The other day I was listening to the people on Science Friday discuss the best books of 2014 when a listener—let’s call him Bob—called in with a book recommendation. Bob said he worked a blue collar job and spent a lot of the time on the road with two other guys. To make the drives less tedious, Bob began reading to the other guys from this particular book. One of the other workers, a nineteen-year-old kid, was decidedly a non-academic. He hated to read, or maybe he couldn’t. But as Bob read, he noticed that the kid was reading over his shoulder. When he finished reading the section, the kid asked to see the book and ended up reading it for two hours straight. He finally handed it back, saying, “I’m going to buy that book for myself!”

Halfway through this guy’s gripping testimony, I grabbed a pen and stood hunched over a scrap of paper, waiting for the announcers to repeat the book title. But they never did! So I jumped on their site and shot my question out into the void. In short order I had the title: What If? Serious Scientific Answers to Absurd Hypothetical Questions by Randall Munroe. I clicked over to Amazon and there was the book, but whoa! It had come out in September 2014 and there were already over 800 reviews! Was I late to the party or what!!

The book arrived yesterday. Too much was going on (no fires or bloody sheep this time, I promise), so I shelved it. This morning, paging through, I got positively giddy. The book is hilarious, outrageous, and smart, and I have the perfect plan for it: I’ll read it out loud to the family at supper time.

It’s ideal for mealtime discussion since each section is three to eight pages long. The younger kids will love the cartoon drawings and bizarre questions and the older kids and adults will enjoy walking through the scientific and mathematical solutions. Even if comprehension is elusive (and it will be), the line of reasoning is sure to engage. I mean, you heard what Bob said, right?

Here are some sample questions:

*What if everyone actually had only one soul mate, a random person somewhere in the world?

*If you suddenly began rising steadily at 1 foot per second, how exactly would you die? Would you freeze or suffocate first? Or something else?

*How many Lego bricks would it take to build a bridge capable of carrying traffic from London to New York? Have that many Lego bricks been manufactured?

*If all the lightening strikes happening in the world on any given day all happened in the same place at once, what would happen to that place?

*How fast would a human have to run in order to be cut in half at the bellybutton by a cheese-cutting wire?

*If my printer could literally print out money, would it have that big an effect on the world?

I can hardly wait for supper and for once my enthusiasm has nothing to do with food!!!

PS. I’ve forbidden the children to read the book—just wait until supper!—but my older son has already stolen it once, the little stinker. He’s mad that he’ll only get to hear a bit at a time. He wants to read the whole thing in one fell swoop. (I don’t blame him.)

This same time, years previous: fa-la-la-la-la, the quotidian (12.17.12), my baby, and scholarly stuff.

Drametta Number One
The other evening, I posted the following on Facebook:

“Friday Night Entertainment: Dog bites sheep. Sheep runs. Kids chase sheep. Sheep runs. Kids and Dad chase sheep. Sheep runs. Night falls. Dad falls. Sheep runs. Kids and Dad and big brother (who had to jump out of the shower) chase sheep. Sheep runs. Sheep gets caught. Big brother gets back in the shower. Medicine is applied to sheep’s face. Suppertime. The end.”

Elaborations:
*Both sheep had blood on them. The kids had blood on them.
*My husband wrenched his back.
*The dog bit the sheep because the sheep was getting too close to the dog’s food. This means our dog is not a sheep eater. This is comforting.
*Annabelle appears to be fine. More skittish than normal, but fine.

Drametta Number Two
On Sunday, my husband stayed home from church to burn the brush piles. (The brush piles are a result of many hours spent cleaning up the fence line.) We were having guests for lunch, so he would be able to do the last minute meal prep, too.

As we left church, I called my husband to rattle off a string of getting-ready orders. Our guests ended up arriving at the same time we did, and as we were getting out of our respective cars, my husband sprinted out of the house, yelled hello to the company, grabbed a rake, and took off down to the field. Apparently, the fire was getting out of line? As I led the guests inside, I cheerfully told the kids to change clothes and then to go see if their father needed help.

And so there I was in the kitchen with our guests, chatting on about all manner of things while heating up the brown rice, setting the bowls of salsa and sour cream on the table, and trying to pretend that it was normal for me to prep Sunday lunch while the rest of the family fought fires.

Through the window, I saw my older son sprinting back across the field toward the house. A couple minutes later he burst through the door and yelled, “I need both fire extinguishers and the keys to Dad’s truck!”

“Okay, here you go,” I said, calmly handing him the items and then, turning to the guests, “I’m sorry everyone’s run off like this. I’m sure they’ll be up soon.” I began pat-pat-patting out the corn tortillas.

In his rush, my son just missed crashing the truck into the chicken coop.

Pat-pat-pat. 

My younger son was waddling across the field with a bucket of water.

Pat-pat-pat.

My younger son had stripped off his shirt and was—oh yes, but of course—beating out the flames.

Pat-pat-pat.

My older daughter was beating out the flames with her jacket.

Pat-pat-pat.

By now the guests were standing at the kitchen counter, watching the goings-on through the window with me. “It’s Murch TV,” I quipped.

The man said, “Your husband has a good heart—just look at him work!” I thought he meant that my husband was a good guy, but after a bunch of “good heart” comments I caught on. He meant “good heart” literally, a physically strong heart able to withstand strenuous exercise…and while breathing smoke.

The extinguishers did their job and the firefighters soon trooped through the door, smokey and soot-streaked, eyes bright with excitement. My husband came over to the sink to wash his hands and murmured under his breath to me, “I was this close to calling the fire department.”

I lifted the last of the tortillas from the cumal and lunch was served.

The end.

This same time, years previous: bits of goodness, soft cinnamon sugar butter bars, crazier than usual, fig-and-anise pinwheels, ginger cream scones, and a smashed finger.