Memorial Day: Something to Think About Between the Barbeque and the Beer

First Memorial Day honoring 257 Union soldier-martyrs 10000 freed men march led by 3000 children

On May 1, 1865, Memorial Day was started by former slaves in Charleston, S.C., to honor 257 dead Union soldiers who had been hastily buried in a mass grave in an upscale race track converted into a Confederate prison camp. After the Confederate evacuation of Charleston, black workmen went to the site, dug up the bodies, and worked for two weeks to give them a proper burial as gratitude for fighting for their freedom.

The freedmen cleaned up and landscaped the burial ground, building an enclosure and an arch labeled, “Martyrs of the Race Course.” Then, nearly ten thousand people, mostly freedmen in cooperation with white missionaries and teachers, staged an unforgettable parade of 10,000 people on the slaveholders’ racecourse. At 9am, the procession began and was led by about 3,000 black schoolchildren carrying armloads of roses and singing “John Brown’s Body.”

Several hundred black women then followed with baskets of flowers, wreaths, and crosses. Then came the black men, marching in cadence, followed by contingents of Union infantry and other black and white citizens. As many as possible gathered in the cemetery enclosure; the children sang “We’ll Rally around the Flag,” the “Star-Spangled Banner,” and several other spiritual songs before several black ministers read from scripture. Years later, the celebration would come to be called the “First Decoration Day” in the North.

The old racetrack is gone, but an oval roadway survives on the site in Hampton Park, named for Wade Hampton, former Confederate general and the governor of South Carolina after the end of Reconstruction. The old gravesite of the Martyrs of the Race Course is gone too; they were reinterred in the 1880s at a national cemetery in Beaufort, S.C.

Another touching and unforgettable early Memorial Day celebration happened on April 25, 1866,  at Friendship Cemetery in Columbus, Mississippi, where four women met to decorate the graves of fallen Confederate soldiers. Forty Union soldiers were also buried in that same ground, and the women, in a spirit of generosity, decorated those graves as well.

The Columbus event made national headlines. A lawyer in Ithaca, New York, Francis Miles Finch, upon reading about the incident, wrote the following poem, which was published on September 1867 in The Atlantic Monthly.

The Blue and the Gray
By the flow of the inland river,
Where the fleet of iron has fled,
Where the blades of the grave grass quiver,
Asleep are the ranks of the dead.
Under the sod and the dew
Waiting the Judgement Day,
Under the one the Blue,
Under the other the Gray.

Those in the robings of glory,
Those in the gloom of defeat;
All with the battle blood gory,
In the dusk of Eternity meet.
Under the sod and the dew
Waiting the Judgement Day,
Under the laurel the Blue,
Under the willow the Gray.

From the silence of sorrowful hours,
The desolate mourners go,
Lovingly laden with flowers,
Alike for the friends and the foe.
Under the sod and the dew
Waiting the Judgement Day,
Under the roses the Blue,
Under the lilies, the Gray.

So, with an equal splendor,
The morning sunrays fall,
With a touch impartially tender,
On the blossoms blooming for all.
Under the sod and the dew
Waiting the Judgement Day,
Broidered with gold, the Blue,
Mellowed with gold, the Gray.

So, when the summer calleth,
On forest and field of grain,
With an equal murmur falleth,
The cooling drip of the rain.
Under the sod and the dew
Waiting the Judgement Day,
Wet with the rain, the Blue.
Wet with the rain, the Gray.

Sadly but not with upbraiding,
The generous deed was done,
In the storm of the years that are fading,
No braver battle was won.
Under the sod and the dew
Waiting the Judgement Day,
Under the blossoms, the Blue,
Under the garlands, the Gray.

No more shall the war cry sever,
Or the winding rivers be red;
They banish our anger forever,
When they laurel the graves of our dead.
Under the sod and the dew
Waiting the Judgement Day,
Love and tears for the Blue.
Tears and love for the Gray.

