This is 12 year old Logan MacGillivray holding his own with an interviewer at the Peace Conference in Halifax this weekend. Logan (see http://www.listentothechildren.net) is an award winning human rights activist and filmmaker in Bedford, NS. The peace conference builds on inspiration from local and global leaders such as those of the Pugwash Movement. It’s about building a culture of peace. The alternative it too horrific to contemplate. Why, I want to know, is there so little coverage about peace in the press? Big trouble brews but, if there is an antidote, it’s education. Here is a short animation, brilliantly conceived and created, which makes me wonder about alternative endings...http://www.newscientist.com/blogs/culturelab/2010/07/the-evolution-of-life-on-a-wall.html
I remember catching bees in a jar when I was young. The yard was filled with a buzzing sound as hordes of them swarmed all over the wild roses and clover. I’m not seeing too many bees any more, even with a garden full of flowers, and last year our tomatoes hardly had any fruit. It makes me feel sad to think about how drastically things are changing and putting the natural world under such duress. This year I am using a paint brush to brush the tips of the flowers and get that good pollen spread to where it should be. It works like a charm and now we’ve got lots of tomatoes growing, but still hardly any bees.
Our neighbours have a new inflatable swimming pool in their backyard for their children to swim and splash about in. The water looks so cool and inviting. Their cats think so too. The pool was no sooner up than the cats found it and jumped up on the rim to walk around it and use it as a perch to drink the clear, refreshing water. I watched in fascination as they began to pick at the plastic with their claws. No sooner had they started than Kathleen charged out of the house, spray bottle in her hand, and spritzed the cats away. She didn’t look to happy about it, and I’m not holding out a whole lot of hope that the pool will last the summer.
The young girl next door was over for a visit and I happened to glance down and notice her legs. Huge scrapes. Both shins. She said she had done one leg then the other on two separate occasions. I said her older brother must be jealous. She laughed. When my own brother’s, twins, were five I couldn’t tell them apart except for all the cuts, scrapes and bruises on them.
Our dog, Phoebe, is a miniature Schnauzer. She’s an alpha-female with attitude. When I groom her I need her to think it’s fun, a game, and at the same time I have to hold her in a kind of doggy half-Nelson to control her. It’s a bit of a balancing act. I put a treat in my back pocket to give to her when I’m done, but first I rub the smell of it on my fingers so she knows it’s coming, then try to keep it light and playful.
Pre-teen girls padding home barefooted along the asphalt road after a day at the lake. I love the look of young people at this age, just before they grow into their more adult-shaped bodies. I love their body language as they stroll along talking and gesturing, so absorbed in their own lives, so self consciously unselfconscious.