Thoughts from the ammo line

Ammo Grrrll is thinking about the end in WHAT WILL GET YOU – YOU JUST NEVER KNOW. She writes

I’m afraid I have some bad news, dear readers. I think Steve Martin put it best when last I heard him in concert 40 some years ago. Near the end of his flawless and hilarious standup set, he said, “Well, I think we’ve all managed to have a pretty good time tonight…considering we’re all going to die.”

Yes, in the midst of trying to figure out what the mortality rate is for the Wuhan Virus when we have no damn idea what the denominator is, I must remind you that the mortality rate for everyone currently alive is 100%. I know. Bummer. It appears that the “underlying condition” that guarantees eventual death is “being mortal.” Who knew?

And so we must do the best we can to make what time we have count. Love God and your fellow humans; eat often and well; laugh a lot; do something useful and productive; connect with friends; have some babies; be kind; try to stay healthy and happy.

It appears that the cunning plan I had to avoid the death that took my maternal Grandfather when I was six – “I just won’t close my eyes” – may be ineffective after all. On the other hand, my plan to be blessed with good genetics for longevity is panning out nicely. My other three grandparents lived well into my early adulthood and my own parents both lived to 95, with Daddy still soldiering on, going for a family record. His paternal grandmother lived to be a thorn in her daughter-in-law’s side to the age of 96. She was a rock-ribbed Republican who received an autographed framed photo of President Kennedy on the occasion of her 90th birthday. She hung it in a closet. Face to the wall. After he was murdered, she did face it front, out of respect, but it remained in the closet.

But back to our cheery subject at hand – death. So, a couple of weeks ago, early evening, I dutifully donned my outdoor mask (homemade out of a festive cloth napkin and two matching hair scrunchies) and took off for the quarter-mile round trip hike to our group mailboxes. When what to my wondering eyes did appear, but a huge gaggle of neighbor ladies, a few men, not one of whom was the Magical Six Feet from another, four firetrucks, four police vehicles and an ambulance. Yikes! All the First Responders sported more long gloves than Southern girls on a homecoming float.

I did not spot the problem immediately, but when I did, I jumped about two feet and possibly blurted out a bad word! Because there was a small white Ford SUV sideways on the rock and cactus strewn lawn of the house at the end of our street. The vehicle had been stopped only by the house itself or it might have gone all the way to Casa Grande. By the grace of God, the occupants of the house were not in the part of the house that was smashed into. Structural damage is such that the poor residents cannot live in it for three to six months. And that’s IF the Wuhan Woes do not prevent handymen from getting access to the property. And IF building materiel is in stock! Amazingly, the driver was not seriously injured.

So here we geezers all are, worried about an unpleasant, sometimes lethal virus. We are hiding in our houses with masks, gloves, hand sanitizer, and 300 rolls of toilet paper. Then it turns out that our house is the least safe place we could be when a deranged old lady – Joe Biden’s somewhat less senile sister? — guns her vehicle and, with a long block’s running start, rams it full speed into our abode. What are the chances?

Meanwhile, controversial reports appear that suggest that house-hiding is actually preventing the “herd immunity” that apparently is a good thing, and the reason your Mom made you go play with the kids you didn’t even like who had the Chicken Pox.

We just don’t know what will get us and that makes us anxious and crabby. It’s a capricious world. A high school classmate did two tours in Vietnam, came home to our safe little Minnesota village, and ran off the road and hit a tree. Killed instantly.

On the other hand, when my aunt was in her 60s, she had a routine complete checkup at Mayo Clinic in Rochester. She was shocked when a doctor told her she had an inoperable heart valve issue that would likely lead to her death within two years. Naturally, she found this news very upsetting and spent most of those two years being anxious and depressed. It turned out that that doctor was only off by a couple of decades, so no harm, no foul. She died a few weeks before she turned 90. It wasn’t even from the heart valve, but from a fall.

Respected medical personnel flaunting medical degrees in stuff like “epidemiology” and “infectious diseases” – and never forget that SOMEBODY was last in every class at med school — tell us that we have a couple of options: EITHER we have to test 330 million people twice a day, minimum, before we can ever go eat in restaurants again – OR, maybe we must all hide under our beds until nobody anywhere on Planet Earth ever has the Wuhan Flu again. Your mileage may vary, as it did with the prediction by Walzing Matilda, Minnesota Governor, that he was determined to lower the anticipated Minnesota deaths from 74,000 to 50,000 by destroying the economy. So far, there have been 343 deaths, so, well done there!

It may seem like a trivial point to some, but when your government lets out hardened and dangerous criminals so they don’t get flu – very nearly including the Green River serial killer who murdered 48 women — but sends “undercover sting” operatives to suss out illegal nail painters and hairdressers, it may be time for a massive coordinated march on every statehouse. With masks and gloves and six feet apart, it goes without saying. Heck, Antifa already has set the precedent with masks.

Where would you be more safe than in a nail salon where the nail lady is wearing a mask?

My hair takes care of itself. It is in a long ponytail held by one of 10,000 scrunchies I own in vibrant colors. Its color is what some might erroneously call Grey when it is clearly Platinum Blonde. My husband’s hair, on the other hand, is beginning to bear more than a slight resemblance to Buckwheat’s. Or Albert Einstein’s. But you know whose hair is perfectly coifed and colored? Every single moronic news-head and politician! What a lucky coincidence.

Evidently, THEIR hairdressers are Essential Personnel, but ours can go fly a kite. Just not outdoors. Alone. On a beach. Ya basta! Enough, already! Let our people go. Out.

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