Morning in Brussels

Wednesday. Chiropractor day again. The bus is late but the sun is shining so I don’t mind. Wearing my dark leather jacket, I sit in the sun like a solar collector, soaking up all the energy the day has to offer.

The ride to the Metro station and then into the city is quiet—except for the accordion player who gets on at Roodebeek and starts his shtick. You know the way some people have an inexplicable hatred for mimes? Well I find roaming musicians in subway cars to be insufferable. This guy is no different—it offends me that he invades my space and my silence and expects to be paid for annoying me. If there’s a Billboard Top 10 for Metro musicians, it includes such irritating hits as Volare, Theme from the Godfather, the Tarantella, Feelings, and other schmaltz. After the rolling audio assault, I fantasize about throwing a lit match into the cup that’s being passed to collect euros. But I’m a (mostly) good Grrrl, even if I entertain evil thoughts, and I simply stare into the blackness outside the window and will my station to appear.

Walking to the chiropractor’s from the Metro station, I discover there’s a special open air market being held at Place du Luxembourgh today. There are booths featuring bread, cheese, sausage, scented candles, baby clothes, wooden toys, ethnic jewelry, honey, gourmet preserves, flowers, plants, and sandwiches. I spot a booth selling fancy glycerin soaps in cute shapes and packages. Last night as I tucked A into bed, he confided to me that he has a new “girlfriend,” a Dutch girl in his class who also rides his bus. (“Do you sit with her on the bus?” “I usually just sit near her, right behind her.” “Dude, if you like her, you need to sit WITH her on the bus….”) He wants to give her a present to declare his warm intentions and has asked me to look for a little pot of strawberry-flavored lip balm, just like his sister E-Grrrl uses. I tell him I’ll try, but I’m not sure I’ll find something appropriate in the cosmetic shops downtown. When I see the soaps at the market, I know I’m saved. I select a clear blue soap with a yellow center, shaped like a daisy. It’s packaged up nicely, nestled in paper grass, tied with yellow raffia. It’s the perfect token of affection for a fourth-grade boy to give to the girl he likes. (I know better than to select a heart-shaped soap. Subtlety is everything in elementary school courtships.)

With soap in hand, it’s onto the chiropractor, who takes note of my sore lower back and tight shoulders. He tells me the change in weather is going to be a big challenge for my spine in the coming months. I feel like a granny with rheumatism who can predict storms by the aches in her knees as he explains how changes in pressure, humidity, and temperature affect my joints and muscles. He tells me that above all, I’m to keep my muscles warm, especially in my lower back. This statement will be my justification for the two sweaters and the down vest with the fur collar that I ordered from Eddie B yesterday. A Grrrl has to take care of herself. (“Darlin’, I can’t allow myself to catch a chill. It’s bad for my health. Bring on the cashmere, hon.”)

September 22, 2005