Happy Thanksgiving Day! There's alot to be thankful for this day...

"For we brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out.
And having food and raiment let us be therewith content." (1 Tim 5:7-8)

11/15/03

Finally developed pics from my birthday. Wish I'd taken more.
Hindsight always gives me a crick in the neck.
Received an unique and lovely gift on my bday:
Hwan played his violin and Jimmy played his cello to the tune of "Happy Birthday."
A most wonderful surprise. One I'll never forget.

It's beautiful when people use their talents to brighten others' lives.
Several other events occurred on my bday, most of which I also won't forget.
I inhaled ashes from a burning sky and expelled tears from a burning heart.

Got back my practice LSAT scores in the mail yesterday.
Didn't ace it, but didn't bomb it either.
I think I won't walk away from the actual test in December, afterall.

Watched a body-building competition live for the first time today.
Went to cheer on my co-worker, who competed for the first time today.
A young man who was handicapped and in a wheelchair also participated.
I think he received the most cheers from the audience.
I am shamed by my own complacency and laziness when I witness such achievements.

Tired. Drove three plus hours north to Sacramento last night. Drove two hours to Oakland this afternoon for the competition.
Hungry and cranky. Wolfed down my lunch and Rendell's at the Hilltop Mall.
Found a watch that came closest to what I've been looking for all these years.
Bartered down the price, but had to dodge annoying advances from the salesman the whole time.
Funny how he stopped his attempts the moment my dad walked into the store.

Sleepy. Took turns driving three plus hours back home.
Time to hit the sack now.
'Nite.

Friday night.
Carpooled to Palo Alto with
fellow legal beagles, Gil and Jeff.
Met up with Rennie at Stanford.
Called Sam, left message.
Woke up intermittently throughout the night.
Having a KFC chicken sandwich for dinner
was not a good idea.

Saturday morning.
Woke up feeling pukey. Drained. Achy.
Assured Rennie I was okay to take
the Kaplan practice LSAT at 9am.
Enroute to the testing site, Terman,
stomach protested its jostlement caused by walking.
Ran straight for the bushes by the bike racks.
Upchucked, felt better, assured Rennie
I was still okay to take the practice LSAT.

Saturday afternoon.
Walked out of the Terman building at 12:30pm.
Completed five 35-minute test sections.
Bombed the game sections. Felt like a loser,
but rejoiced in surviving the three-hour mock test.
Stomach still not settled to embrace food again.
Crashed back at Rennie's studio.
Called Sam, left message.
Watched Rennie's downloaded movies, "Sinbad" & "Gladiator."
"Strength & Honor," I repeat to Rennie in encouragement.
"Pickles and eggs refer to..." I explain with a grin to Rennie,
who can sometimes be more clueless than I, if that's possible.

Saturday night.
Met up with Andrew for the first time
since graduating from Penn.
Rendezvoused at a Spanish Restaurant of Rennie's picking.
Hardly recognized him with his long hair and ballcap disguise.
Tasted a mojito. Ordered arroz con pollo. Hoped it'd stay down. It did.
Post-dinner excursion to a nearby bowling alley.
Lots of fun. Rennie and my first time at astro/cosmic bowling.
We will never go 'regular' bowling again.
While parting goodbye with Andrew, learned it's a small world afterall.
Turns out Andrew and Rennie, back in their elementary school years,
both attended the same tutoring center in Northridge.
Crashed back at Rennie's.
Slept thankfully well.

Sunday morning/afternoon/night.
Listened to sermons online with Rennie.
Called Sam, left message.
Met Rennie's friend, Intaik, over lunch at a French cafe.
Post-lunch, went shopping at the Stanford Mall.
Satiated with two Sisley shirts,
one pair of black strappy shoes,
and one pair of basics.
Learned that Victoria's Secret, by strict policy,
NEVER exchanges food items, to include sealed, untampered tins of mint.
Finally found the Dunbarton Bridge after getting lost several times.
Note to readers: Look for signs for 84 East vice the Dunbarton Bridge.
Met up with Gil and Jeff for the return journey home.
Home, sweet home.

And a good weekend this was, despite my being ill and Saturday's constant rainy drizzle, thanks to Rennie's wonderful hospitality! I wonder if Sam ever called back?

Last night was the first time in a LOOOOONG time that I dressed up for Halloween. The occasion: a Halloween party invite, accompanied by the threat of an unspecified ill to befall any who dared to appear out of costume. After a last-minute change of plans to dress up as Chun-Li from Street Fighter vice Selene from the movie, "Underworld," my sis (who also made a last-minute decision to dress up as a school girl - I call it the Britney Spears look) and I appeared at the Navarro residence for what turned out to be a night of good food, folks, & fun. =)

Once upon a time, I brimmed
over with things of which
I desired to write.
These days, I struggle to grasp
a subject that awakeneth my slumbering hand.
From whence comest this dearth of words?
To what cause shall I attribute
this my tranformation to a mute?
As silver left unpolished becometh dross,
so hath become my life of bearing my cross.
Though lighter the burden and greater the ease from woe,
my sedated state leaveth me hardened and cold.

