The singer playing Amy Winehouse last night wasn’t brilliant like Annie Lennox the night before but I had fun. I sat beside a UK couple. She was horrified that another traveller had recommended the Borough of Hackney when I visit London in ten days. “Not there! It’s dodgy.”
And so the world goes ’round. I don’t mind dodgy.
A fifteen-year-old girl on my other side gushed over the spirit of Brighton, a city of one million not far away. “So many ______ restaurants!” She used an adjective that was not understood and quickly lost but I got her meaning.
The coolest was that I danced, towards the end of the show. My feet shimmied in a most youthful way. Minutes later I was bent over for breath … but I survived nicely.
***
And then there was this morning. A fascinating British couple shared my love of tennis, art and classical music. They talked about the Musée Orsay in Paris, and the wonders therein.
He showed me a painting on his phone. Here it is:
It’s Le Rêve created by Édouard Detaille in 1888 – a war scene at night. The soldiers are sleeping and their rifles are propped up, waiting for the enemy. But what’s that in the sky? A battalion launching into the fight. They were dreaming! So cool. And who knows what other miracles reside in Orsay?
***
I’m sitting in London’s St. Pancras Station, waiting for the train to Brussels. The fellow to my right is the nephew of Bernard Hinault, a five-time champion of the Tour de France. So I’m clearly connected to cycling royalty.
The woman to my left is from Ghent. I casually ask her if her name is Elise. Sadly she says “Nicki”. Oh well. After hearing my story she says “Never give up searching.”
I agree.
***
This journey still has four hours to go but my right index finger is getting tired. So I’m signing off from further written communication … until tomorrow.
Before Day Seven, there’s the rest of Day Six. Last night I went to a tribute show at the Eastbourne Bandstand – Annie Lennox and the Eurythmics.
My God … that woman was Annie! She belted out the hits, her trench coat flowing and her voice snarling. Wish I’d got a closeup of her wide open face. And just behind Annie, seagulls were riding the wind right to left. It seemed like they knew the soaring parts of songs for their fly-bys.
I sat next to a couple from Iceland. They knew Annie’s music and were up dancing for most of the evening, their faces full of glee. I was on the dance floor for the last part and I saw him walking out of the venue at the end.
“That’s too bad. I wanted to say goodbye.”
I sat on a bench outside, talking to Google Maps about my homeward journey. And here comes my Icelandic friend. He had been walking to the women’s washroom to find his wife … and then he went looking for me. Very cool.
***
Because of the rain yesterday, a men’s semi-final was postponed to this morning – on a court that was first come first served for us spectators. I arranged to be first come … and first row. Here’s a photo of Tommy Paul serving to Grégoire Barrère:
The cool thing about my seat is that I was in the line of fire for serves launched from the other end, often at 200 kph. This wasn’t the casual watching of a tennis match. I had to be constantly alert when the server was at the other end. Several times, I threw my hand in front of my face to avoid a missile. Happily each time the receiver got his racquet on the ball.
***
One of the food kiosks at the tennis centre was called “Goodwood Organic Foods”. I got to know five of the employees as they hustled the food out to guests. Today I showed them my favourite t-shirt. It looks like this:
“We all have tummies.”
These folks greeted me every day and I returned the favour. They enjoyed my humour. And I enjoyed them. I dearly hope that I’ll be talking to them next year – for I’ll be back.
***
I suppose a normal person wouldn’t go to the Eastbourne Bandstand two nights in a row, but I’m not feeling normal today. I’ll say hello to a version of Amy Winehouse for you.
Here’s my Airbnb host Jean. She took me to the Beach Deck this morning for breakfast.
Jean asked whether I’d like to sit inside or outside. I heard myself say “inside”. Immediately I saw the disappointment on her face, and I changed my mind.
As we looked over the menu, I attempted to comprehend this brain of mine. “Inside”? What’s with that? I think l’ve been dulled by so many hours in the sun. Traces of “not Bruce” had crept in. Bruce needs the seaside, unobstructed by walls.
***
In the middle of the day, I was scheduled to be the Zoom host for an Evolutionary Collective meeting. For weeks, I knew today’s responsibility was coming. I signed up for this. I have a job to do. Sadly I had to leave Center Court halfway through the first women’s semi-final. But there was no angst – I’d be back. From the courts to my Airbnb was only a 15-minute walk.
Life works
***
Ha! Meeting over, I rushed back to Devonshire Park. My yearning mind, however, failed to notice a reality of life: the temperature had plummeted. There I was, high in the stands, bracing against a crosswind. I felt naked in my t-shirt and shorts. I’d missed the second women’s semi-final and shivers were consuming the men’s first.
