Meeting Madame Wong

Blue skies and sunshine persuaded a friend to offer a lift to go to Lissewege, het Witte Dorp, to see the wonderful 25th Beeldenroute, the sculpture exhibition which begins scattered
around the grassy area outside the wonderful Ter Doest Abbey outside Lissewege and continues outside the church in Lissewege and inside. An astonishing number of artists take part and always there is originality and wit on offer. This year is no exception and I particularly liked a splendid dog pulling on a leash hooked up to a spindly metallic walker. The dog is especially endearing and the linear sculpture manages to convey the canine excitement and eagerness awoken in countless homes and gardens on the command of Walkies!!

 Nico Blontrok

Carillonneur and composer Stefano Colletti

It is astonishing to realise just how many events there are on in Brugge during the summer months. I was asking Nico Blontrok, the Schepen in charge of civic cultural events in Brugge, to try to avoid the awful timing of a carillon concert by Stefano Colletti during August while a simultaneous rock concert was belting out on the nearby Burg. For the carillon audience in the Binnenkort of the Belfort, it was impossible to disregard the insistent thumping of the drums less than a hundred metres away; for the carillonneur in his lofty perch, it must have been hell to concentrate on producing his delicate music while sitting almost on top of the rock stridency. I don’t disapprove at all of outdoor rock concerts [there are many in the town, much enjoyed by visitors and younger residents]. It was the timing of the simultaneous performances about one hundred metres apart, which one would want avoided. The answer was that he couldn’t promise as there are so many events on in Brugge; I suspect he didn’t really understand the impossibility of a carillon concert being heard and enjoyed in the conditions imposed. Apparently, the great Zandfest, the third and final Rommelmarkt of the summer on ‘t Zand and beyond, on today, Sunday, Sept 22, was one of seven events taking place in Brugge on this one day.

 Ishtar

I attended the final concert in the Binnenkort last evening, of the season’s carillon concerts which featured Wim Bertelot, the town carillonneur performing on the portable carillon which is such a delight. He book-ended the performance by Ishtar, a Belgian group [to my surprise] with a persistent gypsy inheritance playing chiefly Eastern European music, sometimes hypnotic, sometimes softly seductive, sometimes plaintive, sometimes with a flamenco verve. It was thoroughly entertaining and skilful and the large crowd loved it all. Perhaps no one enjoyed it more than a little family group from Mexico, sitting near me. The tiny daughter, perhaps 18-22 months old, was totally fired up by the music, jigging and dancing, swaying and clapping non-stop and with enormous gusto and joy. Her complete absorption in the rhythm and the sound, was a wonderful illustration of childhood’s ability to seize the moment and lose oneself in it. It was the purest delight I have ever witnessed and I now wish I had asked permission to photograph her!.

 NOT the little Mexican toddler but the
total absorption in the joy of the moment
is the same.

The Sunday previous to the Rommelmarkt was Autoloze Zondag and there were so many activities in the petrol-free streets and squares. Quite my favourite of the morning was a trip to Langestraat to the street flea market there AND finding Madame Wong’s Bar which I had intended to visit before now. A few months ago, I was chatting to James, a young waiter in Martin’s Relais in Oude Burg when he told me it was his last day there prior to starting his own bar. Madame Wong’s indeed. I came across James and his family helpers selling Korean street food outside the bar and I enjoyed sampling some for my lunch, sitting out in style on the street and chatting to a Belgian lady doing the same. As I paid, a young woman waiting to be served, recommended Madame Wong’s for James’s wonderful 

cocktails. I marvelled again at the ingenuity, imagination and energy of young immigrants and at the extra dimension they can bring to other lives. There is a lesson here, somewhere!

 James in Madame Wong's bar

The Joys of Friendship.

 View of the garden of the house where I stayed, in Wye.
Part of the back of the house where I lived for 31 years.

After the last blog staggered into the light following weeks of silence, I am back blog-producing weekly. I returned to Beloved Brugge a week ago after nearly three weeks of absence and visitor-focus, to find the little town still as beautiful; the temporary, pop-up Pre-Triennale cafe outside the theatre, gone and Papageno truly visible once more. The plastic shroud enveloping the entire theatre for painting, also removed to reveal subtle shades of yellow and all three ATMs in the Paribas facility not working. Even Paradise isn’t perfect!

