Today in America we’re remembering as we should.

Aside from the holiday it’s hard to remember everything else or even want to right now at the  end of the school year. Here’s what all the parents at pick up this week are passing around. In truth, there are too many things to forget about to easily.

But don’t forget about (or ever write off) Judy Blume; she knows all your secrets. Your secret pleasure of dessert with breakfast may not be so guilty after all.

The differing faces of Medieval ancestors isn’t buried anymore. Another blast of from the past: icy war relics recovered a century later in the Alps.

Some more folks to think of: Parents of special needs kiddos who’ve can’t go on vacation. Here’s the clever way one man helped a village get the nutrition they needed: just remember the iron fish.  Infertility affects many more than can afford treatment, but one man is working to close that gap with shoebox IVF. And a woman you probably haven’t heard of, but geology wouldn’t be the same without.

God bless friends that loveth at all times, and are willing to nurse a baby in need.

Good advice for a better life like a good friend would offer.

And calling all church youth leaders, you’ll want to remember this post as you get to planning youth conference and classes for the fast-coming season ahead: classes they want to attend, and a smorgasbord of how to make them more efficient and effective.

Today’s first draft poem comes from the lovely Lara. We thank her for playing our weekly poetry game, and commend her for this gem written in remembrance of the unearthed Scots.

Our burying is only sacred
for awhile
for a time
but it’s been five hundred years
or so
and then our desire to connect them
to our own whorls and strands
floods fields and renovations
with kneeling students,
with brushes lifting old
ash to find dust.

Some demand an all-stop,
a re-internment of the past,
a fence around the remains of who and what was—
not so us
who polish bones
catalog treasures
sequence roots
and sculpt the faces of the dead,
to find ourselves
as if in them
the wrongs of now and then
are blown like dry seeds
and make us grow aright this time.

Want to play at first draft poetry too? Let us know and we’ll gladly work you in and publish your poem too.