Innocence

Greetings from my smaller world! That is, from the world inside my apartment; going out is a tremendous effort so it is rare and only when necessary. Yesterday to AZ Sint Jan, the hospital in Brugge for a check-up on The Foot which, despite being much larger than normal, is healing well. The image, left, is a reminder of the beauteous treachery of cobblestones for crutches; cobblestones, may I remind, are normally one of the most admired characteristics of Brugge, normally being the operative word.

I was amused, while awaiting the surgeon's critical eye, to read in my current New Statesman, that the Remain campaign in the UK is cribbing from the Ireland same-sex referendum, the same strategy to win over older women. Obviously, it goes without saying, that I am already a huge supporter of Remain, feeling European to the core, but the strategy is for young people, who back a Remain vote by large margins, to 'Talk to Gran' by writing to, or emailing, their grandmothers to encourage them to vote to stay in the E.U. [Research shows that this approach does not work with elderly men!] I realise that I haven't sounded out my grandchildren on Vote Leave/Remain so am about to launch a free Listen to Gran emailing service to five of the six grandchildren [No. 6 is only five years old and lives in the U.S.A. at present] encouraging them a) to vote and b) to vote Remain. Surely, this will be infallible!! Incidentally, en passant, one does wonder why Jeremy Corbyn hasn't thrown his shoulder to the EU Remain wheel with more passion. Being in Europe is part of voting Labour, I think, but his tepid statements on Europe rather echo the pale political performance he has exhibited so far.

And on the topic of Europe, I was thrilled to see, on May 8 and 9, the European flag flying from the Belfort tower in Brugge to celebrate the anniversary of the end of World War Two. Do wonder if flag-flying featured in Blighty and if so, would it have been the Union Jack or the much more appropriate flag of Europe waving in the breeze? Interesting times.

Two days after the hospital visit, an old friend of my husband's arrived. Derek does a little month-long UK tour every year [from the Boston area in the U.S.] which used to include Wye, where Eric and I lived, but which also includes a trip to Germany to see old colleagues who have become 'like family'. Since last year the German visit has included Brugge for a long weekend. After one first dinner, prepared with the aid of my now-beloved zimmer, we ate out nearby, with me choosing crutches over the slightly lowly wheelchair as transport; this was chiefly in deference to Derek's age [89] and the fact that he had mentioned in another context, that he gets rather out of breath going up small hills these days!

Felt quite triumphant as we 'strolled' up Genthof to buy a newspaper and drink a lengthy coffee at Blackbird, the award-winning coffee and lunch place in Jan Van Eyckplein, about fifty metres away! Saturday passed in an enjoyable haze of reading the Daily Telegraph, my usual Saturday treat, [never thought I would write that!] reminiscing, drinking coffee and later, beer, sitting on my sunny terrace and eventually, early evening, retracing steps courtesy of the crutches beyond Blackbird a little way, to Trium, my son-in-law's favourite pasta place. In my present state, this passes as a whirl of activity.

And another was to follow on Sunday when we tottered down Genthof towards the canal, to Terrastje, tucked into a corner facing the canal and where we were warmly welcomed by Ian [ a Brit] and Patricia [Dutch with perfect English] Derek and I had a marvellous sort of fish stew called Waterzooi with a Brugse Zot, a local beer and returned home for a short rest before partially re-tracing our steps to the Galerie Pinsart which had a vernissage on Sunday afternoon for a water colour artist called Sigrid Tanghe. There was an introductory viol recital by Gunda Gottschalk which was loudly applauded but which I found not to my taste. Loved the paintings which were rather dreamy, insubstantial echoes of images, strange and touching at the same time. Right is Sigrid Tanghe's Deerwoman, Hertenvrouw, which is sooo enigmatic and touches the soul.

 

And so to home and for me, post-crutches fatigue, while Derek valiantly re-packed for perhaps the twentieth time since leaving home a month before. After he had left next morning early, I thought about the past three days and how we had managed to carpe diem pretty well in spite of ageing and surgery. That motto, Carpe diem, my motto in fact since my husband died, surfaced again in my mind when I learned later that day that a friend in Brugge, a couple of years younger than I, had died after suffering a catastrophic brain haemorrhage on Saturday. 

 Below is another shot of my newly-acquired Innocence to remind of the wisdom of Seizing The Moment.

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