Methinks it's time to shake off
this stupor that hath compassed me
round about for much too long
and to "go to the mattresses"
with my self-doubts on December 6th.

In other news, my computer has caught the RPC worm/virus and keeps shutting down on me. It'll probably shut down on me any moment now. On the positive side, it's probably one of the best things that's happened to me to wean me off of the internet.

I've recently been introduced to an all-Spanish Shakira CD and I am HOOKED! The beats get me moving and she has such a talented voice. Listening to her makes me want to learn Spanish and belly dancing. =)

I've started reading John Bunyan's book, "Pilgrim's Progress" again. It's something I look forward to doing when I get home from work at night. There are many things that are said to the character 'Christian' that I needed to hear for myself again. The thing I like about my copy of "Pilgrim's Progress" is that it lists all the Bible verses that Bunyan references in his allegory. I look up the verses concurrently while I plod through Bunyan's story, and it's been a good source of Bible study for me.

This morning, I heard the story of John Newton and how he came to believe in God. It was an amazing story, and one which I'd never heard before. Newton was a merchant ship sailor who was drafted into the British Royal Navy as a young man. He was problematic in the Royal Navy and was subsequently traded over to work for a slave ship merchant. Newton worked his way up from slavery to become captain of his own ship. One day, while out at sea, Newton and his crew encountered a fierce hurricane. They miraculously made it through the storm, but Newton acknowledged that it was God who saved him from perishing in the hurricane and repented of his unbelief.

You may now be wondering, as I did, who is this John Newton? Why, he was the author of the well-known hymn, "Amazing Grace," which he wrote later in his life.

My mom and I went to the ER for the first time in our lives last Wednesday. After multiple x-rays and two doctors' evaluations, the diagnosis was a nondisplaced radial fracture. The docs say it will take 4-6 weeks for the fracture to heal. In the meantime, we just have to grin and bear it.

In light of the newly acquired infirmity, I declared an outing was in order to lift our spirits, so we ventured down south to Los Angeles on Saturday to take a stroll of the Getty Center's Central Garden. It was much more beautiful when I visited with my friend Mia back in February, but even at this time of year it remained a pleasant sight. My mom, a horticulturist at heart, couldn't stop gasping in delight at every different type of plant we saw. The beauty of nature was able to take both her breath and her pain away. I recommend the Getty Center to anyone of any age. It's a timeless place that delights and refreshes the heart.

At the end of a ball

There is nothing that lasts
at the end of a ball
except perhaps a glass
imprinted, seven inches tall.
I forget the names, the faces,
of many we did meet;
my mind only traces
the movement of his feet.
He swung me, he twirled me--
who can speak of such giddy!--
as I became as another moon
to orbit around him.
The world seemed upside down
at the end of every song
as he dipped me to the ground
in a grip so very strong.
I was thrilled by his dancing,
so excited my breath caught,
but funny how something,
too, didn't catch in my heart.
Despite all the fun I had,
I realized it's still true...
I'll never know true romance
until I've danced with you.

[Just returned on Tuesday from a short trip up to Vancouver, B.C....]

Today is Friday the 13th and I will be going under the knife of a (hopefully) skilled doctor. This was the first available date on the doc's calendar, and I thought that if I tried to push it off to a later date, I'd chicken out and not go in at all. So I kept the appointment, and it's too late to cancel out now. I hate going to the hospital for anything. It's such a foreign and alien place to me. The thought of getting cut open makes me want to make like a banana and split, make like a tree and leave. You get the picture.

I've decided to name you 'Godot' after the character in the book I once read in college entitled, "Waiting for Godot." My memory fails me as to how exactly the story began and ended, but I think it both began and ended with several characters waiting for someone named 'Godot.'

"No, there isn't someone else. It's the promise of someone else..." Can you guess the source of this quote? Hints: Brinkley, Streatfeld, Mr. Darcy, Fox, Kelly. Such a good movie.

My latest discovery in Lemoore: There is a delightful outdoor drive-in theatre that charges $5/car (max. of 6 people per car) for both evening features. What a deal! Watching a movie outdoors within the privacy and familiarity of your own car, with the moonroof fully open to reveal a clear view of the stars high above in the night sky, with all the convenience of clarity and volume control at your fingertips via your car's radio/volume dial... Well, if that don't beat all. I don't know how I'll get myself to cough up $10 for an indoor movie ever again.