****

When you throw back that beer today, don’t forget to make a toast to all the military men, women, and their families for their incredible sacrifice.  And never forget that we’re free because so many warriors fought and died to protect our country.  And so many are dying and protecting our country at this very moment. All of them are heroes, including their families. Now I’ll drink to that.

Memorial Day two children A mourner, believed to be Air Force Reserve Captain Teresa Dutcher lays at the grave of Corporal Michael Avery Pursel at Arlington National Cemetary in Arlington, Virginia. She visits the cematery at the conclusion of the "Flags In" on May 24, 2012. Each year for the past 40 years, the 3rd U.S. Infantry or "Old Guard" honors America's war dead by placing American flags at the gravestones of service members buried at Arlington National Cemetery prior to Memorial Day weekend. The tradition, known as "flags in," is conducted annually by the 3rd U.S. Infantry, the Army's official ceremonial unit. Every available soldier in the 3rd U.S. Infantry participates, placing a small American flag one foot in front and centered before each grave marker over a three-hour period. During this time, the soldiers place flags in front of more than 260,000 gravestones. Memorial Day Mother & Child Memorial Day Little Girl

ISIS Seizes Syrian City of Palmyra: One of the Most Important Cultural Centers of the Ancient World

Palmyra A

ISIS tore through the historic city of Palmyra on Wednesday, and by evening this pearl in the heart of the Syrian desert belonged to them.

When I read the headline this morning in The New York Times, I instantly recalled the article I wrote about Palmyra for worldpress.org—in 2004. You can read my full article from 2004 here: Palmyra: Ancient City in the Sand

The splendor and rich history of Palmyra, combined with my Syrian Christian heritage on my father’s side, was the driving force behind my writing the article in the first place.

What I didn’t know at the time I wrote about this ancient, long-abandoned Roman city, was that Palmyra sits among gas fields and a critical network of roads across Syria’s central desert. Gas fields and road networks are clearly much more valuable to ISIS than the crystal blue sulphurous spring water rising out of an underground channel that I wrote about.

What I do know is that ISIS has no respect for ancient sites, and they have been destroying them at a fairly fast clip. As they have swept across Syria and Iraq, ISIS has been adept at damaging and annihilating ancient sites and sculptures, condemning them as idolatry.

We already know that ISIS has no respect for human life, so destroying Palmyra would be the least of their crimes.

Irina Bokova, the Director-General of Unesco, the United Nations agency that works to protect historic sites had this to say: “I reiterate my appeal for an immediate cessation of hostilities at the site. I further call on the international community to do everything in its power to protect the affected civilian population and safeguard the unique cultural heritage of Palmyra. Finally, it is imperative that all parties respect international obligations to protect cultural heritage during conflict, by avoiding direct targeting, as well as use for military purposes.”

syria-palmyra_view_from_citadel

The Y Chromosome

X & Y Chromosomes
(Photo description: The human Y chromosome (the stumpy one on the left) holds the code for “maleness;” the mighty X on the right holds the code for “femaleness.”)

Basic biology has it that girls are girls because they have two X chromosomes— those thingies inside cells that carry our genes. Boys are boys because they have one X and one Y.

Y might look puny next to X, but as Mark Twain once said: “It’s not the size of the dog in the fight, it’s the size of the fight in the dog.”

Speaking from experience, I can’t live with Y. And I can’t live without Y.

When my husband does something stupid I always ask myself, why ? And then I answer my own question with: Blame it on the Y chromosome— the essence of masculinity.

As I have mentioned in past blog posts, pretty much everyone in my family has the same thing to say about The Teri Tome: PLEASE DON’T WRITE ABOUT ME. I feel like Taylor Swift, sans the long legs, beautiful hair, perfect teeth, wrinkleless lips, and her gazillions of dollars.

So I’m going to attempt to write this Y Chromosome blog without implicating anyone in particular. Except that me is me.

Me [Getting ready for a wedding]: Does this dress make me look fat?