Then The Downs started dimming. That’s the gorgeous ridge to the west that I wasn’t fully appreciating at the moment. Here comes the rain!
I didn’t mind. Headed home for jeans and a dress shirt over the t-shirt. Unfortunately no warmer coat. Oh well.
***
I’m back at tennis. Play hasn’t resumed since the heavens are still contributing. I’m sitting here with my cappuccino watching the big screen for updates.
Some ball kids are practicing rolling tennis balls to each other on the grassed eating area. I ask if I can roll one. “Yes!” I bend down as much as this body allows and let fly. Woh! Like a pro. The kids applaud. Next lifetime.
Announcement: play hopefully will resume at 6:30!
So it’s back into Center Court. Maybe three hundred of us, with the loudspeakers blasting “Dancing Queen”. Now it’s “The Macarena”!
Voilà:
Et finalement … maybe a hundred of us are dancing to “YMCA”. I give ‘er. After the end, two women near me said I made the big screen TV! Fame in Eastbourne.
I was walking a few blocks from the tennis courts this morning and here comes an elderly couple. I had a question:
“Is the golf tournament up ahead?”
“No … it’s a tennis tournament.”
“Oh no! I came from across the world to see the golf!”
(Stares and incredulous eyes)
“Oh well. I’ll find the first tee. And I hear there’s an amazing water hole.” [The English Channel is less than a mile away]
(Smiles)
***
The photo shows a resting place with a view of the practice courts and the big Center Court. It’s so leafy and adorned with whizzing seagulls. Sanctuary.
And then there’s the “Event Information” booth. Some boys just want to have fun.
“Yes sir … May I help you?”
“Thank you. I’d like to know what the meaning of life is. Just one word please.”
(Three volunteers silenced … for the moment)
(After a suitable pause)
“Family”
“Happiness”
“Orange. And actually, if you could find me one, that would be excellent.”
I smiled at them all and waved goodbye. My path was clear. I headed over to a row of food kiosks. On the counter of one I saw bottles and cans of various drinks, including an orange one!
Quick like a bunny, I paid for the precious liquid and hurried back to the info volunteers. My orange friend was busy with another guest. I placed the bottle on the counter and walked away, grinning all the while.
***
I’m trying to convince the folks sitting near me in Center Court that seagulls are one of the wonders of the world. To a person, they’re unimpressed. I can live with that.
***
I wore my “I love Gent” t-shirt today. That’s the Flemish spelling. One more time, people seemed really attracted to my chest. No one spoke up but I could tell many folks thought I was having a gay old time.
I just walked into The Dolphin for dinner. A friend had told me it’s a genuine British pub, and it feels that way.
A somewhat local couple at the next table are really friendly. They’re accompanied by her mom and two dogs. The lovely woman takes my picture. I tell them all that I live in Ghent. Lots of laughs.
I have some silly expectation that since I’m in England on vacation, I should be constantly entertaining you. Spectacular new vistas, experiences and insights. But right now I feel blah … and I’m not going to dress it up pretty.
I think I’ve had too much sun at the tennis court. Maybe just too much tennis. I’m sitting with a friendly beer on a wee terrace by a pebble beach. In front of me is endless water – the English Channel. The vista is lovely. There are seagulls flying low over the land … my favourites. And me? I’m so-so.
There’s no requirement for a human being to be happy all the time. I checked the mirror this morning and I’m definitely human.
Wow … I just started smiling. I wonder what that’s about.
Thirty minutes ago, I slid onto a wooden bench, sheltered from the wind by some bushes. The fellow on another bench was feeding the gulls. I wanted to be up close and personal.
The birds were battling each other for the thrown food. Wings in the air were close. I got a good photo:
Cool. I realize that I don’t want to write anymore this evening. I’ll just finish with this: I made eight or ten people laugh today. If I had the energy, I’d tell you the details, but I don’t. I hope their smiles have lingered.
Here’s a picture of my Airbnb host Jean and her daughter from a few years ago. Blessing is now 12.
What a marvelous person mom is. We’ve already had two great talks. She knows about balance: telling me about her life and wanting me to share about mine.
Jean teaches “Health and Social Care” to 16 to 18-year-olds. The teens are learning about staying healthy throughout the span of life, about aging, about disabilities. And it’s far beyond giving them knowledge. Empathy is also being transmitted from Jean to the soon-to-be adults. I was so impressed that young British people are having their eyes opened in this way.
