with brick painted white. Nuns used to live here. On the right a community centre offering coffee and goodies. In we went. Some smiles and some stares from the locals. All was well.
This was what I wanted: show these folks “from away” what the real Ghent feels like. Not the monuments to fame. Not the tourist “must sees”. Not the glitter.
Back on the street, we heard the sounds of kids playing. I knocked on a door and asked if we could see the school. The woman smiled and said no. To be expected in this era of protection.
A park in front of another church offered an empty bench. A man was throwing a stick, over and over again. A small black dog was delighted to be the recipient. So simple, so lovely.
John noticed a wall at the far end of the park. There were more children having fun behind. Then the door opens and fifty kids burst out into the park. They filled the grass. They ran and jumped. And some smiled as they zoomed by.
The bookstore opened. I asked the woman behind a desk if we could see the private park. She phoned someone. And then grinned a yes.
We got to go inside. The photo shows us amid the quiet. A place for meditation.
Sometimes we walked together. Sometimes we were each alone with our thoughts. Perfect.
Then, on a bridge over the Leie River, we said goodbye.
***
And now Australia and Canada know each other a little more
I sat with my friend Geert in Izy Coffee today. He has been dedicated to learning Turkish so he can have free flowing conversations with his girlfriend.
I asked Geert for advice about learning a new language. He accepted my invitation.
Wisdom proceedth …
1. Spaced Repetition
Spending an hour learning something and then returning to it a week later is useless. Instead spend a few minutes each day absorbing the new stuff. And if you forget some of yesterday’s learnings, that’s fine.
I thought of my efforts to start learning Dutch on the Babbel app. It’s been two weeks since I looked at it. I studied the words for I, you, he, she, we, you and they. And today? I remember nothing.
2. The Feynman Method
Richard Feynman was an American physicist. He said that to learn something you’ve been taught, teach it to someone else. Speak it to a friend or to the mirror.
Here’s the guy:
Since Geert was sitting in front of me, I chose him. I told him the instructions that my cello teacher gave me last Thursday. The main points:
A. Curve the fingers of the left hand so they don’t buzz on the string next door
B. If you’re alternating notes on two strings, and one of the notes is an open string (no finger pressed), leave the fingers on the other string rather than lifting them off
C. Use the full bow, from the tip to the nut, for a more flowing sound
Geert isn’t a cellist but he basically understood. I felt the power of speaking something into existence. I’m used to doing this by writing, but the oral expression was shaking up my brain cells.
3. Create a Pressure Cooker
Put yourself under some stress. Feel your commitment to the new. Spaced repetition – every day – accomplishes this nicely. And look for other ways to have pressure be your friend.
4. Create a Lifestyle
This daily practice becomes a part of who I am. I commit to the learning.
I love the movie Mulan on Disney Plus. I love strong women. I love chi … or life force.
Here’s the gist:
“To keep her ailing father from serving in the Imperial Army, a fearless young woman disguises herself as a man and battles northern invaders in China.”
I’ll let quotes from the film do the talking:
***
An army commander speaking to Mulan and the other soldiers:
The chi pervades the universe and all living things … But only the most true will connect deeply to his chi and become a great warrior. Tranquil as a forest, but one fire within.
Mulan’s father speaking to the ancestors:
If you had such a daughter – her chi, the boundless energy of life itself, speaking through her every motion – could you tell her that only a son could wield chi?
Mulan’s father speaking to her (10-years-old):
Your chi is strong, Mulan. But chi is for warriors, not daughters. Soon, you’ll be a young woman, and it is time for you to hide your gift away. To silence its voice.
The matchmaker speaking to Mulan and her mother:
Quiet. Composed. Graceful. Elegant. Poised. Polite. These are the qualities we see in a good wife. These are the qualities we see in Mulan. When a wife serves her husband, she must be silent. She must be invisible.
Mulan’s father:
I am the father. It is my place to bring honor to our family on the battlefield. You are the daughter. Learn your place.
Mulan (17-years-old):
I know my place. And it is my duty to fight for the kingdom and protect the emperor.
Mulan disguises herself as Hua Jun. Her true identity remains a secret for a long time. Eventually she is one of the leaders as the Imperial Army defeats the invaders.
Mulan returns home:
Forgive me, Father. I stole your horse. I stole your sword. I stole your armor. And the sword… I lost it. The sword is gone. Now I understand how much that sword means to you.
Father:
It is my daughter that means everything to me.
And Hua Jun did die. For a lie can only live so long. But Mulan lived.
An army commander, speaking to Mulan and the people of her village:
She has brought honor to her ancestors, to her family, to her village, and to her country.
What if there are messages from the Gods in the geometry of daily life?
Sometimes I hear sacred voices and sometimes I see lines. It’s up to me whether I notice and respond. It’s so easy to slip back into the figuring-out mind … and not see what’s in front of my face.
The horizontal is lovely:
Simple, elegant, level.
I’m tempted to go into a long description of what the horizontal means to me but that quiet voice inside is simply saying “No”. And I’m listening. After all, your mind may go to different places. So stretch out your body and soul and drink in the photo. No doubt it will speak to you.
***
The vertical also whispers volumes:
Do the thoughts that come speak in paragraph or poem? Are they written in bold or italics or just normal? Is their invitation right in front of your nose or hidden behind a veil?
This is my latest piece of jewelry … actually my only piece of jewelry. I’ll leave it up to you to figure out what body part it should adorn …
…
Done guessing? Here’s your answer:
I went to see Naomi yesterday. She’s an occupational therapist, someone who sells or makes braces for hands. My right thumb is weak with arthritis and it’s hard to hold my cello bow.
I had been given a hard plastic and fabric brace last week but it didn’t work. I could only play for five minutes until the pain and loss of grip took over.
Naomi said that one joint of my thumb hyperextends and will continue to weaken until I immobilize it. “It’s time to think outside of the box.” I imagined her saying “Have you considered jewelry?” but that didn’t happen.
Anyway, consider Exhibit A:
I’ve often demonstrated my unusual thumb angle to friends in the spirit of “See how cool I am?” but Naomi told me to say goodbye to that attempt at humour. Instead I’ll start wearing the brace three hours a day and work up to maybe twelve.
It’s an experiment, and I’ll report the results next Thursday. The demo brace Naomi gave me was too small but if it’s working she’ll make one for me that fits.
Meanwhile, later yesterday I had my group cello lesson with Lieven. Would it be a thumbs up or a thumbs down?
Up! I could play for fifteen minutes at a time before my dear thumb needed a rest. Oh … I love progress.
I’ve worked hard to have my music theory teacher’s Dutch speaking show up in written English. I have not been successful.
I downloaded at least fifteen apps that translate from one language to another. Each one’s microphone shuts off when the speaker pauses. If I press the microphone again, the previous English disappears. If I focus on the English translation first, then I miss the next things he’s saying.
I bought a lapel microphone so an app like Google Translate can hear what words are being spoken in Dutch.
I discovered the Live Transcribe app for Samsung phones. It doesn’t translate but apparently it gives an accurate written record of the Dutch that is being said. I used it in today’s class. Then I copied and pasted it paragraph by paragraph into Google Translate, taking screenshots of the results. This took the whole two hours of the class. I learned no music theory in real time.
Tonight I looked at the photos. A few were hopeful:
I sort of get it.
However, consider how well your brain handles this translation:
Huh?
And just one more: (I won’t torture you with endless examples)
(Sigh)
I’m not totally out of ideas. I just Googled “most accurate translation app”. What came up was one I hadn’t seen before: DeepL Translate. I’ve downloaded it, ready for the musical mysteries of next Wednesday.
Bruce's Blog 