I have lost the A in PEACE. The stockings are hung by the chimney in aggravation because my mantelpiece bears a typo: P E C E. So reads my stocking hangers. Rearranging them only renders further nonsense: CEEP. PEEC. ECEP. There isn’t much you can do without that A. I kind of need that A. Oh where oh where is that wayward A? Somewhere in my basement, no doubt, to be uncovered when I’m packing up the stockings. Decoratively speaking, I have been robbed of my PEACE. Peace is an illusive thing. Almost indefinable. Is peace the absence of war and conflict? But what if conflict or war leads to…