“Where were you when the towers fell?” That question was meant to be the defining question for our generation, or so said the older—and upon the current evidence, much more solipsistic—generation. It turns out the true defining question was, what did you do after?
In the aftermath of the attacks in Paris, heart in mouth, I immediately reached out to my friends who lived in that beautiful city. A city in whose cafes I’d written much of my first novel. A city whose museums still sent sparks flying from my bourgeoisie soul and one which I wish to visit as often as possible. Luckily, everyone I knew was unharmed, though all were shaken up.
This is a question I'm often asked. What part is the hardest about being married to a military man? For whatever reason – probably curiosity – people ask, thinking they can better understand the armed forces (or maybe just me) by hearing my answer.
I've been very vocal lately about the recent race riots in Virginia. I am vehemently opposed to the Battle Flag of Northern Virginia, and a bit conflicted with my chain-of-command, mostly with the Commander-in-Chief. For those that have asked why, I recite here:
Being a new military spouse can be a huge change in one’s life. I am now a military wife of 12 years and though we married young, we have survived all the challenges. I would love to share what worked for us.
In my just-over-two-years as a military wife, my life has completely changed. I've learned "the system," moved states away from "home," and taken on an entirely different form of reality. No, I didn't change my morals or beliefs, nor vastly adjust spending habits – the military still leaves you with an identity, after all.
In Tim O’Brien’s masterful, short-story collection, The Things They Carried, the first-person narrator talks about returning to Vietnam with his daughter twenty years after he was a foot soldier there. While fictional, the story isn’t too far off for many Americans, who have returned to Vietnam on vacation