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Philosophic Conversations The Belgium people wore very serious faces -- even the small children. I called them Belglums. Sharon said with their curled down lip it looked like they hadn't smiled for a thousand years and if they should even think of trying their face would crack. A child of about two stood with her mom on their front doorstep as we cycled past. When the girl saw us, she raised her arm and waved like little kids did, but her face never change one iota from its sad expression. Belglums were not a smiley people. Maybe they had poor dental plans. We had been following interlocking red brick bike paths most of the day. They got us away from traffic all right, but they made my behind tender. I didn't know how those racers could handle it with their skinny tires. I had seen many wearing two pairs of padded cycling shorts -- a long tight with shorts pulled over top -- and thought it was for the cold weather, but my butt soon learned better. Jersey cows stood in a sea of green grass. One had a huge bag and big eyes that begged, "Milk me -- please." Another laid balancing on top of her bulging bag -- her udder squished beneath her -- obviously making condensed milk. While buying groceries in a small town we got into a philosophical discussion with the sixty year old owner. He asked me, "What is your meaning of life?" "To experience and learn as much as possible," I told him. "Satisfaction in doing what I want. Love myself and my fellow humankind." "No kids?" he asked. "Isn't it natural to have kids?" Apparently that thereby meant it was unnatural not to have kids. "I was a school teacher and I had thirty kids all day," I told him. "It was relaxing to come home to peace and quiet." "Too much cost to raise children?" "No," I answered. "Just my choice not to have any." "Where did you get this idea? Your parents?" Wasn't he listening? Or did he just not understand? "No," I replied. "It's my own idea." He shook his head at the incomprehensibility of it all. "My wife," I explained, "has eight brothers and sisters so she already had plenty of child rearing experience. And I have a brother twelve years younger than myself, so I had lots of baby-sitting and diaper changing myself. It's not like we made our childless choice blindly." "Today," he continued, "people have one. Maybe two. One is a catastrophe!" "I know," I agreed. "I saw them every day in school." He shook his head sadly. "When they come in the store they want and grab everything." He shook his head again and was silent for a moment. Then he asked: "Where did you get the money to take this trip?" "We sold our house," Sharon said. That really flabbergasted him. He held his head in his hands trying to make sense of that piece of information. Finally he said, "I have old thinking." Apparently selling ones house to take a trip had never crossed his mind before, let alone entered it. When we departed he was still holding his melon like it had been cracked open. Sharon continued the discussion outside. "It's easy for men to be high and mighty about having kids. But I don't see any of them having babies." Personally, I thought we had enough people on old earth already. We should be trying to make a better life for the ones that are already here. If people wanted kids why didn't they adopt? Instead of him having four kids why didn't he adopt four? I had gone into the store to buy some ham and a few slices of cheese, but I came out with food for thought. We found a bench outside a small church. A funeral procession came down main street. The hearse was followed by about two hundred townsfolk walking behind it in solemn pairs. As we sat munching our ham, cheese, tomato and pickle on a whole wheat bun other people began arriving at the church. "Mass?" Sharon wondered. "Probably another funeral," I said. "Fridays have them stacked up before the weekend." The Father happened along and I asked him. "Wedding," he revealed. I wondered how many of the funeral attendees were also invited to the wedding? Same attire. Hmmm. I had never thought of that before. Was there some connection? Tried to mail our weekly instalment home, but the postal employees wanted me to put my envelope into one of their special envelopes before they would take it. "Give it back," I said to the man. That completely bewildered him. Judging from his shock and dismay apparently no one had ever done that before . We crossed a bridge out of town and looked down at the canal below. There was a paved bike path running along the canal. It was flat and with the wind. We cut down a steep dirt trail and got onto the bike path. The canal was great. A few boats plied the waterway. Trees lined the path. It was flat, smooth and with the wind. "I may have to change my mind about Belgium," I told Sharon. The city of Turnhout had tons of bicycles. School was getting out and waves of students rode past. We didn't see anyone walking. It was no wonder. They wouldn't stand a chance against those hoards of bikes. Adults of all ages, kids, moms with daughters, entire families rode along the street. The people shopping at the grocery store had bikes equipped with bike bags. We were off our Michelin map. I went into a magazine store to buy another. The woman asked about our trip. Then, she asked, "No kids?" It was becoming a question I hated. "Thirty," I responded dryly, without elaboration. One philosophical conversation a day was my limit. Back on the canal bike path my meter recorded one hundred kilometers for the day just as we saw a hospitable stand of trees. It was nearly dark. Not many people were likely to come along the bike path. A father and son zoomed past on racing bikes. After they passed, we pushed our bikes into the clump of trees and set up the tent before making supper. What do you mean we're out of buttermilk? |
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