I spent a long weekend in Wye where I lived and loved for 31 years and though I didn’t visit anyone as my time was limited and arranged already, the wonderful luncheon in a magnificent garden in Chilham [that postcard-pretty village nearby] gave me a prolonged opportunity to catch up with many friends. The genuine warmth of recognition and greeting was uplifting to spirits already high and the long chats I managed with several old friends was what psychologists call ‘strokes’ i.e. affectionate nudges to the ego!! In fact, the warm memory has caused me to ponder on the concept of friendship, real friendship, that is, not the social media kind.

I had two dear girl friends, both now dead, met when I was 20, socialised with, danced, pub-visited, dined, drank and journeyed with over perhaps sixty years. After our first few years living near each other, one moved to Borneo and I moved miles away from base. Contact was relatively rare over more than fifty years, but when we did meet, the interrupted conversation resumed as if it had never stopped and the comfortable togetherness remained. I didn’t think of contacting either when I encountered problems but I did see some of their children from time to time and one of my daughters stayed with one of the two, when she was in Borneo. So, compared to some friendships, this was intermittent in contact yet constant in emotional closeness when we did meet or speak.

Part of a group of friends, united by a passion for Mah Jong.
Celebrating a birthday with Chinese food.

This year I experienced the return of Chronic Fatigue, something I had endured for around twenty years in the past. The return proved to last only a temporary few months but a group of Bruggean friends brought me a hot meal each day for two weeks; provided massage for a damaged back during the same period, and did some shopping for me. I have known these friends for around three years and generally see them for a weekly get-together. They happen to be chiefly younger than I. So a completely different set-up from my old friends above but the term ‘friendship’ seems to cover both. There is the same warmth, kindness, empathy all of which are so sustaining to the recipient.

In Book V111 of Nichomachean Ethics [350 BC] three types of friendship are described; friendships of utility; friendships of pleasure and friendships of the good. The first covers those who add convenience to your life, like the easy, reliable welcome in the newspaper shop where I call every Saturday. The second category has those who help to keep you light-hearted. Definitely the skinny Afghan waiter in the restaurant nearby who shouted, ‘Hello darling; good to see you,’ as I passed this morning. Always he cheers me on my way, sometimes after a little chat to enquire about family and his application for Belgian citizenship. The third friendships, of the good, are rare but precious. With such a friend, every topic under the sun, including your deepest fears or triumphs, can be discussed; souls can be bared, hopes and mistakes shared; family worries confided. In this hierarchy of friendship, perhaps only my sister would qualify; maybe my children too.

A family group exhibiting the third category of friendship:
Friendship of the good..

Friendship is about caring, empathy, loyalty, trust. Euripides said that friends show their love in times of trouble not in times of happiness, but my experience suggests that Friendship is a Man For All Seasons. One constantly hears the advice for the elderly to have social contacts and social activities to help them remain mentally and physically healthy and one can see why. To be with people who make you happy; to be in company you enjoy, is a simple task, a simple gift for well-being, for to feel valued by others is a deep human need satisfied. I recently read a deceptively simple statement by Emerson which rather hits the spot. ‘The only way to have a friend, is to be a friend’.

Geneva and Wye

Just back from a few days visiting an American friend from California who is herself over in Europe to see her son and his family who live just outside Geneva where he works for Rolex. As aforementioned friend is older than I, I did expect a quiet time but we did a ridiculous amount of travelling over two days after lovely local trips to Geneva and to explore Nyon where she is staying.

 Chateau de Nyon constructed between 1574
and 1583 on the site of an 11th century fortress.

In Geneva we chiefly explored the lovely old town via a demanding climb and I was impressed to learn that Henri Dunant, one of the founders of the Red Cross in Geneva was a forebear of hers. The unbelievably enormous Lac Leman was a serene and picturesque backdrop to our first two days and I did warm to the town of Nyon which was buzzing with overflowing cafe and restaurant terraces in the evenings and boasted a number of lovely old buildings and many green places adorned with large trees plus, in one space, a Roman arch balanced still on the edge of Lac Leman
.

Evidence of the large Roman settlement
on the Nyon site.

 Our destination for lunch, half way up the
mountain above Les Houches.

