Free a Marine to fight: One woman's desire to serve

http://thetimes-tribune.com/lifestyles-people/anee-kish-s-decision-freed-a-marine-for-combat-1.1067415?sms_ss=facebook&at_xt=4cf2a4a631b7e769%2C0

A poem for Sunday: "Black Dirt" by Helen Wallace

Every time I read from Helen's collection of poems in Shimming the Glass House, I am always rewarded with her provocative, insightful view of the world.

"Black Dirt"

We're more than we can sink our teeth into
though sometimes just that's
enough. Ours is the pit and the fruit
and the black dirt deeper than both.

But savoring is the body's state of praise --
you taught me this. You with your probing
turn of phrase found me waiting at the table.
Even now, after almost twenty years,

we should toast that sanctifying moment
when everything dissolves on our tongues
in a wash of brilliant red. Don't think
we leave too much unsaid,

the whole world's chanting desire:
the gingko, maidenhair tree,
loses her leaves like a woman lets her hair
down on a love. Feel the flush

of words. Taste them as the hummingbird
tastes jewelweed in a brambled field,
so sweet it makes his red throat tremble.
And the fern, there, beneath the pine,

see how it dances for a touch known only
as wind? Don't think too much is left
unspoken. Listen. Everywhere
the world's ripe and hungry.

Going to Haiti

Yesterday, I booked a trip to Haiti. That's right. Haiti. Earthquake ravaged, politically challenged, cholera ridden Haiti.

And, I can't wait.

I'm taking one of my college newspaper editors. Our goal is to bring back the stories and photographs of Haiti, one year after the devastating earthquake.

We're departing in January, on my birthday. Fitting. Lately, I've been feeling complacent. Too safe. It's time to do something, really do something that gives a voice to the voiceless.

So, Haiti.

My editor and I will accompany a group of folks from all over the country for what's called a "Vision Trip" with the Global Orphan Project. The trip lasts five days. And during those five days, we will interact with the children of the orphanage.

Remembering our veterans: Tim McGraw's "If you're reading this"

When you discover you're related to Thomas Jefferson

Last week, I discovered that my great-grandmother (maternal side) was the granddaughter of Thomas Jefferson. This, if I've counted correctly, makes me Jefferson's great-great-great granddaughter.

Something in my universe shifted that day. I'm not sure what, or even yet how to define this mental and emotional subtle shift, except that being linked to such a historical figure suddenly feels a bit overwhelming, and exciting.

My Facebook friends weighed in: "There's something about the eyes...." teased one. "Tracy for president in 2014," chimed another. "Wow!" wrote a half-dozen others. "This means you need to move back to Virginia and claim your rightful place at Monticello," joked another. And, "This means you're related to Sally Hemmings!" wrote a professor-friend from the University of West Virginia.

I've always felt strangely connected to Thomas Jefferson since my 7th grade Virginia history class. I chalked it up to a love of history -- to a profound admiration of one's bravery to stand for high principles. At 12, I was looking for heroes. Thomas Jefferson, along with Patrick Henry, were two of my heroes.

On learning of this family discovery, my daughter sent the text, "Where's my invitation to the White House? Don't I own some land somewhere?" Later, we shared a long, deep laugh.

The one time I traveled to Monticello, the home was closed for repairs. I'd stood beside the car for a few minutes, unable to leave. I was reeling from a sudden wave of isolation -- as if someone from the Jefferson family had just slammed the door in my face. Millions have walked these grounds, but you're not welcome, or worthy.

I plan to visit Monticello this summer. I plan to take my time there, too. I have this romantic notion that the universe (within me) will shift once again as I explore the home built by my great-great-great grandfather.

The power of subliminal messages

This is a warning: Think carefully about the items you leave lying around on your desk, or anywhere else, for that matter.

If you've been a devoted blog follower (thank you!), you might recall my post a few months ago about creating vision boards and about how I'd received everything I'd ever posted on my vision board: the publication of my memoir, the new love in my life, a new puppy, a home with a dock on the water, etc.

So recently, my husband made a bold move. After 13 years with a particular baseball team, he decided he'd rather work for another team. One thing led to another, and a few weeks later, he signed an impressive multi-year contract with another team.

What does this have to do with desk items and vision boards?

As we were settling into a fall break at the North Carolina cabin last week, I looked over at my husband's desk. The photo of his parents on their wedding day needed dusting. I wiped it off. And that's when I noticed the two photographs of my husband and me. One had been taken in the very stadium of the team my husband just joined; the other was taken at Fenway while the Red Sox were playing the very team my husband just joined -- hence the photograph includes the name of our new team.

Now, neither of us had ever talked about or considered a move to another team in the three years we've been together. Yet, the only photographs of us together in baseball stadiums in three years include this new team.

Coincidence? A gift from the subliminal message gods?

I'm not sure. What I do know for sure is that writers learn early on that relying on coincidence in their storytelling is cheap and gimmicky. Yet life is fraught with coincidence. If only for verisimilitude, shouldn't fiction include just a hint of coincidence?