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Dinar… not Dinner, D-I-N-A-R

When Robert was in Iraq we put a little money into what could be termed as a ‘high risk investment,’ we bought some Iraqi money or Dinar. $750 worth or 1 million Dinar (yes, it’s true I’m a millionaire) the reason this is high risk is because the country is so unstable that the finances could utterly collapse, they could change currency or something like an all out civil war could occur (that’s why we only have $750 worth, it was to risky to buy anymore).

Anyway, we haven’t thought about the money in more than passing for several years, on occasion I’ll have to get into my jewelry box and will grumble at the large wad of useless paper stuffed inside, but we usually don’t eve think about it. Until we saw this headline in our newspaper:

IN IRAQ, CASH IS A WEAPON
Iraq officials dish out dinars on the streets as part of major internal investment program.

To say that we groaned would be an under statement. It goes against everything I ever learned about economics (which is really not that much, since I managed to dodge that class); an influx of cash makes it worth less, so handing out $3000 a person sounds outright nuts.

Evidently, according to the article, it’s supposed be helpful, stimulate the economy like our tax refunds. I guess that makes sense in the long run, if people do what they are supposed to with the money, which is to spend it. If we Americans are any indicator, though, it doesn’t work that way. In church we actually had one of our local leader’s counsel us to save our tax rebates or buy food storage with it.

Save a tax rebate?! That misses the point. I sure hope the Iraqi people are smarter than us over the water’s. I hope they spend every last penny they get, maybe I’m a little self motivated, but hey, only a slightly.

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Mutterings of a Middle-Aged Dreamer

Use your words, my dear sweet soul, they are inside of you... So find them. Write, you silly girl, write so hard the world will never forget you.
But does it matter if the world remembers you? 
Age begins to press its hands upon your chest and the need to be remembered seems to increase with the pressure. 
Stop.
That's not a line of thought you're interested in pursuing. 
Live in the now.
Does it matter if the world remembers you if your neighbor is going hungry? 
Perhaps age is merely pushing you out the door. 
Go. Live in the now.