I must admit to a slight alarm to learn that on one day we were going to lunch ‘with a dear friend’ in Verbier [two hours’ drive away] and to a lovely cousin of my host in Les Houches on the edge of Chamonix. [nearly two hours away as the splendid chalet was well above Les Houches and took more than twenty minutes of hairpin bends to discover.] My driver, at 88, had compromised eyesight [one eye with macular degeneration], weak muscles in one leg and an admirable devil-may-care attitude which I much admired. Turned out that she is a superb and confident
driver on motorways, [perhaps less accurate in car parks etc!!] and frankly, in spite of the handicaps of ageing, is an amazing example to other seniors. I am not of a nervous disposition and never indulge in unnecessary worries and negative imaginings and so did enjoy both journeys and both days out. In fact, after Verbier, we drove for some time [not in a homeward direction] to Saillon to some fabulous thermal baths including a thermal river where we spent a happy, healthy couple of hours, and I again doffed my hat to my driver’s astonishing stamina. The lunches, by the way, were excellent; at La Marmotte, above Verbier, and actually in the lovely chalet above Les Houches where we were royally entertained to Raclette and Swiss wine. It was Heaven, as we gazed mistily at the navel of the mountain range pressing itself almost against the chalet windows. A different world.

 View from the dining room of the chalet above Les Houches.

 The wonderful 12th century 'Temple de Nyon
ancienne eglise Notre Dame.'
The original stained glass is spectacular
within the plain,simple church.

 Early mediaeval fresco from the same church.

This blog is very late; one day after my return from Nyon, a girl friend arrived for the rest of the week and one day after she left, I did too, to return for a long weekend to 'my' village near Canterbury where I lived for over 31 years. The high spot of that visit was a big celebration lunch [allegedly for her 69th] at friends in a nearby village. They have an impressive house and garden and, for the occasion, a huge marquee, pale blue with flowers, [the prettiest ever!] had been erected and equipped to seat 100 people for the luncheon feast and the hog roast happening nearby!! Champagne flowed and I was delighted to keep meeting old friends from Wye. It was an amazing five or six hours, heart-warming and fondly memorable.

Emiel Rommelaere 1873-1961

 My terrace when empty; not sure that guests want
their images plastered over my blog!!

The recent MA Festival in early August, as usual brought a number of friends to Brugge, two to stay with me and the rest scattered around the Egg. I used to put on a lunch for ‘the boys’ as I call them, despite there being one or two girls among them! But as the energy edges down, I resorted first to brunch for three years and then, this August, to a tea party on the terrace. It was a lovely sunlit scene with everyone managing to find a space among the plants and little trees claiming first place. I was doing relatively little except a spot of ‘gracious hostessing’ when Joachim, a long-term friend met through my husband Eric almost certainly on my first visit to the Festival [then the Festival Van Vlaanderen] in 1989, suddenly emerged with a giant parcel festooned with curly ribbons. A birthday present no less, and totally unexpected, from five of those present. Joachim said that I had remarked a year before, when looking through a book on Bruges artists, “Oh I would love a Rommelaere!” I didn’t remember at all until I eventually located the book and a full page painting by Rommelaere and the memory returned, heavily visual, as usual!

 Stedlijke Brugse Academie
Rommelaere is 2nd on left, front row.

The painting was unwrapped to my delight and much admired by all and days later, hung at last by the chief conspirator and his husband. It is quite dark but SO redolent of the area leading up to the doors of the Beguinage and I love it and what it represents. I have found a mere skeleton of facts about Emiel online though there are five pages on him in my Dutch book on 19th and 20th century painters of the Bruges School. Emiel [always known by the Flemish version of his name] was born on March 27 1873, son of a policeman. He showed early artistic promise and in 1884 was enrolled at the Brugse Academie where he became a pupil of Louis De la Censerie, a famous name still in Brugge. During his student period he met and did work for, Corneille Leegenhoek, a local restaurateur whose daughter, Gabrielle, he eventually married on 27 April, 1897. Before his marriage, in 1891 he attended the Academie voor Schone Kunsten in Antwerp and eventually moved on to the Hoger [Higher] Instituut voor Schone Kunsten where he became a pupil and friend of Albert de Vriendt. He was much influenced by the style of de Vriendt and by 1895 he had accepted a Professorship at the Brugse Academie and resolved to return permanently to life in Brugge. He was both a painter in oils and a water colourist.

 A View on The Predikherenrei by Rommelaere

Rommelaere painted picturesque local scenes many times and still lifes while his landscapes in particular were influenced by the Impressionists. He worked with de Vriendt and painted a portrait of the Baron de Bethune in the Gothic Hall in the Stadhuis in his youth and there is at least one painting of his, Achterbuurt in Brugge 1925 in the Groeningemuseum. One notable painting, Grandmother’s Feast, earned a Gold Medal for him in a 1904 exhibition in Saint Louis in the United States. He participated in many exhibitions in the U.S., Mexico, London, Amsterdam, Cologne, Metz and Paris during his life. In 1908 he purchased a big house on Beenhouwersstraat where he installed a large atelier to provide ample room for both him and his daughter, Dora, also a skilled draughtswoman, to work. He spent many happy and productive years in this atelier until ill health forced his retirement at 77 [1950] when he went to live in Westkapelle.

