So Let's Sink Another Drink...

Mikey arrived in Mosul (Nineveh) last Saturday. How did the insurgents mark his arrival? By doing what extremists do best. Welcome to Iraq, Mikey!

A buddy of mine from work, who first informed me of the blast, and who is an Iraqi veteran, described hearing a car bomb once in Baghdad:

"loud", he said.

Then tonight, Mom tells me that Mike called and said he camped one night at a base near the Syrian border. Syria? Is this for real? Yes, and it's nuts.

It's nuts to think one has an immediate family member in Iraq. When I was 8, I'd collect the "Deseret Storm" trading cards, and see images of the Iraqi deserts and think just how cool war was. Obviously, to me at the time, a U.S. soldier was about as real as a G.I. Joe.

When the Deseret Storm II started, I clearly remember an angry German telling me it was going to be just like Vietnam... that the U.S. would invade, get bogged-down, and eventually retreat in failure. Being the occasional anti-white handbook missionary that I was, I would typically handle those situations by pulling out my voter registration card and indicate where it clearly stated:

"REPUBLICAN"

I would then continue to explain that yes, I was a republican, and yes, I voted for Bush. The latter claim was technically a lie due to my age at the 2000 elections, but it was easier to say in German than, "I confidently and proudly support Bush".

But now with Mikey, having boots on the ground, my attitude has focused on the fact that I "proudly support my little brother". With his love for his country and his courageous patriotism, I could consider him as an American Schiller, or some sort of Nathaniel Greene re-incarnate. I can't help but notice the scope of it all: while I spend $5 on a service flag magnet for the truck, Mike flies half-way around the world to willingly fight... and then he says, "I want to go to Afghanistan--because that's where the real fightin' is". If only I could somehow mirror his ambition in my own life, I'd be a lot further.

Before leaving, Mike brought me home his flak jacket for my birthday. I have no idea what I'll ever need it for, but it's so cool. I just feel tougher wearing it.

* * * * *

Do people really still think that Iraq was only about the WMD's? I don't think so. I also hope it's over soon... I'd really like to visit Iraq some day--and see the Ziggurats. I guess you could say that visiting the great Ziggurat of Ur would be like doing genealogy work, in a way... I can at least claim that I have a great ancestor who once lived there. A lot of my friends can claim the same thing too.

Oh, and I sometimes wonder if Mahonri M. used to live near a Ziggurat. Hmm... I guess I can only speculate, for now at least.

"now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known"

One can't help but want to look forward to that...

* * * * *

Some of my more favorite books on my book shelf.

Some of my most favorite books aren't included, as they're in my truck or on my desk in SLC... as they should be.

I purchased the Maria and the Rosary at the Christkindlmarkt in Klagenfurt, Austria. The "Pilgrim's Cross" I bought at the Mariazell Basilica. Michael S. told me that I wasn't allowed to have the Maria on my desk in my apartment, because someone might "look through the window and get the wrong impression".

Just in case...

Holy Water... Just in case...

This book happened to be one of the most thoughtful birthday presents I've ever received.

But that was about as thoughtful as she would ever get.

I found this little guy in Krung Thep Mahanakhon Amon Rattanakosin Mahinthara Ayuthaya Mahadilok Phop Noppharat Ratchathani Burirom Udomratchaniwet Mahasathan Amon Piman Awatan Sathit Sakkathattiya Witsanukam Prasit, A.K.A Bangkok. Apparently, I was ripped off, but I only paid $6.00 USD.

This reminds me of a time when John and I took a trip to the emergency room. Here's the story: Elder John Madsen and I, both greenies, were doing yard work for a member of the local branch. While hacking away at the outside hedges, John mistakenly swung the hedge trimmer too low to the ground... The trimmer's power dies, and I hear a groan of frustration when I then discover, that John had cut the hedge trimmer's cable with the very same hedge trimmer. After some elementary electrical cable repair, we get started again... this time I was the operator of the hedge trimmer.

20 minutes later: the power dies, and then I groan in frustration. Another cable repair...

We then set off for a third, and final, time. John's at it again. I'm on the opposite side of the hedge. I hear the trimmer hacking away at the other side, hack hack hack. Suddenly,

hack hack hack groan hack hack hack.

John had just hacked his finger to the bone.

How this relates: that member, in who's yard we were working? He gave me that Stein.

Goodnight, everyone. Thanks for readin'.