Hi,

Thanks for the enlightening read.

I don't wish to be a 'downer' however I guess it is indicative of my advanced years that the concept of 11.11 having any other meaning than the one I was raised with, is totally inconceivable in my mind.

For numerologists, 1111 may symbolize a universal 'complete' or 'balance', but for me the loss far exceeds any benefit and the only completeness may arise from the hope that humanity will be unable to repeat the absurd atrocities that brought November 11 to my, and universal awareness, in the West.

The thought that 11.11 is a 'Singles Day' and a outpouring of mercantile greed leaves me bewildered.

Of the millions that died in WW1 most were single or freshly wed before they left for the great fight, for the unkown brutality awaiting at the front.

Most were virgin in thought, being and purpose.

They were not out to celebrate being single and getting laid. They laid in the chilling mud, with burning mustard gas and rat infested trenches, battling trench foot without the simplest of medicines, ie penicillin (invented 10 years after the war ended). Young men and women fighting for freedom who had barely known love and with dismal rations and penetrating cold, the thought of shopping would have been an abomination to their soul.

I don't refute the truth in your article, I only question the sadness or impropriety of the date eclipsing the deaths of millions represented on November 11th at the eleventh hour.

When I was in school we memorized the poem by John McCrae, In Flanders Fields. We recited it in assembly. It stays with me today.

I've visited the remnants of the trenches from World War One, researched the war and learned of the loss and grief of society's mistakes at that time. It is a date that represents our repeated inability to not attack each other and to remember the lossof those that served.

That 11.11 is now symbolizes any other issue is saddening for me.

Thank you for the article, I follow your writing as always.

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,

That mark our place; and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

Loved and were loved, and now we lie

In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands we throw

The torch; be yours to hold it high.

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

In Flanders fields.