 Louis De La Censerie 1838-1909

 A Bruges Mill

The Disturbers of Our Harmony ***

The message is still the same though a little stronger.

Names not needed.

In spite of the embarrassment of having Boris-on-Speed leading the U.K. Government, and with an Excessively Positive, not to say Reckless Can-Do Outlook, [untethered to reality, as I read in the New Statesman] I am nonetheless unable to resist an anti-Trump rant. Each successive tweet from, or microphone opportunity for, the Keep America White Man-in-the-White-House, is SO disturbing and increasingly frightening, that silence is near impossible.

This outburst has been triggered by my hearing part of an Anthony Scaramucci interview on

Anthony Scaramucci.

BBC Radio 4 just now. Scaramucci was appointed as Communications Director by Trump in his first year, and lasted in the job about two weeks. For the following two years or so, unemployed by Donald but vilified by him, he continued to praise and defend his President. But suddenly, now, the scales seem to have fallen from his eyes as he has acknowledged that the real working class, Trump’s main power base, is not being respected or served well by him. Scaramucci is a Harvard-educated lawyer who has built up two businesses, the typical American dream for a boy born into a poor working class family. He represents some of the best of American achievements and the possibilities it has always, hitherto, afforded its incomers, immigrants and its poor.

 Republican Congressman Elijah Cummings

Trump’s white nationalist rhetoric is distasteful: “good people on both sides”, of the Charlottesville riots; the four young women Democratic lawmakers should ‘go back to help fix the totally broken and crime-infested places from which they came” [the eternal racist shout]; the Baltimore onslaught, and attack on Republican Congressman Elijah Cummings; and now the re-tweet suggesting that Bill Clinton was involved in the murder of Jeffrey Epstein. [AND, astonishingly, the quick White House defence of Trump’s defamatory re-tweet]. His earlier rants about Obama’s birth certificate; his unfounded allegation that millions of illegal votes were cast for Hilary Clinton; his constant refrain that Mexicans were invading America and were murderers and rapists [and his consequent imprisoning of unaccompanied children at the border]; his strong assertion that Russia didn’t interfere in the 2017 Presidential election [despite ample proof that it did, obtained by U.S. Intelligence] …. all seem to be a foundation for his increasingly paranoid remarks. But paranoia is being turned into policy according to CNN!

 Trump campaign trail crowd.

 In the 2016 election, 53% of white women
voted for Trump.

What does seem amazing and unbelievable is that he has a 44% approval rating and this has not slipped at all over his presidency. His support is, in the main, from far right and right-leaning white nationalists,
evangelists, racists and the working class, or the non-college-educated, as the Americans describe them. But what I find impossible to believe is that these large groups don’t mind, are willing to tolerate, or don’t notice, his painful degradation of American public life, the gradual shift in public discourse from caring and sharing, to excluding and denigrating. Do they not notice the ridicule, distrust and dismissal routinely directed now at America from

 Bewildered, lone toddler at Mexican/U.S.
border.

and in, the rest of the world? And our amazement should also be directed at the Republican Party; at how very little criticism of Trump has been voiced by Republican Senators and Congressional representatives as they have fallen into line. The silence over his various embarrassing and destructive racist pronouncements, attempted unsuitable State appointments and abortive efforts at changes in the law designed to complicate and hurt millions of small lives, has been deafening. His pugnacious relationship now with China which is inexorably developing into a trade war, will hurt American businesses in agriculture in particular, and increase the cost of living, potentially for millions who can least afford it.

But Trump didn't cause the bitter split in America between two huge groups though he has grossly exaggerated it; the far right is similarly, though less successfully active and popular in many countries; France, Spain, Italy, Hungary, Brazil, India, U.K. I read an interesting slant in The Times in July which suggested some critics saw Trump as a semi-literate halfwit totally lacking a reasonably sophisticated cognitive capability. Others had a darker view; they saw him as inarticulate, yes, but also as a manipulative and cynical demagogue, ... callously exploiting his supporters' ignorance to foster racial animus, intolerance and bigotry to further an autocratic right-wing agenda."  The title of the opinion piece [The Times. July 20 2019] is "Trump is riding a powerful wave of white resentment" but the article suggests that while white resentment has long been a vote-winner in America, outright appeals to, and encouragement of, overt racism have been relatively rare. 

