Robustly, insanely physical life

Bill Bryson muses about his childhood in 1950s Des Moines, Iowa. Here is an excerpt from his latest book The life and times of thunderbolt kid. Here is a link to another excerpt.  Here is a sample from the essay:

I couldn’t see much, of course, with my head pressed to the table, but I did catch reflected glimpses in the toaster and my father seemed to be into my cranial cavity up to his elbows. At the same time he was speaking to Dr. Alzheimer in words that failed to soothe. “Jesus Christ, Doc,” he was saying. “You wouldn’t believe the amount of blood. We’re swimming in it.”

On the other end I could hear Dr. Alzheimer’s dementedly laid-back voice. “Well, I could come over, I suppose,” he was saying. “It’s just that I’m watching an awfully good golf tournament. Ben Hogan is having a most marvelous round. Isn’t it wonderful to see him doing well at his time of life? Now then, have you managed to stop the bleeding?”

“Well, I’m sure trying.”

“Good, good. That’s excellent—that’s excellent. Because he’s probably lost quite a lot of blood already. Tell me, is the little fellow still breathing?”

“I think so,” my father replied.

I nodded helpfully.

“Yes, he’s still breathing, Doc.”

“That’s good, that’s very good. OK, I tell you what. Give him two aspirin and nudge him once in a while to make sure he doesn’t pass out—on no account let him lose consciousness, because you might lose the poor little fellow—and I’ll be over after the tournament. Oh, look at that—he’s gone straight off the green into the rough.” There was the sound of Dr. Alzheimer’s phone settling back into the cradle and the buzz of disconnection.

After the essay and the excerpts, I am thinking if I should get the book issued from the library — might be fun.

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