I expect that there will be plenty more of Jean-Bruce discussions. Plus Jean and Blessing may visit me in Ghent!
***
I remain entranced by the green grass of Devonshire Park. The colour is entering my bloodstream. And there are tennis players who play the game with such grace.
Jan Choinski is a 6’5″ British player ranked 167th on the world. I watched him flow over the grass today. It’s astonishing to see such a tall man virtually dance through the match. Sometimes his serves and groundstrokes would be so powerful. And then he’d hit a delicate shot that would slowly fade beyond his opponent’s reach. Marvelous. He reminded me of the ultimate caresser of the tennis ball: Roger Federer.
Jan lost today. But I look forward to seeing him sometime down the road.
***
I watched a ball girl for a few minutes. No doubt the ball kids are chosen for their dexterity and fitness. They need that for chasing balls that come off the racquets of professional players. This one girl was fumbling several balls that were rolled to her by other kids.
“What’s wrong with that girl?”
Usually I have compassion for everybody but I lacked it for her. As I was creating stories about the youngster – an injury, a fight with her boyfriend – I looked more closely at her hands. Each one was grasping two balls as she attempted to field the one rolled to her!
I was completely wrong. And let’s just say … not for the first time.
***
There were more cool moments today with more cool people but enough writing is enough. Time to rest my tapping finger.
I walked into the Devonshire Park tennis grounds this morning … and what a feast for the eyes! After I got through security (friendly staff), I emerged to the open air and faced a broad expanse of grass with lots of round tables. People were smiling and eating.
I looked down at the green in wonder. “That’s got to be synthetic – it’s so perfect.” I reached down and touched. REAL!
The photo above shows Center Court, and a match between Harriet Dart of Great Britain and Shuai Zhang of China (in the foreground). The Brits cheered wildly for their girl and were appreciative of Zhang’s tennis too. Harriet won.
I had never seen a tennis match on grass. The flight of the greenish-yellow ball against the green grass was stunning. And the blue seats. And classic buildings behind.
To top it all off, hundreds of my friends showed up. Seagulls! They soared high above Center Court, and occasionally swooped low above the players. Oh … what happiness is!
***
My tennis day began by watching Camila Osorio on a side court. There she was – my favourite – in real life instead of TV. Before the game, I watched her in conversation with the umpire, a smile beaming.
Here’s a photo. Too bad the racquet is obscuring Camila’s face but you can feel the gush of energy. The match against Shelby Rogers was so close and I often heard “Vamos!” from my Colombian friend. And Camila got the job done!
About one hundred of us watched as Camila won the final point. I stood and cheered.
Now it was time for action. I walked around the perimeter of the court to her side as she signed autographs. Soon she shouldered her big tennis bag and started walking towards the locker room, accompanied by two security guards.
Camila was coming my way!
It was now or perhaps never. Our eyes met.
“You are my favourite player. You play with passion and you live with joy. And you are kind.”
Camila smiled my way … a real one. “Thank you. That means a lot to me.”
The day began early and soon I was pushing my suitcase onto the landing outside my apartment. As I started down the first of five flights of stairs I heard “Bruce … let me help you.”
My neighbour Donia is a lovely human being. She’s also stronger than me. As we waved goodbye, I heard “Neighbours help each other.” So true.
I bet that five years ago I would have said no to her offer. Something has changed. Guess I’ve grown up.
***
I’m sitting in the Brussels Zuid station, waiting for the Eurostar train to London to open its doors. The website said to show up between 90 and 120 minutes before departure. Customs, Brexit and all that. I was here two hours ahead, and I was finished with the formalities in 23 minutes. Oh well. Better to have an extended period of leisure than running for a train that’s just out of my reach.
I sat with a father and son: the older from Manchester, the younger from London. I asked for “insider” advice. “What neighbourhood should I visit in London – one where tourists don’t go?”
“Hackney.”
Good. And here’s a photo of one of its pubs:
Perhaps in two weeks …
***
Now on Eurostar to London. I’m talking with a fellow who’s an expert on Chinese history, and especially Sun Yat-sen, who was the first president of China after the fall of the emperor around 1920. He is revered by both the Communist Party in China and by many people in Taiwan.
My friend will be speaking about Sun at a conference about Taiwan on Tuesday, and he expects a rough reaction from some right-wing folks. It doesn’t trouble him, which is very cool to see.
***
Now I’m in London’s St. Pancras Station, having missed my train to Eastbourne. I’m doing my best to make two British women laugh … and I’m having success!