The Pew Research Centre this year found support for Trump
at 69% among white evangelical Christians.

*** The Disturbers of Our Harmony.[Title]

From the original draft by Thomas Jefferson of the Declaration of Independence. The expression is contained in the section detailing the long list of King George's faults in his appalling treatment of Britain's largest colony, America, but the expression refers generally to the British. It seems now an apt but restrained epithet to describe the Trump Effect.

Signing of The Declaration of Independence 1776
Painted by John Trumbull 1819

Authored by many, over a period of months, the actual
Declaration of Independence was more of a final draft.

Making Your Mark

 There has been a plethora of “cultural summer happenings” in Brugge this yeat. There is so much

 Feest in 't Park 2019

going on with a stream of free outdoor concerts like those during Moods; the trippeldagen of concerts to mark National Day on July 21 in the Burg; Feest in ‘t Park in Minnewater; Klinkende in different pubs; Cactusfestival again in Minnewater. And now the MA Festival [Musica Antiqua] is drawing to a close after many [not free] concerts in the Concertgebouw and churches, plus a Fringe to give

 Benenwerk 2019

opportunities to young musicians, and an International Competition featuring a three year cycle of organ; vocal and baroque ensembles; and harpsichord and other historical keyboard instruments. Did I remember to mention Dancing in the Vismarkt on Saturdays and Sundays? And the series of Carillon concerts throughout the summer months on Monday and Wednesday evenings. And of course, tomorrow, August 10th, there is Benenwerk, with different styles of dancing available at no cost, at different locations in the Egg, all free I believe
when Brugge will be even more full of visitors than usual!. These musical events, catering to a range of tastes, add a carapace of light-hearted spontaneity to the atmosphere here, mingling, as they do, in harmony with the church and convent bells and the usual carillon overtures, alongside the wonderful punctuation of horses’ hooves on cobbles. All while I try to ignore the  ten year low for sterling in exchange with the euro!

 Africa/Asia Reading Room, British Library

I recently received a welcome email from an American friend briefly describing a marvellous exhibition at the British Library entitled Writing: Making Your Mark. So enthused was I that I have delved into the British Library website to discover more and found what sounds to be treasure.

Babylonian stela from Mesopotamia, Iraq
Marduk Temple, 900-800 BCE.

Michael Erdman, one of the show’s curators, explains that the Library, in the age of the Internet when people might think that writing is becoming unnecessary, wanted to introduce to people what writing can be, can involve. He defines writing as any graphical representation of speech and the exhibition begins with the origins of writing [one of mankind’s greatest achievements] in Mesopotamia, Egypt, China, and the Americas and then traces the evolution of writing through technology and innovation with examples from over 30 different writing systems including Greek, Chinese and Arabic. Earliest items include a Mayan limestone stela from 647 A.D. Mayan writing
consisted of logograms [signs representing whole words; for example, a jaguar’s head signifying a jaguar] and syllabograms, [signs representing syllables; ka +ka +u =cacao] A later example is intriguing; from a wealthy but illiterate landowner from Ravenna, who used a symbol similar to a star inside a large wheel to sign a nine foot long papyrus deed for property/land sale and purchase.

 Caxton and his first book printed in England,
The Canterbury Tales.
Caxton lived for many years in the Woensdagmarkt/
Spiegelrei area here in Brugge.

Highlights of the exhibition include Scott of the Antarctic’s final diary entry; an 1800 year old wax tablet containing a schoolchild’s homework as he struggles to learn his Greek letters; Caxton’s first book printed in England, The Canterbury Tales; and a 60,000 strong petition from 1905 protesting against the first partition of Bengal and signed in both Bengali and English. And there is more! Mozart’s hand-written catalogue of his complete musical works from 1784-1791 featuring musical notation also. Plus Alexander Fleming’s notebook recording his discovery of penicillin from 1928.

Last entry, Scott's diary found after his
death, 1912.

For anyone reading this and living within reach of the British Library, the advice is to seek out this exhibition before August 26th!

