I had coffee this morning with a man who talks with his hands, and closes his eyes for the best moments. His name is Dirk. He had just bought a novel called Alkibiades. And he was loving it.
Alkibiades is a teenager in ancient Greece who is being mentored by the philosopher Socrates. No video games … just the grand opportunity to sit at the feet of his teacher and absorb his wisdom.
The author is from the Netherlands – Ilja Pfeijffer. His writing has drawn Dirk in on the first day. My neighbour sits there inspired … and transported through time.
Pfeijffer describes the building of the Acropolis – a gathering of temples on a hill in Athens. All those people doing all those things for a very long time.
I look over to the couch. Closed eyes and a beating heart.
Dirk tells me about Pfeijffer. For years he was an alcoholic yelling at the world in Amsterdam. A woman really saw him and wanted to talk. They did a lot of that. They fell in love.
She convinced Ilja to live in Genoa, Italy – her home. She convinced him to enter an alcoholism treatment program. She convinced him that he was good … and so was his writing.
Alkibiades took its sweet time to evolve out of Ilja. Now it has landed, especially in one particular apartment on the Oudburg.
I’ve worked hard on creating simplified sheet music for three songs I’ll be playing on my cello in a few weeks. This morning I strolled southward to the copy shop that would turn all this into real paper with a lot of squiggly marks on it.
At an intersection, I noticed an Izy Coffee on the far corner. This is Ghent’s second location for the franchise. The first one, in Ghent centrum, is a second home for me, with my friends Bart, Larisa and Arien running the show.
Curious about the decor, I glanced in the open door. And there sat Bart! His eyes lifted to meet mine. “I’ll buy you a cappuccino, Bruce.” Sounded good to me.
Bart introduced me to the shop’s barista – Ari. A big guy with a big smile. Ari is from Iraq. He was a physical education teacher there.
Awhile back, he moved to a city in Belgium which I won’t name. First, he couldn’t get a job in his profession. Actually he couldn’t get any job. Ari faced huge prejudice. The stereotype of a tall Muslim fellow being a terrorist was intense. How sad.
Bart and Ari met somehow and Bart offered training to become a barista and employment afterwards. And Ari grew to be an excellent barista.
Then the saddest part of the story. A woman walked into the coffee shop in that anonymous Belgian city and said to the other employee “I don’t want him to make my cappuccino.” Yuck.
Like all of us, Ari has had his share of tough times. Far more than his share. But I looked over and there he was smiling. Magnificent.
As I reflected on human kindness and meanness, three cyclists rolled up to the door. They added to the smiles at Izy’s. They also added to the accents. I could listen to the one fellow speak until the end of time. The guys looked to be in their 50s or 60s and they were spending many days climbing big European hills. So fit!
I was pleased with the reaction inside my head. “Good for them. Good that they have embraced a mighty adventure.” Their expression of energy is different than mine. I’ve let cycling go. And these fellows were full speed ahead. Isn’t it great that we’re not all the same?
There sat the six of us … characters all. Tonight we have stories to tell about coffee lovers who show up at Izy’s.
Lehna is a soulful singer from Paris. She graced the Gregor Samsa bookshop in Ghent last night.
There is the voice. There is the beauty of the songs. Both pale, I think, in the transmission of spirit. First we the audience need to be touched by the aura of music. We need to be taught … in a most mysterious way.
Lehna soared in the melody, her head thrown back in the trance of joining with the story, with the songwriter. She sang in Portuguese, French, Spanish and English. She reached me in all four, with the words being known in only one.
Lehna sang the song of the prostitute … the sorrow. After the concert, I asked her what the woman was saying:
Prostitutes who diefull of sperm and tears
At the first hour of the day
Prostitutes who are born in blood and tenderness
And the pain of women
Oh … the sadness.
Lehna knows that her mission of love is expressed deeply in her singing and playing. Her eyes go wide. The volume of her voice rises. Her fingers fly on the strings.
Near the end of the first set, through the door walks one of the best guitarists I’ve ever heard. His name is Djalt. At the break, he played Lehna’s guitar while she sang. It was magical.
***
It was a privilege to accompany the music and the musician yesterday
I thought it would be so easy today. Listen to You Can Close Your Eyes on YouTube. Figure out the melody on the piano. Transfer the notes to a music notation app called Crescendo. It shouldn’t take long to figure out their system. Then sit with my cello with the sheet music (five lines and four spaces full of notes). Play the song!
So naive … this man.