Today's observation: The crows are preying (or attempting to prey) on baby birds. We've seen several intense battles between crows and pairs of small birds (pairs which we've assumed are the parents of the helplessly blind and nested chicks) today. It was pretty amazing to see two small birds join their efforts in taking on a crow, a bird at least 2-3 times their size, and in successfully harrassing the crow until it finally left the vicinity of their nested chicks. Individual size is not a limitation when several small powers join as one. Didn't the untrained Chinese masses, using only their kitchen/farm tools, defeat MacArthur's advancing troops? Haven't the European nations joined together under the European Union? Isn't it time for me to stop rambling and go to sleep? =P

I've been hesitating on the threshold
of a door leading to a new direction,
wondering if this is indeed the road
to traverse, despite my reservations.
Then today, as I read First Chronicles,
I gained the answer--one so critical--
that asssured me I'm not in this alone.

"... Be strong and of good courage, and do it: fear not, nor be dismayed: for the Lord God, even my God, will be with thee, he will not fail thee, nor forsake thee, until thou hast finished all the work for the service of the house of the Lord." (1 Chronicles 28:20)

Grandmother passed away in Korea today. It was 9:30am on May 8, 2003 in Korea when her heart contracted one last time. And yet, instead of mourning, all I can do is think selfishly of how I can't wait for my parents to finish what they have to attend to in Korea and hurry over here. Once again, I've realized how much of a kid I still am. Especially now, as I am regretting my clipped telephone conversation with my mom less than an hour ago. I was/am upset because it seems that she'll be extending her stay in Korea again. She arrived in Korea in early March and has changed her itinerary for her stateside arrival THREE times since. So, after two cancelled arrival dates, and now a third one, I guess I'm getting grumpy about calling the moving/storage company AGAIN and rescheduling the delivery date for the household furniture/goods. Still, as soon as I hung up with her, I knew that I'd been wrong for thinking only of my own disappointment and for not putting her needs first. I'll have to call her back tonight before I go to sleep, else I'll stay up burdened by my conscience.

"Therefore if thou bring thy gift to the altar, and there rememberest that thy brother hath ought against thee; leave there thy gift before the altar, and go thy way; first be reconciled to thy brother, and then come and offer thy gift." (Matt 5:23-24)

Ask.
Seek.
Knock.

I was listening to a Christian radio station on my drive home from work today, and I heard a kids' song that hinged on Jesus' words in the Bible, teaching us: "Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you: For every one that asketh receiveth; and he that seeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened." (Matt 7:7-8) As I was listening to the song, it struck me for the first time that the word, ask, can actually serve as an acronymn for A=ask, S=seek, and K=knock. That was a very cool idea and I'm still reveling in the delicious discovery. For what have I been asking, seeking and knocking lately?

On Friday, I bought brand new front brake pads and rotors, and exchanged my power steering belt for the right sized one. With the parts on hand, my co-worker and I met at the same Auto Hobby Shop to get to work on my car. After about two hours' work, we'd successfully replaced my cracked power steering belt, rusted front rotors, and worn-down brake pads. I must have saved AT LEAST $500.00. I felt so proud of myself. When my best friend called me from Philly, I told her all about my auto adventure and offered to change out her rotors/brake pads in the future. Yes, that is how simple the whole thing was to learn! She and I then launched into a comparative discussion of how an auto mechanic is, in many ways, like a doctor with the only difference being that the clients are automobiles instead of people. She told me of an exhorbitant amount of money she and her hubby had to cough up for recent repairs to their car's struts and transmission (transmission problems = BAD news). The experience led her hubby, a doctor, to comment that perhaps he'd selected the wrong profession. heh. =P

After I left the Auto Hobby Shop, on my drive home, I received a hysterical call from my mom who is currently in Korea. I could barely make out what she was saying due to her sobbing between words. I knew that my grandmother had suffered a third heart attack about two weeks ago, so I thought that she had passed away. My mom could only calm down enough to clarify to me that my grandmother had collapsed again, this time into a coma, and she asked me to notify my dad and sister in Philly.

The next day, on Saturday, my mom called me again. She was much calmer than she had been the previous day, and explained to me that she had been calling me from the ambulance as they were taking my grandmother to a bigger hospital. Doctors at both hospitals declared my grandmother brain-dead and stated that there is no hope for her awakening from her coma at this point. My mom described the situation: grandmother is hooked up to a machine that is keeping her alive in a vegetable-state. In the meantime, my aunts and uncles are making preparations for the funeral.

I've always been able to tell my mom anything, so I told her honestly of how it was hard for me to grieve deeply for my grandmother. Living away from Korea, I've only experienced short visits with my grandmother and never did develop a close bond with her. Reason/protocol dictates that I should be in mourning, but I find it hard to feign a feeling I don't feel. My mom understood my feelings and agreed that based on my growing up apart from my grandmother, my feelings made sense. I don't feel any guilt for not feeling devastated by the loss of my grandmother (however, I would have felt guilt if I'd tried to feign grief), but there is a part of me that wishes I'd known her more intimately, at least well enough to sincerely share in my mom's mourning.

