Suddenly I find myself doing things that for me are probably beyond the unusual and well into the extraordinary. I doubt it has much if anything to do with the emphatic assertion of Fall. But the thermometer displayed its red line only to the 40° mark this morning: its first such display since last year’s leaves began to bronze.
It was extraordinary for me to watch the Presidential debate. It was extraordinary because I have no interest in the election. Gay marriage vs. magic underwear—who cares? Still, the debate interested me. I got to see a surprisingly kinetic candidate I had previously thought was in early algor mortis; and I saw a stiffly braced candidate I had previously thought of as kinetic but insubstantive, looking very resentful to no real advantage. I don’t know why these things interested me, but they did. But I still can’t get past the magic underwear thing.
It’s extraordinary for me to fill out financial aid forms, but if the hospital wants to reduce my bill for my two extraordinary visits, I will go the extra mile and ask them to.
It’s extraordinary for me to read an entire book on history. I’ve tended to attribute my indifference to the subject to poor writing on the subject. I’m reasonably well versed through the Bronze Age, but my conversancy takes a dive from there. And now, here am I, 24% through Churchill’s second volume on World War II. What next? Volume 3. It’s amazing how an educated person in this country can know nothing about the events most impacting her parents’ generation, except the gruesome details of the concentration camps. And I know I’m not the only American like me. That’s probably why our country is still acting like a dumb little kid standing in the snow without his boots on, throwing snowballs with all his might.
I’m also reading Les Miserables; I have been reading it since June. It is extraordinary that I would spend four months reading a novel, but it is long and I have been reading other things concurrently. Now that I am 92% of the way through Hugo’s monumental tome that touches on every conceivable aspect of life except the reality of divine sovereign grace, I am starting to think I don’t like the book after all. But I will finish it, because I am a finisher.
I can’t think of anything else going on that’s particularly extraordinary, even for me.