The Physics Of Apples And Trees...Izzy's History Lesson...

Nature is taking it's course in our backyard. It is littered with the corpses of baby birds. However we found one fat and fuzzy live one.
     Isobel: "Daddy, come quick I found a real live baby bird!"
     Daddy: "It's probably a fledgling, a baby that's learning how to fly."
     Isobel: "His head is all yellow. Come see, come see!"
     Daddy: "That's not his head honey, it's his beak. He wants food."
     Isobel: "Well, what do we feed him?"
     Daddy: "Well, hopefully the mother is around or he's not going to make it."
     Isobel: "Make what?"
     Daddy: "If the mother bird doesn't come back to feed him, he'll die."
     Isobel: Daddy if he dies, can I have him?"


      I am a writer. I have always been a writer. One of my earliest memories was winning a book as an award for writing a short story in the sixth grade. I think my greatest frustration with the band I left home for was my lack of writing input. I was never much of a tune smith but I am hell of a lyricist if I do say so myself. It's the words, the craft of putting them together in a way that is clever enough to impress me but also exciting enough to hold the attention and common interest of whoever happens to read them.
      And so, as it turns out my friends my progeny has started down the dark and infernal path of the writer. She has been crafting a story all year long and presented it to us only just yesterday. I was so impressed by it's honest and genuine depth of emotion that I couldn't keep it to myself. In fact, Isobel will be providing the bulk of this week's blog. It remains unabridged and uncensored, I insist on the purity of the original manuscript. So without further ado, Here is I saw a Bird in My Yard Today (It's a working title)
      I like the trtlls in the tab. And wen I dopt my watt bottl it was fanny. I liket the zoot. Is fun alt zoos. I liket it som ucn. I wat to go thar agin.
       I liked wen Babar and Cheieste got in to the car an wet nom and got clthing and Cheieste got a pritty dess and Babar got a vice soot.
      My faurit prt was wen Scre ran awae fam Freddies tem and got a hrt leg and never cen back.
      Wen I went to the Tosi Shritrc hous I lki bycing the coces. And they tosdid like sholmine and thay wr strs and moos and hrts.
      Me and my famaly want to the bech. And we plad in tho watr and we foud los of cams.And we allso foud shrc teth.
      Me an my mon wet soping at zarze. And aftr we wet to Chceces and I got a chce pop. And we all so did Das reviooshn and we did wac the wesill. And we did hit the bre. And then we lefte to nom.
      Me and my tamale are laring on tarc ond hat sune day and I am tand. The rest of my tamale are tand too! even my oqmo and my groqpo are tond toe! I like Mexacoe!
      My babysitr and me and Owen wete for a wack in the foniste and my bolde sitr woct met and I.
      Wan I wnt to the fornst with my dald I gate sprad by a skoke and it stingckt.
      Wan I wat outsid to plae. It strtid to ran and then it mad a ran bowe.
     Wqon-I wot-to Brot-Wod-Frm my-Faa-Nrt-Prt.
      Me and my daddy wet to the past ofis and wen we got into the car a bie faw in to the cor.

      Truly it is breathtaking. I have often wondered how I could express my Faa and now I have been shown the way and just the other day as I was walking to the past ofis, I was wondering if I should invite my groqpo over. I've just noticed that today Isobel brought home a folder called Isobel's Self Portrait Book. I suspect she will be having a show at the National Gallery this time next year.



      I have been driving my father in law's car for the past little while as my ancient Ford gets fixed. (again) Isobel's keen powers of observation of the painfully obvious kicked into high gear.
      "Hey, you're driving Opa's car." she said.
      "Yeah," I said. "Mine is getting fixed."
      "Again?" she asked. "Didn't it just get fixed?"
      "Well yes," I began. "but that was for the brakes. This is for the motor."
      "Your car sure needs to get fixed a lot." she said.
      "Well my car is from 1997."
      She thought about this for a while and a look of wonderment and disbelief came over her.
      "Your car is from 1997?" she asked.
      "Uh-huh."
      "1997, like when everything was grey?"

      Somebody wrote once that having children keeps you feeling you...it's all a god damned lie.