With this thought, I understood for the first time in my life why, when my paternal grandparents had been alive on Guam, my parents used to force my sister and me to visit them at least once a week. I remember my sister and me protesting and throwing tantrums to keep from going because we thought our grandparents' place was one of the most boring places to go. There weren't any barbies or other toys there, so we'd just have to get creative in keeping ourselves amused for the usual two or more hours of visitation. If we jumped on grandfather's bed (which was VERY springy), we got in trouble. So we'd turn to other means of amusement, such as grandfather's vibrating back massager. That fun lasted for a while, until mom found out and we got scolded for running the batteries. Next, we found a silver, traditional Korean hairpin (called a "bi-nyuh") that belonged to grandmother. My sister played with it and discovered that the pin sheathed a hidden blade. Of course mom found out about this, too, and scolded us for playing with (1) grandmother's personal items; and (2) a dangerous item. She did, however, take the time to explain the item to us. She explained that in olden days, the women wore these hidden blades in their hairpins to protect their honor. In the event they ever found themselves cornered in a compromising situation, they were to slit their wrists with the blade in their hairpin. In other words, the women back then preferred to die rather than have their bodies and honor defiled by someone other than their husband.

But I digress from my main point, which is on establishing a close relationship with my grandparents. My parents' deliberate attempts to have my sister and me develop a close bond with my paternal grandparents via forced weekend visits, in fact, worked. When my grandmother passed away in the winter of 1989, I felt a deep sense of loss and wept in genuine grief. Six months later, when my grandfather also passed away, I experienced the same sense of loss.

I now realize that being able to truly grieve for someone is a privilege, one that can be accessed only when one has first experienced the privilege of having a close relationship with that someone. After reflecting on my lack of deep remorse for my grandmother's loss, I realized that someday when I have kids I want to make it a point to ensure they have the opportunity to develop a close bond with my own parents, even if that will require 'forced' weekend visits.

I also thought to myself, grandmother is 79 and dad is 59. I'd never made this comparison before, and the thought is sobering. I realize that I don't have that much time left to spend with my dad. 20 years can go by so quickly. There is a list of things I'd regret if my dad were to pass away today. That's the list I'm going to start working on for the next 20 years, starting today.

There was quite a deal of hullabaloo on base this afternoon, as three F-18 Hornet/Superhornet squadrons from the USS Abraham Lincoln flew in, in a crowd-thrilling formation, to a heroes' welcome. Live video footage was captured by numerous television news channels, including CNN. (I, apparently, got caught on CNN a couple times, once with me unaware and the second time with me trying very hard to peep behind the head of a woman being interviewed.) Radio stations played festive and patriotic music in the background as crowds garbed in red, white and blue waved miniature American flags in the air, their hearts pitter-pattering in excited anticipation of their loved ones coming home from the Gulf for the first time in 10 months.

When all 36 jets finally landed and got chocked in position, the pilots turned off the loud whirring of their jet engines at the same time and raised their cockpit shields. One by one, they clambered down from the jets that each bore their name and rank, stenciled in black on the exterior side of the jet. Once grounded, they proceeded to peel off their protective flight gear and to gather together at the far end of the runway. When the pilots of all three squadrons had assembled themselves, they marched on cue towards the crowd waiting behind yellow, restraining tape. The plan was for all the pilots to line up, salute, and then have the wives and kids run out to them, but the plan didn't quite unravel in such an orderly fashion as one wife broke out from the crowd and ran out impatiently to her husband. With that lead, others followed suit and ran out to their respective pilot before all the pilots could execute the pre-planned group salute. This didn't seem to cause anyone any angst--other than myself, since I was hoping for a cool shot of all the pilots saluting with their jets in the background--as families reunited, couples embraced, and fathers held up their children.

This was my first experience observing a fly-in, a return of jet pilots following a long tour of duty out at sea. There were many present at the event today who were choked up and in tears. I suppose I would have been, too, if a friend of mine had been among those pilots who returned today. I could only think of how the scene of the pilots strolling in unison toward the crowd in their flight suits reminded me of the scene from Armageddon, when the astronauts collectively walk in their space suits. I also thought a few other things, but I'm not sure if I'm at liberty to speak them aloud.

