On this day after Christmas, I feel an urge to write about war. I am grateful for having never been asked to fight in a war. I wonder whether I would have had the courage of my convictions and refused to participate in such utter madness. Wars are fought in service to the madness of greed. That is, I hope, universally understood. So, we know how wars start. But do we know how they end? The answers to that rhetorical question are numerous, but the one answer that resounds with me is this: Wars end when the resources of one warring faction run out. Depleted pools of personnel to fight; financial hemorrhaging; loss of allies; military equipment; whatever it takes to fight a war. Ultimately, the ‘will to fight’ can be one of those dwindling resources, but the will to go on, I think, must be the final stage of the process of resource annihilation. The simplest solution to the problem of war, then, is to preemptively redistribute resources equally, by universal contract. Simultaneously, the psychological perspective that gives us the ‘will to fight’ must replaced by the ‘commitment to peace.’ How can two such simple steps have been missed by so many for so long? As to implementation? I’m not into the practical application of such concepts; I’m more of an idea guy.
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We had a delightful meal yesterday afternoon. We had appetizers of some absolutely addictive home-made croutons made with toasted chunks of sour dough bread combined with the perfect mix of olive oil and favoring. Salmon chowder, sour dough bread, and salad, almost completed the meal, but the finale was a home made pecan pie with vanilla ice cream and/or whipped cream. By the end of it, I was stuffed. Afterward, I took a nap that lasted until after the sun rose this morning. The accompanying wine and the post-dessert ‘edible’ may have contributed to what amounted to my hibernation over the past many hours.
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Merrill Lynch Pierce Fenner & Smith—writing on behalf of its parent, Bank of America—sent me two missives recently. First, a letter accompanied a check in the amount of $00.02, requesting that I cash the check (which had replaced a “stale” check I discarded a few years ago). Failure to do so, the letter informed me, might result in my money being turned over to the state, which might place the money in its state ‘unclaimed funds’ accounts. Shortly after the first letter, a second one came to reiterate what the first one said and to again request that I cash the check. Though I conceptually understand their desire to make certain their books balance to the penny, I am astonished they do not pursue something less expensive than two expenses for postage, two for envelopes, the cost of printing the letters and check, and the resources used to stuff the envelopes and mail them. This time, I will deposit the check in my account. If I try to cash it at the bank, though, I wonder if they will give me a nickel, instead, since we don’t use pennies anymore?
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It is awkward to find oneself drowning in dehydrated ideas. Writing is an addictive affliction, a disease made immeasurably worse when the subject of the craving’s so rough. Repetitive steps toward perpetual change is stagnation on steroids.
