For the diminishing few still with a sense of humor — humor being the most important quality to have in the person you go to a Pacific atoll with . . . if, after reading J. Maarten Troost’s “The Sex Lives of Cannibals,” you still want to go to a Pacific atoll.
For the diminishing few newspapers — and this is one — endeavoring to make sense of bewildering public issues and tectonic cultural shift.
For the latest Great Awakening — the one we are in — maintaining at least a semblance of right reason and sanity in establishment religious denominations.
For a westering sun dappling cotton-ball clouds, breezes soughing in trees, water lapping on the shore. For the nature that, in the Bard’s words, “finds tongues in trees, sermons in stones, books in the running brooks, and good in everything.”
For the implacability of moral right confronted by monstrous wrong.
For an economy — an economic system — so strong and vibrant it can withstand almost any abuse.
For writers still in the business of attacking complacency and ganglionic status quo. Indeed, for writers still possessing the fortitude to say it the way it is and to drive their point home with the finality of a hammer on a nail.
For the coming return of man to the moon — once more the necessary baby step toward The Beyond.
For the opportunity to, let’s see: salvage public education, throttle jihad, diminish illegitimacy and illegal immigration, reverse the flight from religion, conquer cancer and heart disease, reject the fiscal drug of high(er) taxes, and prevent a third Clinton term (Clinton III).
For raising the blinds and bringing light into the room for those too sophisticated and smug to be appalled.
For every remote realm Blackberry cannot reach.
Finally, for families coming together — arriving home — and the sounds of car doors slamming and running feet.
As the Mayflower wayfarers said: In the name of God. Amen.
Ross Mackenzie lives with his wife and Labrador retriever in the woods west of Richmond, Virginia. They have two grown sons, both Naval officers.
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