So, that was my day. In the evening, I met up with a co-worker and got to work on my car in the Auto Hobby Shop on base. Even as I write, I am still very sooty and greasy, and in need of a good scrubbing, which I will get to once I complete this entry. Thanks to my co-worker's knowledgeable influence and enthusiasm for auto mechanics, I've been learning more and more about my car. After getting a diagnostic on my car and learning that my serpentine and power steering belts were cracked, I went out and bought new belts (upon receiving such direction from my co-worker, of course). Tonight, we worked at replacing my belts. It wasn't as easy as he first suspected (go figure--everything seems more complicated with a Volkswagen). So instead of a simple belt replacement, we had to elevate my car, remove my front, right tire (by which process I discovered that all this time I had had a jack in my trunk and didn't know it), undo several bolts by trial and error to see how we could loosen a component for the belt, get down underneath my car on a crawler, use a drop light to see what we were doing, use a 12-point box-end ratchet to get to a 'hard-to-reach' bolt because the 6-point ratchet wasn't doing the job, and then finally, after almost two hours of grunting and learning the inside of my VW without a manual, we finally replaced the serpentine belt. The new power-steering belt, as it turned out, was the wrong size and so we had to return the original belt in place.

The job took longer than presupposed, but it was well worth it. I learned alot today, including the fact that my brakes are desperately worn down and need to be replaced before they start scraping against metal. I'm to go out tomorrow and buy some brakes so we can go to the Auto Hobby Shop and replace them. My co-worker complimented me on how dirty I got assisting him, and told me he was proud of me. Well, heck, I'm pretty proud of myself, too, for everything I learned today. There is now one less girl you will see helpless by the side of the road, clueless on how to fix her flat tire. ;) The only thing perplexing me now is, how do I get all the oily dirt and grime cleaned out from my fingernails tonight? Eck. Well, it's off to a VERY long and VERY scrubby shower.

Every morning, on my 20-minute drive to work, I pass by cows munching on their breakfasts of grass on each side of Grangeville Blvd. It's a reassuring sight, to see that God takes care of even those animals that do nothing but munch on grass all day for a living. It's been an especially pretty sight lately, for Spring has not only brought forth wild flowers in the field but has also coaxed the births of young calves still chasing clumsily after their mothers, hungry for the milk from their swollen udders.

But today I saw a different sight, one which I'd never seen firsthand before. After my turn onto Grangeville Blvd., I noticed a gruesome sight to my right. A full-sized cow was hanging upside down in public view, held up only by its bound feet from some kind of mechanism as three men worked at gutting it. The cow was already dead, of course, and had been completely skinned. It was simply a carcass hanging by its feet, approximately seven feet in body length. As I saw the men gutting the carcass, and saw another cow ignorantly munch on food from its strawbox less than two feet away from the hanging carcass, I became thankful that God gave me a life with a greater purpose than that of the cow.

I also thought of how some of us can be like the ignorant cow, unaware of the gutting of his/her fellow cow taking place less than two feet away, concerned only with filling its belly with food from its strawbox. How often have I been that ignorant cow, unaware of the 'guttings' of those around me taking place every day? Have you and I been 'cow-brained' lately?

I remember my mom, once upon a time, giving me a lecture on calloused feet. She said that it was an unsightly and gross thing for a woman to be seen with calloused/rough feet, especially during the summer when women slip into shoes that leave bare the back of the feet for all the world to see. She then proceeded to instruct me in the ways of foot-scrubbing, focusing on the balls of the feet, to keep my feet from becoming rough, tough, and 'unsightly.'

The truth was, before she pointed them out to me, I'd never paid much attention to how the balls of my feet had become harder and rougher since my childhood years. After she brought my hardened feet to my attention, I couldn't seem to scrub them enough in the shower. I didn't realize how much maintenance, care and attention it took to try and regain something close to the softness of my childhood skin. It took many scrubbings and moisturizings before the balls of my feet lost most of their roughness and became somewhat soft again. Nothing like my childhood skin, but much better than it had been prior to the scrubbings.

Anne Bradstreet (1612 - 1672), a Puritan poet, wrote "sore laborers have hard hands, and old sinners have brawny consciences." It's been many years now since I was born-again as a child of God. I recently took some time out to examine myself spiritually and was grieved to note the unsightly roughness of my heart. Somewhere along the way, the soft, supple heart I'd received at my spiritual birth had gone neglected--unmaintained--and had become rough with wear. I don't know if I can ever regain the softness of the heart I had as a child, when I offered myself unrestrainedly to the Lord's will, but I know that I want to get my heart as close to that as possible. So these days, with the realization of the hardened state of my heart and with God's Word as my scrubber, I've asked God to help me scrub away the hardness of my heart. It's going to take much maintenance, care, attention, and time, but I know it will result in something better than what I have now, prior to the scrubbings. It's worth the effort, too, for a hardened heart is certainly a much grosser and unsightly thing than calloused feet.

"I don't want to lose my saltiness," the grain of salt thought to itself.
It had taken a long time, harsh beatings of the scorching sun, and several processes of sifting and separation for it to exist as it did.

"What good would I then be as a seasoning," the grain of salt mused further, "if I could not do that which I was painstakingly extracted to do?"
"Oh, what shame! What disgrace!" lamented the grain of salt.
"If ever such tragedy happened, I could never again show my face!"
"The land would utterly reject me, neither would the dunghill receive me."
"I would be cast out as being utterly useless, for who would want something that could not function according to the purpose for which it was made?"

