Urbanites

This evening we went to an art exhibition at a small gallery in Kitsilano. Art - paintings, interpretation of what we see in paint and other media, is quite beyond me, just as poetry is. Beyond me in the sense that I can't do it myself. Other people's art, as other people's poetry, fascinates me. It allows you to look at something you may have seen before, quite differently. And I was privileged this evening to be with other people who also had interesting insights into the art we saw, and to be able to talk to the artist. And yet it was what she wrote about her own work that had most impact on me. Speaking my language I suppose.

Afterwards we went to eat with the two friends who had come to the gallery with us. We talked, we realised afterwards, for three hours. This was a treat for me because for one rare evening I wasn't the outsider, three of us were Brits. They asked me how I was coping with the impending departure from office of Tony Blair. Badly is the answer to that one.

So part of my job is to educate urban kids about nature and the natural world. Today I asked a group what they thought they might eat if plants could not produce fruit or seeds because there were no bees or other pollinating insects.
'Orange juice,' said one.
'How do we get orange juice?' I asked, predictably she answered,
'We buy it in the supermarket.'
'How does the supermarket get it?'
'We get it from the shop.'
'Ok, well, orange juice is made from oranges,'
'But we buy it,'
'Yes, but we can buy it because someone has made orange juice from oranges.' This continued until I gave up after about ten tries.

Next I tried meat. None of them could recognise that meat came from certain animals. They somehow didn't even tie the food called 'chicken' with the farmyard animal that they must have seen pictures of.

Someone suggested that if we didn't have any fruit or veggies because there were no more bees and pollinating insects, that we could eat honey.

This kind of undermined their previous enthusiasm for the play. They are wowed when we come out afterwards, no longer dressed as bees. Super-excited, 'I like your water bottle, I like your sunglasses, I think you're a really good actor,' all came out in one rush.
This was nice, sometimes they say, 'I love your accent,' which seems very random, but not as much as some comments. It's days since someone asked me what part of Australia I was from. Beth and Dave, the Brit friends we went out with this evening, both reported the same thing.
'The law-abiding part,' suggested Dave.

Well, the clock has moved past the witching hour so it's Sleepy's birthday. Happy Birthday me old mucker. Get your arse over here !
Sleepy has promised to help me celebrate my own birthday in exactly four months. That could be one HELL of a celebration.