On being a peculiar sort of person

My son’s mother, my second wife…yes, I’ve been married three times.  I’m either terrible husband material or a serial optimist.  Don’t judge.

As I was saying, my second wife found fault with some of my reading choices.  For a while, I was reading a great deal about UFOs and folks who believed they had interactions with aliens.  The contacts ranged from variations of “turn your head and cough” type exams, to very distressing reproductive procedures (including “and here’s your hybrid offspring, say hello to mummy, darling”), along with occasional tours of other worlds or galaxies, often polished off with warnings about the impeding global disaster.  Note that none of them were like, “hey, let’s go bowling, have a couple of brews and talk about life.”

Anyhow, the briefly Mrs. Griffis asked me if I wasn’t worried people might find it peculiar.  As for me, I found it peculiar she was worried about what other people might think about what her law-abiding, never-been-in-jail, honorably discharged military veteran husband was reading.  But that’s another story.

(For what it’s worth, my honest answer at the time was “Well, if this is true, it means the Universe is a lot bigger than we think.  If it’s not true, and since all behaviour has a purpose, then what are the reporting individuals getting out of telling these stories?”)

I was reminded of this less than charming interlude from a challenging relationship recently when I glanced at the tabs on my browser as I was working on the next novel in the Cthulhu, Amalgamated series.

I had a series of tabs about a 90 year-old British magician who could do an amazing card trick without touching the deck or using stooges.  Next to that were a few websites about a pilot during the Battle of Britain who saved Buckingham place from the attack of a German bomber by ramming it mid-air with his own plane, which was out of ammunition.  He survived this, by the way.   I think there was also a page open to Thesaurus.com.

Peculiar?  Maybe.  But also purposeful.

At least to me.  I guess that’s what counts.

And I’ve still never been in jail.