Meanwhile, I love the words of Adrian Edwards, lead curator of the exhibition:

From hieroglyph to emoji and clay tablet to digital, Writing: Making Your Mark will demonstrate how writing is so much more than words on the page – it is how we communicate across time and space, how we express ourselves, and how we lay down our collective memory. We hope that visitors will consider their own relationship with writing in the digital age and reflect on whether we will abandon pens and keyboards in favour of voice-activated machine writing and video messaging, or continue to carry the legacy of ancient times with us.

 Last entries in Mozart's hand-written catalogue of his complete works
showing The Magic Flute and La Clemenza di Tito.
Begun Feb 9, 1784; completed at Mozart's death in 1791.

͖😀😀😀😀😀😀

Reflections on a theme

THINK this was at 83; obviously much younger!

Unbelievable that birthday 85 is close at hand. Unbelievable on several levels but chiefly because of the speed between numbers 84 and 85; the unseemly way Time speeds up inexorably as one grows older, is one of the manifestly unfair characteristics of ageing! And not the only one, it must be said.. The year by year visible slowing down, and the shrinking stamina also feature on the radar. The collapse of face and figure are so typical, so predictable, as to be barely worth mentioning! But the mental gaps present occasional nightmares though organisation here can help; a diary/ agenda and notes to oneself have important, face-saving functions. But the fact that one’s friends and relations die too soon cannot be denied or assuaged; this indeed is a common but inevitable and rather lonely feature of growing old, to be met with the stoicism developed in losing many battles over the years. One remembers, at funerals, that growing old is a privilege denied to many.

 My sister and I playing Mah Jong on the terrace
on our birthday last year.

But ageing isn’t all negative; not at all. One of the pleasures of growing old, unknown to the young, is giving things up. I have relinquished cooking for others [and do as little as possible for myself]; housework; sewing buttons on; pretending to like cakes and biscuits offered by lovely people [I simply refuse anything to eat which I don’t like]. And then there is the glorious freedom to decline to join activities which social obligation might well have demanded in the past. Among various seductive possibilities open to the Seriously Old, there is the total delight of saying exactly what one thinks, albeit politely, about almost everything; the determination which leads to effective action to avoid bores and boring situations even when social duty might demand otherwise; the utter delight of doing what one will, especially if, as I do, one lives alone unfettered even by the tiniest expectations of a partner. An octogenarian knows herself through long acquaintance; I know that I like to be liked but also that I do not need approval. The only imperatives come now from myself normally. There can be family requests, suggestions, questions but the deference due to age as seen by kind and considerate family members, keep these infrequent. After all, children and adult grandchildren have better things to do than pander unnecessarily to the egos of grandparents!! We are not needed very much and once accommodation to that fact has been made, it is a deliciously carefree place in which to be!

 Reflections in Brugge

I moved to live alone in Brugge at 80 on what can only be termed, ‘a whim’. I didn’t think too deeply about it but just did it, excited by the idea and trusting as ever in my ability to make everything turn out pretty well. Four and a half years later, I find myself living a happy life, a little life in the scheme of things, but satisfying and serene. In many ways it is a self-indulgent life but I tolerate that, as I tolerate my character flaws, with an amused acceptance!! It wasn’t always so and now is the time to do the things I love. I love reading, urban walking, going out to lunch, attending the occasional concert, meeting friends. Especially, I love socialising while also loving being alone; a perfect combination for one soul. Perhaps my favourite pastime has become Mah Jong, unknown to me until three years ago but now played every week with up to seven friends. We are all dotty about it and discover inventive ways to add the occasional celebration to our sessions. This week, champagne for my impending birthday; next week, Chinese food, courtesy of our teacher and leader, Nancy, for my birthday just gone! If one can cook up old age with self-indulgence sprinkled on top, that is delicious!

My other weekly favourite activity is my Thursday group; begun for locals, already good to fluent in English but wanting regular practice. Members of that group have become dear friends who meet for a drink and a chat; there is the occasional tea party and this week, a wonderful outing to a Portuguese restaurant for a birthday meal for me. Really, when I consider all, my cup runneth over.

I noted down recently a quote from Confucius which greatly entertained:

Chinese philosopher, Confucius 551-479 B.C.

Old age, believe me, is a good and pleasant thing. It is true you are gently shouldered off the stage but then you are given such a comfortable front stall as spectator.

I remembered that last week as my daughter in California Facetimed me [oh yes, family Facetime is another Good Thing] to tell me of all the turbulence in her little family’s life at present; all good possibilities but all the balls in the air too!! But they are confident jugglers and I watch from afar and admire; it is just marvellous to be a loving spectator and not an actor!

 Always time for beautiful reflections in Brugge!