With these thoughts, the grain of salt grew heavy at heart for although it remained yet salty, it knew deep down in its heart that its saltiness had eroded much over the years.
A teardrop fell.
Then another.
And another.
Then the tears came down in torrents as remorse filled the tiny heart of the grain of salt.

The grain of salt cried in this manner for 40 days and 40 nights.
It seemed like an endless amount of time.
Then, a surprising phenomenom occurred.

The tears shed by the grain of salt began to dry.
They had fallen on the grain of salt and were starting to crystallize around it.
"I can't believe this!" the grain of salt exclaimed in wonder, as it realized that it had been increased in bulk and savour during what seemed to have been the bleakest period of its life.

And so the grain of salt learned that God delights in the humbled heart and blesses it.

(The above fiction is based on Luke 14:34, which reminded me of my need to retain my "savour" and to serve out the purpose for which I exist.)

It's past midnight. I'm tired, but I can't sleep. My mind is full of concern for my friends in arms. The reality of the war finally impacted me tonight when I opened up my April 7th issue of US News & World Report. Although I've been hearing the news on the radio and reading the latest news articles online, and although I've seen the number of jets in the air over the naval air station increase day by day, I remained emotionally unmoved by the war until tonight. As I saw the pictures and read of the Army and Marine units in Iraq, memories of my friends came flooding back to me in torrents. Even friends with whom I'd lost contact for the last couple years came to mind tonight. And I cannot sleep, wondering where they are and how they are doing. Regretting not keeping in touch. Feeling shameful of my previous day's shopping concerns when there are people dying in a war. People who may include my friends. A part of me honestly hopes that they have all finished their obligated term of service and have since left the service to return to civilian life. But as I think this, another thought comes to mind and my heart sinks in realization that, more than likely, their terms of service would have been extended or they would have been activated from their reserve status.

War, or at least the threat of war, never seemed so real to me as a service member until now. My friend writes to me from her ship and confesses that even as she hears the missiles launched from the ship for land-based targets in Iraq, she has a hard time believing that she is really in the midst of a war and taking part in it. If I recall correctly, she described it as being "surreal."

Tonight I feel so overwhelmed by my concerns for my friends that I don't know where to begin in spilling out my heart to God. I am thinking of my friend, Leilani Tydingco, who is probably a captain in the Army right now. I am thinking of the Marine-option fellas with who I underwent four years of NROTC training in Philadelphia, namely John Bidstrup, Randy Hsia, and Forrest Hoover III, who should all be promoted to the rank of captain in the Marine Corps this May. I am thinking of my friend Capt. Maisie Wong who, as a little girl, aspired to be in the military someday and then realized that childhood dream by joining the Marine Corps after graduating from college. I am thinking, most of all, of my friend 1st LT Tonio DeSorrento, who means very much to me not just as a friend but as a brother in Christ. With him, I am not as worried, because I know in my heart that God is watching over him and using him for His will wherever he is right now. I just wish I could communicate with him during this time, just to pass on some words of encouragement. "Be not afraid, but speak, and hold not thy peace..." (Acts 18:9) But if I know Tonio, I know that he doesn't need these words from me because he is getting them directly from the source.

Having said all of the above, I feel better now. Maybe I'm just more fatigued now, almost an hour since I first logged on, but I feel I can sleep now. In a way, I've listed above the prayer that's been in my heart tonight. May God continue to guide the decisions of our Commander-in-Chief and "teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom." (Psalm 90:12)

What I learned today: Home Depot and most other hardware/appliance stores do not sell spare oven racks. I've been in search of oven racks since I moved into my house b/c the previous owners took on an odd fancy for the racks and took off with them. I was surprised they didn't take the broiler rack as well. In any case, I finally found the spare oven racks I've been searching for and purchased two. I found the racks on sale on the internet (www.repairclinic.com). Go figure. Now that I've placed the order and they'll be here in 3-5 days, I'm wondering why I didn't try the internet earlier. "Yes, I da dummy." For any other dummies out there frustrated over not finding appliance/repair parts, I highly recommend that you check out the repairclinic.com website. It was very well-stocked and very efficient at helping me narrow down my search to the exact racks I needed.

Nevertheless, my trip to Home Depot was not in vain. I received a crash-course lecture from Terry and Steve (those are the names I noticed scribbled on their orange bibs) about the pros and cons of a variety of lawn mowers. I've done a bit of research and have learned that it costs b/w $60 - $80 per month to hire someone to weekly mow your lawn. The lawn mowers I saw today ranged from $139.99 to $445.99. The way I see it, I can buy at least four lawn mowers with the amount of money it takes to hire someone to mow my lawn for a year, so why not just do it myself? Plus I'll get some much-needed exercise.