Crescendo is a great app. I made progress on the figuring and playing. But getting to where I am now took three hours. I did well, with many missteps and much sweat along the way.
After grunting for awhile in guessing the notes with the piano, and the lengths of each one, I consulted my friend Google. An app called MuseScore came into my world. It had the sheet music for my song but the sequence of notes had a complexity that this rebeginning cellist isn’t ready for. So I got to work on simplifying with Crescendo. And gradually I became faster with the keystrokes of that program.
Take a look at the photo. See the four black notes in a row with a simple straight tail? They’re quarter notes. That’s where I’ll start. I can jazz up the rhythm a bit with my bowstrokes if the moment calls for it. I love beginning again!
Slowly my mature brain is remembering the connection between notes on the page and fingers on the fingerboard. A memory of long ago pressings of the D string made me smile. I’m in a time machine.
Intonation means how well the playing matches the pitch of the notes I’m playing. Am I in tune? Mine sucked quite nicely today. Should I have expected otherwise? No. Fifty years is considerable.
But … my God! I’m on the road. And it’s a good one. If I play “poorly” on July 7, so be it. I will play.
***
Would you like to hear the song? I think it’s glorious. Perfect for a cello rendition.
Here’s a shot from the hilarious movie Airplane. That’s probably me.
It’s 29 degrees Celsius in my apartment at 6:30 pm (84 Fahrenheit). For the first time in my protected life, I don’t have air conditioning. No screens on the windows either. So curious mosquitoes come calling. (Sigh)
I remember being with my Belgian friends in Senegal. I was staying at a hotel in the village of Toubacouta. Lydia knew I loved walking around and saying hi to the residents. She kept imploring me to return to my air-conditioned room in the afternoon for a siesta. I ignored her until my body gave out in the heat. Then it was hours stuck in the coolness of the hotel.
There’s no such rescue here. But I’ve found some answers. Buying a small personal cooling machine that allows me to get some sleep. Buying a plug-in mosquito chaser that emits a mist unloved by biting things that fly.
Beyond that, there’s nothing I can do about our current heat and the realities of an apartment built in 1865.
So here I am smiling. My cello practicing needs to be in the early morning before the temperature starts climbing. There’s a soupçon of air conditioning in the gym but essentially being on the elliptical is pretty hot work. And I accept the dizziness that often comes over the span of the day.
But once again … “So what?” I signed up for Belgium, the good and the bad.
“Suck it up and live your life. Get on with it!”
There is the song You Can Close Your Eyes that needs to be learned on the cello. There’s writing to be done. And wondrous so-far-unknown folks to meet.
Would you believe that’s me in the picture, playing a sacred hymn?
No … I didn’t think so.
July 7 is coming. That’s the date when I will play my cello in the little park near my home.
I’m watching cello instruction videos. Mike is a great teacher. He’s slowly building up the viewers’ skills. However I need to move faster than “slowly” – there’s a concert on the horizon!
Mike has taught us the fingerings for the D Major scale … one octave. This morning, lying in bed, I figured out what two octaves would be like. The cello has four strings. From the lowest pitch to the highest, they’re C, G, D and A. Two octaves of the D scale starts with the first finger on the C string and ends with the fourth finger on the A string.
Hmm … knowing the notes over two octaves would let me play a lot of songs. My adventures on the 7th could be far beyond Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.
I also have a keyboard. It sits in my bedroom, with a fine view of the slate roofs near the Leie River. Decades ago, I could read cello sheet music easily but I never learned to read piano music. I played “by ear”.
If I wanted to learn the melody of a favourite piece, such as Pachelbel Canon, I’d figure it out on the piano, using the C Major Scale. It’s the easiest one since it only uses the white keys.
Just so you know, two octaves of the C scale start on the open C string (no fingers on the string) and ends with the second finger on the A string.
I could start finding a melody on the piano in C (rather than D), then transfer the notes to the cello fingerings.
My God … I can do this!
And (more good news), I can do all this in first position – the easiest one. Depending on where you put your thumb on the neck of the cello, you can play in first, second, third or fourth position. I vote for first!
Now that the mechanics of this have been revealed to my yearning eyes, what pieces do I want to play?
I can think of three:
This Wandering Day, from the Prime Video TV series Rings of Power
My mind is a flexible object. It wanders around … and joins with things I can’t see. It often settles on the new and strange. Like today …
Here are three musings that have come my way:
1. Everybody has a head
Each one is nicely centered on the shoulders. You can’t miss it. The head appears to be the boss of the body … but not always.
