“And we’ll make a time machine using an old clock…”
My daughter, Morgenstern, 7, is chattering happily on the way to swimming, scooting along beside me.
“And then once I Have A Time Machine, I’ll go back in time to the Library of Alexandria with (verbal drum roll) Indestructible Blocks and protect it from the monks.”
WTF? Unlike Kurtzhau, Morgenstern doesn’t treat me as a walking History podcast. (I mean seriously, he used to say “Pause” and “Continue”.) “The Library of Alexandria?” I say. “Where did you hear about that?”
She uses her Talking to an Idiot Voice. “I HEARD you tell Kurtzhau about it. And it was On Cosmos.”
My daughter has, it is true, been utterly hooked on the new Cosmos. “Great I say,” and mean it. I’m also — moral hazard — sensing an idea of a quirky girl’s adventure book.
“AND,” she trundles on. “I’ll take Heavy Weapons and I’ll say to the monks ‘What the heck do you think you are doing? These are my (another verbal drum roll) Futttterrristiccc Weaponss! Then — Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! — I’ll shoot them all and Saaave the Librrrarry.”
“Where will you get futuristic weapons from?” I ask, fascinated now. “You’d have to travel forward in time now.”
“Oh Daddy,” she says. “If they are from OUR time, then they will be Futuristic for the monks. We’ll just say to the soldiers, ‘Come and defffeeeend the Liiiibrrrary of Allllexandria.”
We reach a flat bit and she kicks her pink scooter into hyperspeed and hurtles off, hello kitty crocks and princess-long hair tangling in the wind. “You can’t catch me…!”