The best deal I got today: A pair of used shorts (still in very good shape) for $1.43 at a nearby thrift store. The shorts were marked for $2.50 but I found out at the check-out counter that they were on sale. Even better!

In conclusion...

Two oven racks, plus S & H costs: $34.85

A 4.5 HP Briggs & Stratton engine rear bag push mower: $159.99

Getting a pair of shorts marked down from $2.50 to $1.43: PRICELESS.

With all of this talk of war, many of us will encounter "Peace Activists" who will try and convince us that we must refrain from retaliating against the ones who terrorized us all on September 11, 2001, and those who support terror.

These activists may be alone or in a gathering.....most of us don't know how to react to them. When you come upon one of these people, or one of their rallies, here are the proper rules of etiquette:

1. Listen politely while this person explains their views. Strike up a conversation if necessary and look very interested in their ideas. They will tell you how revenge is immoral, and that by attacking the people who did this to us, we will only bring on more violence. They will probably use many arguments, ranging from political to religious to humanitarian.

2. In the middle of their remarks, without any warning, punch them in the nose.

3. When the person gets up off of the ground, they will be very angry and they may try to hit you, so be careful.

4. Very quickly and calmly remind the person that violence only brings about more violence and remind them of their stand on this matter. Tell them if they are really committed to a nonviolent approach to undeserved attacks, they will turn the other cheek and negotiate a solution. Tell them they must lead by example if they really believe what they are saying.

5. Most of them will think for a moment and then agree that you are correct.

6. As soon as they do that, hit them again. Only this time hit them much harder. Square in the nose.

7. Repeat steps 2-5 until the desired results are obtained and the idiot realizes how stupid of an argument he/she is making.

8. There is no difference in an individual attacking an unsuspecting victim or a group of terrorists attacking a nation of people. It is unacceptable and must be dealt with. Perhaps at a high cost.

We owe our military a huge debt for what they are about to do for us and our children. We must support them and our leaders at times like these. We have no choice. We either strike back, VERY HARD, or we will keep getting hit in the nose.

Lesson over, class dismissed.

I have a great friend, not cousin, named Vinny. Well, Samuel Vince Ang Fonte, to be exact. He's a super-duper dude, and I'm so excited that he's finished with his duty in Japan and is back stateside. I'll be seeing him tomorrow for the first time in a year and I can't stop grinning from ear to ear. I think I'll buy some puto and take it with me when I go to meet him. hee hee. Vinny's been picked up from the Surface Warfare community by the Supply Corps, and after his brief stop over here in California to visit with family and friends, he'll be moving on to Athens, Georgia, for six months of training at the Navy's Supply Officer School.

While in Japan, I was blessed with great friends like Vinny and I learned alot from their example of friendship. They helped carry me through the dark times, and reminded me of the four friends who cut an opening in a roof and lowered their friend suffering from palsy down to Jesus to be healed (Mark 2:3-5). What great friends they were. As for me and the hardships I encountered in Japan, I know that Vinny was one of the four who helped me get through the mire, the other three being Michelle, Heidi and Rebecca.

I can write much, much more about what a great friend Vinny's been to me, but I won't get into it here. Michelle just wrote saying that she'll be leaving Japan and will be back in the country by the end of this month. Heidi got back from Japan this month, but is deployed and back out at sea. Rebecca is still in Japan. I can't wait for one day in the future when we can all reunite and I can thank each of them for the lessons on friendship I learned from them.

Dear Dad,

A funny thing happened to me yesterday at Camp Bondsteel (Bosnia): A French army officer walked up to me in the PX, and told me he thought we (Americans) were a bunch of cowboys and were going to provoke a war in Iraq. He said if such a thing happens, we wouldn't be able to count on the support of France.

I told him that it didn't surprise me. Since we had come to France's rescue in World War I, World War II, Vietnam, and the Cold War, their ingratitude and jealousy was due to surface, again, at some point in the near future anyway.

I also told him that is why France is a third-rate military power with a socialist economy and a bunch of faggots for soldiers. I additionally told him that America, being a nation of deeds and action, not words, would do whatever it had to do, and France's support, if it ever came, was only for show anyway.

Just like in ALL NATO exercises, the US would shoulder 85% of the burden, and provide 85% of the support, as evidenced by the fact that this French officer was shopping in the American PX, and not the other way around.

He began to get belligerent at that point, and I told him if he would like to, I would meet him outside in front of the Burger King and whip his ass in front of the entire Multi-National Brigade East, thus demonstrating that even the smallest American had more fight in him than the average Frenchman.

He called me a barbarian cowboy and walked away in a huff.

With friends like these, who needs enemies?