It’s absolutely consistent so far as I walk around Ghent. No headless citizens or tourists. I think it’s a good thing.
2. How did I get in here?
I appear to be inside this body. I look down and to the left and I see my left foot. I certainly don’t see your foot. If I look straight down, I see my chest.
How come I’m in here? Who did this? Did I have a choice? Could I have opted to be a tree?
And actually … why am I inside anything? Couldn’t I just be floating free, in time and space, not centered anywhere?
Having said all this, I’ve become used to this particular body. I like it.
3. How about the universe? Does it end somewhere?
Everything starts and ends. I’m looking at a marvelous Oriental vase. Here, I’ll show you:
You see the gold and the two people walking. That’s the vase. But the red isn’t the vase … it’s the wall.
Could the universe be the only darned thing that never ends? And if it ends, what is outside of it?! Oh, my poor brain.
I loved the Batman and Robin TV show. They said such outrageous things. In response to Robin asking “Where’d you get a live fish, Batman?” the caped crusader replies “The true crimefighter always carries everything he needs in his utility belt, Robin.”
So true.
And then there are Robin gems:
The duo are stuck in a room “where the floor is red hot. They hop up and down while trying to figure out a plan and Robin shouts out ‘Holy bunions!'”
I want to be like Robin when I grow up.
Another joy of the series were Batman and Robin’s tight clothes. Why, oh why did I never buy a Batman costume? I would have looked great in it.
But no worry … I’ve developed my own style. Check out this smashing combo. Give my a swirly tie-dye t-shirt and red compression stockings and I’ll rule the world:
I just roamed through my closet, seeking garments that are more subtle. This one will do:
It often gets a chuckle from folks who don’t know me from Adam.
For the scientists in the crowd, I sometimes pull this beauty on:
Sadly, I know virtually nothing about elements. Wearing the shirt, however, gives me an aura of knowledge. Perhaps I’m seen as a master of the Scientific Method and the one who will discover the cure for cancer. And perhaps not.
As a finale, consider how wise I am, and how well developed physically. Surely it’s obvious to all when I wear this:
I loved Anthony Hopkins in Silence of the Lambs. As Hannibal Lecter, he was deliciously evil.
Today I read something he wrote on the internet. I was blown away. So here it is … with my comments attached:
I know that I have less to live than I have lived.I feel like a child who was given a box of chocolates. He enjoys eating it, and when he sees that there is not much left, he starts to eat them with a special taste.
I’m 74. Maybe I have 20 years left. That’s a lot less than the journey I’ve been on. Oh well. And my tongue savours the days that remain.
I am disturbed by envious people who try to vilify the most capable to grab their positions, talents and achievements.
For some folks it’s a zero sum game. There’s only so much happiness to go around. If you have a lot, I need to take it from you. No thanks.
I have too little time to discuss headlines – my soul is in a hurry. Too few candies left in the box.
I will not waste my minutes sitting in a café with you discussing the news. I want to know what’s important in your life.
I have no time for endless lectures on public laws – nothing will change. And there is no desire to argue with fools who do not act according to their age. And there’s no time to battle the gray. I don’t attend meetings where egos are inflated and I can’t stand manipulators.
Politics is necessary, and it doesn’t interest me. Flaring egos are boring. And I love my grey hair. It give me a “wise” look. Of course appearances can be deceiving!
I’m interested in human people. People who laugh at their mistakes are those who are successful, who understand their calling and don’t hide from responsibility. Who defend human dignity and want to be on the side of truth, justice, righteousness. This is what living is for.
Show me your blemishes and your shine. I want it all! And I want your dedication to the happiness of all. No one left out.
I want to surround myself with people who know how to touch the hearts of others. Who, through the blows of fate, were able to rise and maintain the softness of the soul.
May your eyes be sweet so they let other people in. And may your beauty enter the eyes of each soul who comes your way.
Yes, I hustle. I hustle to live with the intensity that only maturity can give. I’ll eat all the candy I have left – they’ll taste better than the ones I already ate.
There are so many flavours I haven’t tasted. I will go towards life and its inhabitants to seek their treasures.
My goal is to reach the end in harmony with myself, my loved ones and my conscience.I thought I had two lives, but it turned out to be only one, and it needs to be lived with dignity.
I could die tomorrow, knowing it’s been a fine life, that I’ve contributed to many beings. My head is held high.
Bruce's Blog 