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Thoughts from the ammo line (LIFE...IS...GOOD Edition)


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Power Line

Scott Johnson

July 29 2022

Ammo Grrrll has an important message for her readers and those of her husband as well in BLESSED WITH ALL THIS LIFE. She writes:

Sometimes, when the President of the Free World has just announced that he has cancer which was brought on by an oily windshield when he was a lad in Delaware, where he moved from Scranton when he was 10, it can get a person down. Oh, also, to the best of our knowledge, he doesn’t actually have cancer. Which is good. Only pathological Leftists cheer when someone they hate faces a physical attack or wretched illness.


And so it’s time to snuggle a child or – if you’re very lucky – a grandchild. Or, having none of those available, petting a dog or, in desperation, a cat. (I kid the cats…) No pets? Put on some Brahms or Mozart or Ella Fitzgerald, The Eagles, Alison Krauss, or Toby Keith and recall what a Heaven-sent blessing music is in our lives. Shut off the television, shut down your Smartphone, crank up your SUV or Silverado and go out for that greatest of American sources of sustenance – the medium rare juicy hamburger with pickles and either mustard or ketchup (I’m no purist) and not one made out of either soybeans or crickets. Savor every bite.

Here in Prescott, AZ, The View we watch is not on television, praise the Lord! We wake up every morning in our rental house and take our coffee out on our deck and watch all the life that does not care whether AOC was actually handcuffed (she wasn’t), or Liz Cheney is going to lose her Primary (she is!). A little lizard blends in perfectly with the bark on the huge pine tree and can only be seen when he moves. (I’m going to assume his gender because this is America and I feel like it.) He slithers hither and yon as though he is checking off items on his To-Do List.

A chipmunk runs across the deck and hooks up with a friend. A squirrel dwarfs them in size, but not in cuteness. A pair of obviously married goldfinches natter at one another and dive-bomb us periodically to keep us on our toes. Here’s something you never see in human society: the male appears to be trying to convince the female to go back to the nest for a bit! She isn’t in the mood.

A lone doe lopes across the back yard, catches sight of us and stares at us for a long minute as if to ascertain whether or not we represent any danger. She concludes correctly that we are Geezer-Americans who couldn’t catch her if we were paid to do so and saunters on her merry way. The first day we arrived, I saw a bobcat sunning itself in the grass.

On this particular day, the famous novelist Max Cossack was celebrating the completion of his seventh novel and had spent eight months paralyzed with an inability to choose a title from his list of 18 possibilities. Looking around, he commented, “We are so blessed with all this life,” and I said, “There’s your title.”




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