Dad, tell mom I love her,

Your loving daughter,

Mary Beth

(last name, Johnson, LtCol, USMC)

I subscribe to U.S. News & World Report just to keep in touch with the 'real world.' I rely on this weekly magazine, the radio, internet news headliners and word-of-mouth to keep my SA. Cable t.v. is my achilles heel, so I've refused to subscribe to it. It's been one of the best decisions I've ever made, and the time that I would normally waste in front of the t.v. after work, I now invest in my long-neglected favorite pastime of reading. Of course, this doesn't keep me from popping in an occassional video or two when I get my movie-cravings. I even keep kettlecorn popcorn stocked, just in case. A movie just isn't a movie without the lights dimmed and something to munch on.

I don't have anything to write about these days. Work keeps me pretty busy, especially since I've had to fill in for my department head these past two weeks. He's now stuck waiting in Bahrain, while we await his relief to check-in on Monday. I spend more than half my workday talking with people and resolving personnel issues. My command master chief tells me I'm a 'lifer,' and that he sees me doing 20 years in the Navy. He thinks I should redesignate to be a human resource or public affairs officer. I think I'm just fortunate to have a job at this time when unemployment in America is at 5.8%, with 2.5 million jobs lost since March 2001. (Source: U.S. News & World Report.) I have to decide whether or not to resign by January. Four years ago, I thought the decision would be easy--I was definitely planning on doing just my four years' obligated service and getting out--but now things are different. I never knew back then that the Navy would become a way of life that, with time, would become increasingly hard to abandon. So now I'm stuck in this quandary, mulling over this fork in the road of my life.

In the meantime, I try to remember to have fun and take out my frustrations in a positive manner. This helped me vent some stress at work one day. I got 40 hits on my first try. Not bad for someone who didn't grow up with video games, eh?

A young man was getting ready to graduate from college. For many months he had admired a beautiful sports car in a dealer's showroom, and knowing his father could well afford it, he told him that was all he wanted. As Graduation Day approached, the young man awaited signs that his father had purchased the car. Finally, on the morning of his graduation, his father called him into his private study. His father told him how proud he was to have such a fine son, and told him how much he loved him. He handed his son a beautiful wrapped gift box. Curious, but somewhat disappointed, the young man opened the box and found a lovely, leather-bound Bible, with the young man's name embossed in gold. Angrily, he raised his voice to his father and said, "With all your money you give me a Bible?" and stormed out of the house, leaving the Bible.

Many years passed and the young man was very successful in business. He had a beautiful home and wonderful family, but realized his father was very old, and thought perhaps he should go to him. He had not seen him since that graduation day. Before he could make arrangements, he received a telegram telling him his father had passed away, and willed all of his possessions to his son. He needed to come home immediately and take care of things. When he arrived at his father's house, sudden sadness and regret filled his heart. He began to search through his father's important papers and saw the still new Bible, just as he had left it years ago. With tears, he opened the Bible and began to turn the pages. His father had carefully underlined a verse, Matt 7:11, "And if ye, being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more shall your Heavenly father which is in heaven, give to those who ask Him?" As he read those words, a car key dropped from the back of the Bible. It had a tag with the dealer's name, the same dealer who had the sports car he had desired. On the tag was the date of his graduation, and the words ...PAID IN FULL.

Friday was Misty's birthday. The poor girl is still stuck on her ship. The Navy is a tough place for one to spend a birthday. You can't even go home to be with your family when you crave their comfort the most. I hear some people on shore duty complain about their duties and all I can do is keep myself from giving them a good tongue-lashing for being so self-centered. What about the folks on duty out at sea who don't have the luxury of even going home each night? Since being on a ship and seeing the enormous sacrifices made by sailors each day, I have very little tolerance for shore-duty whiners. I've also learned to put a plug on my own whining and to be more grateful for the simple things in my life. No matter how terrible a day I've had, I can always remember to thank God for this one thing, in addition to my salvation: my being on shore duty and not out at sea. Don't get me wrong--if needed, I would more than readily get back out there to defend this country--but my point is, life on a warship out at sea was one of the most trying experiences in my life. I think of my friends who are still out at sea, and I am so grateful for the sacrifices of people like them.

Speaking of being thankful, I went to a Buddy Houghtaling concert yesterday. I heard his witty songs on a local Christian radio station and heard about his concert. I normally hate going places by myself but this was a concert I didn't want to miss, so I mustered up some motivation, looked up the concert site on mapquest, and made it to the concert just a few minutes before start time. Buddy Houghtaling, accompanied by his two guitarists, played the piano and sang beautifully. One of his songs that I REALLY find witty and fun is a song called, "Mr. Darwin." Here are the lyrics:

Following the concert, I headed off for Borders which was just a few blocks away. I discovered Borders a few weeks ago in this cowtown and have been revelling in the comforts of it's college bookstore atmosphere that reminds me of my college (youthful) days at UPenn, that in turn conjures memories of good times spent studying (barely) and hanging out (mostly).