Here comes the son

The artist is out with our daughter and her friend and mother today, though not the mother who has just given birth, while I am at home ostensibly to work. Only, that is easier said than done. I still have the 5-year-old film maker with me. His energy is like that of a dancing baby bear and the goods in the woods he wishes me to explore are kept from us both by my many tasks at hand, including this. A document I must finish as soon as is humanly possible is a struggle when a boy with a camera is wandering through and round you. Oh but what a boy. I am a lucky father. Presently he is - ooops! - the balloon he was playing with has just exploded. (See what I mean.) Red-cheeked he has just come running up to me declaring almost too convincingly that he is suddenly tired. Now, seconds later, he is examining the pieces of bust balloon spread across the floor like the leaves which blew in when the man here earlier came to fix the broken light responsible for our snapped electricity. (The man began talking about his love of time machines as he slammed his hammer into some electrical wire.) No, my son has recorded an amazing 60 minutes of filming today, using the smaller camera, I hasten to add. He seemed to find his metier most of all when he realised he could record in mirror mode, in other words with the monitor rotated 180 degrees toward the lens so he could see himself while recording. He lost all subconsciousness for a moment. He even began leaping back onto his grandmother's beautifully crafted cushions like a superhero. Now all I need is to enlist him to help me with the artist, to get him beside me as we try to coax engagement again with the so-called big bad world. With him as her ally she really should have nothing to fear.