“A Russian astronomer observed the planets thru a telescope made of ice.”
Must have had some good weed in those days.
Henry’s imagination didn’t seem to need exotic substances. He got off on wild stories of small, flying objects, miniature baby houses for a little girl, a trip he made to the moon by accident, stories from the point of view of a pine tree and of a lump of gold in the ground. Nothing about him was conventional. His daughter wrote how he would set the table into hysterical laughter one minute, and drown them in tears with another tale the next.