Him: I like a little meat on your bones.

Me: Are you kidding me? That’s really offensive.

Him: You asked.

Me: Just say no.

Him: No.

Me: Thanks for nothing.

Him: Can I throw something else out there?

Me: Really? You haven’t said enough?

Him: I don’t like you in red.

Me: Too late now. You’re stuck with red meat on the bone.

Him: Now you’re going to be mad at me?

Me: You think I look fat. Why wouldn’t I be mad at you?

Him: You don’t look fat. You look healthy.

Me: Stop talking.

Him [Driving to the wedding]: Now you’re going to give me the silent treatment?

Me: I have nothing to say.

Him: Next time you ask me the fat question, I’m going to reframe it and throw it right back at you.  

Me: Fine. (To all you Y’s out there: When a woman says fine you need to shut up because she’s not happy.)

Him [Stopping on the steps to the wedding and staring into my face]: Listen, you look beautiful. My bad. Let’s kiss and make up.

Me: Not to worry. (What I really wanted to say was: Not to worry butt face, you’ll pay for your stupid mistake later.)

Now we are meeting and greeting people, and air kissing and hugging, and all I’m thinking about is the meat on my bones. Plus, does red accentuate my stuff?

After the ceremony, I rushed to the ladies room to check out my fat red self.  As I thoroughly inspected myself in the mirror—I GASPED!!!!!

There it was—a near dead gnat stuck in a goop of gloss on my right upper lip.

HE WAS GOING TO BE SO BUSTED.

Me [Trying to stay calm with the gnat still affixed to my lip, while pointing at it]: Did you not notice this ginormous gnat on my face while you were begging to make up?   

Him: It’s not that ginormous.

Me [Wiping said gnat off my lip with his suit pocket handkerchief while saying nothing]: (Saying nothing is something and means everything, and Y’s should worry when this happens.)

Him: So now you’re mad at me because a gnat drowned in your lipstick?

Me: Lip gloss. And I spoke to a thousand people like that.  

Him: You spoke to about twenty people.

Me: Whatever. (My way of saying screw you.)

Him: Let’s go eat.

Writing the Perfect Book Blurb in 25 Words

Marketing books

I was recently asked to provide a book blurb for my novel Our Romantic Getaway  in 25 words or less—including the title. As the queen of verbiage, this was no easy task.

I started out with 375 words, and then cut it back to 180. That was the easy breezy part. Then I copied and pasted, added and deleted for a while, and whittled it down to 100. How was I going to shave off another 75 words?

Try as I could, the 25 word blurb was not progressing well at all.

I applied my old grade school lesson of who what when why where. This was actually quite helpful.

With some major who what when why and whereing, I was finally able to get to 25 words exactly! It was a time consuming and laborious exercise, but the creation of a succinct 25 word pitch was eventually accomplished as follows:

Our Romantic Getaway:  A couple’s vacation goes awry when they are bumped to a risqué nude resort. Can their marriage survive the bizarre, eye-opening experience?

My 25 word accomplishment got me thinking of all kinds of things I could narrow down.

Like…

A bathroom reminder for my husband:  Roll toothpaste from bottom, toilet seat down, wipe sink, use your towel, toilet paper goes over, clean toothpaste off mirror, change light bulb if dark.

(I was so proud of this one that I wrote it on a post it and stuck it on the bathroom mirror.)

Important kitchen reminders: Garbage pickup Tuesday and Friday, no dirty dishes in sink, write grocery list legibly, do not overflow trash can, dining room table not for storage.

(I was getting pretty good at this 25 word blurb thing so I really went on a roll.)

Thirteen major no no’s: Don’t gossip, spit in public, be greedy, curse, lecture, slouch, be cheap, crack knuckles, blow nose in restaurants, bite nails, talk with mouth full, procrastinate.

Life lessons for my kids Yoda style: Text and drive do not. Seek advice you must. Your mother and father honor. Your best try. Fair life is not. To dope say nope.