***
Another now. I’m zooming along on a local train from London to East Croydon, partway to Eastbourne. The young guitarist I’m sitting across from grew up near my destination. I ask for recommendations and he gives them: the Dew Drop Inn pub, the Long Man Brewery and Harvey’s beer. There … I’m all set!
***
I’ve missed another train, this time because of “damage to overhead electrical wires”. It’ll be another hour before the last leg of my trip begins. Life happens.
***
I’m approaching Eastbourne accompanied by Heather (mom) and Hannah (daughter). They live in Eastbourne. Heather has been in the area all her life and is sweetly happy about it. I tell her she reminds me of the Canadian singer-songwriter Rita MacNeil who enjoyed rural life in her home province of Newfoundland while her friends headed far away to the big city of Toronto. Here are the words to Rita’s song Realized Your Dreams:
So you never left the small town With your friends when things got way down You stood between the tall trees Threw all caution to the gouries
And you stayed home on the island And you watched the evening sunrise And you never thought of leaving Evenwhen the winds blew cold
And I've seen you at the station With your arms outstretched and waiting To welcome home the travellers Who went searching after dreams
And they never fail to mention How your life's been one dimension And you smile at good intentions Knowing well never they'll never see
All you want or ever needed You found here without leaving It's the drifter and the dreamer Who often fail to see
In the heart that never wanders Lies a peace that comes with morning It's knowing when the day is done You've realized your dreams
***
I finally made it to Eastbourne and I fell asleep at the Airbnb. But at the top of this post I’ve included an evening photo.
I’ll tell you tomorrow about my fine host Jean. She’s a happy one.
***
Finally, for those of you who read my words yesterday, Camila won her match today! Tomorrow at 11:00 am GMT I’ll be sitting on Court Four watching her. Life is sweet.
I want to be in the presence of bright people. I don’t mean smart. I mean shining.
Camila Osorio is a tennis player from Colombia. It’s nice that she’s pretty, but far more vividly … she shines. And Camila is a kind person. After a match, win or lose, she has a smile for her opponent. And it’s a smile that reaches her eyes.
Camila is my favourite tennis player. Tomorrow I take trains to Eastbourne, England to see the Rothesay International tournament – both women and men. I want to be in the same stadium with her when play starts on Monday.
Thirty-two women will be playing. Twenty-six of them have been decided. Twenty-four other women are competing this weekend for the final six spots. Camila is one of them.
For me to see her, Camila has to win a match today and one tomorrow. Right now she’s playing Cristina Bucsa from Spain. Cristina won the first set 6-4 and Camila won the second by the same score. The winner of the third will move on to Sunday’s match.
I write > I open the Flashscore app … over and over again.
These are tender moments. I want something. It may or may not happen. I smile at the uncertainty, at how often my wishes aren’t granted, and that sometimes they are.
News flash: Camila is ahead 3-0 in the third! Be still, my heart.
Things are opening … closing … opening. I’m inside some immense pulsing. Then a jolt – all is well even if she loses. Then a response: “No!” I’m all over the map.
4-0!
My lips are dry. It’s so close to the end I want. On Monday maybe I can talk to Camila, tell her why I watch her play.
5-0
Why am I sweating like this? Probably because I’m a human being.
5-1
No problemo. My friend is still way ahead. Go Camila!
5-2
C’mon, Bruce. You’re a mature adult. (That’s right, isn’t it?)
Camila is one point away from winning!
I’d like some oxygen, please.
She did it! 4-6, 6-4, 6-2.
I can’t write just now. Give me a few minutes to recover.
***
Alrighty then … my vision of Monday remains open in the universe
All we see with our physical eyes is the outside of things … such as noses and mouths. But what’s inside?
In the world of matter, there are lots of complex insides. Here are a few:
The human body:
A wall:
A tree:
The split end of a human hair:
Asparagus:
***
A lot of us are uncomfortable with insides. In the physical world, blood is in there. And if a hole starts from the inside to the outside, it gets messy.
Emotionally many human beings like staying on the outside. Let’s talk about politicians and sports teams. But … O my God … there’s a brilliant pallet from ecstasy to sorrow waiting for an opening into conversation.
Spiritually the outside shows us solid things, like a statue of Jesus or the Buddha. But there’s a majestic universe roaming around in our souls. There’s an interior light that doesn’t come with a dimmer switch. We are full of God.
***
May I always pass through the other’s eyes to find the wonders within
Bruce's Blog 