Seeing Stars 🌟

Two great ones about women stars of astronomy.

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And we really enjoyed Moonshot, by Brian Floca as we celebrated the moon landing 50th anniversary this past weekend.

To the MOON!!

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Updated!! Adding one to the mix. Just got it, and it looks SO wonderful…I mean, look at that gorgeous iridescent cover…and greasy fingerprints all over it!

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Support your local bookstore when you can! If you can’t, here are links for getting these:

** I participate in the Amazon Affiliate Program. When you purchase through any affiliate links, I receive a small commission. Thank you for your support! **

Poetry for All

I’m a huge believer in poetry. Poetry for life, poetry for love, poetry to save the world, and so forth.

And I am definitely a believer that kids should have poetry, too.

Here are just a few of our anthologies from around the house. I really really love for beginner poets is Nesbitt’s One Minute till Bedtime. These poems could be read anytime, not just before bed, and are loved by all ages! Also a big fan of Firefly July, for the poems but also the gorgeous illustrations.

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Links to purchase these:

** I participate in the Amazon Affiliate Program. Please support your local bookstore when you can, but if you do purchase through any affiliate links, I will receive a small commission. Thank you. **

Summer Reading, Part Now

I wrote a post a few years ago about summer reading for physicians.

Slightly different audience (because of where I am in life), but same topic: Summer reading for seven year-olds.

We chose Mary Pope Osborne’s (of Magic Treehouse fame) Tales from the Odyssey, and my son is just loving it.

There are some pretty gory parts, so i’ve had to censor a bit on the fly, but if you’re comfortable with that I think it’s so worthwhile to introduce these amazing classic stories early!

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Add them to your bookshelf:

Tales from the Odyssey, Part 1

Tales from the Odyssey, Part 2

I have the Lambs’ Tales from Shakespeare lined up next…

** I participate in the Amazon Affiliate Program. When you purchase through any affiliate links, I receive a small commission. Thank you for your support! **

Children’s Book

Thanks to Parnassus Books in Nashville, TN for having Christy King and me today to read our children’s book, Bartleby. The book is based on a bedtime story that Mark and I have told our kids, and I love sharing it. Also, proceeds from the book (as well as any of my creative projects) benefit our non-profit, Remember Me Mission, that Mark and I founded in 2011.

New Children’s Book…Coming Soon!

Finally had some free time in March to complete this special book, and I’m excited to announce that it will be available soon. Proceeds will benefit Remember Me Mission

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Bartleby is a special little barnacle you’re sure to love. He’s got a story about being content with who you are and where you land…

The amazing handmade collages were done by my friend (and my kids’ art teacher) Christy M. King. Check out her wonderful work and project ideas.

The book is in publication now and should be available Summer 2016.

 

Motherhood

Motherhood

If we are to dip our toe in the everlasting
it will be like the seagull who emerges
from the oil
to shake the slick from her feathers
and can’t.

It will be like her going back for more,
saying, “What were we thinking?” and knowing
we weren’t.

It will be like sinking.

Then someday we’ll rise from it,
as if from a chattering subway
into an empty station,
to hear God himself
whisper our name.

Poetry from Real Life

One poem about traffic. And one poem about stuff our kids say.

Traffic in Nashville

From now on there will only be one way
Into the heart of this buzzing city.

Did you hear? It is true.
All other roads have been dismantled,
Systematically—

A new initiative from the mayor’s office.

And now you must fuss and push this way
While the heat and exhaust beat down
And threaten to suffocate every breath of good will.

It would be better to be the one muddy wildebeest
Who might cross the river unmauled by alligators
Than to be needing something from the store at noon.

But still you press forward with the others,
Black, red, and turquoise, too polite to nudge bumpers.

Did you not hear? It is true. There is only one way now.
(And there will be many texts sent up from this very spot)

There is no other road in the city, save this one,
But you came here for a reason, with a dream, and
By God, you will get through to the other side.

Princess

You said I looked like a princess,
And it is such an honor
Coming from you,
You who does not yet know what a compliment
Or a jest is.

You said I looked like a princess
When I came out to make coffee
In my tired, baggy PJs.

You also said you wrote a song
That went like this:
“Pants up, pants down,
All around the town.”

And I think there’s real genius there.

Doctors, Please Don’t Forget Your Summer Reading

I finally got around to reading Elizabeth Gilbert’s novel The Signature of All Things this summer, and I couldn’t help thinking what I thought when I read Gabrielle Zevin’s The Storied Life of A.J.Fikry, Anthony Marra’s A Constellation of Vital Phenomena, and countless others. That is, “I hope doctors will read this.” I have not encountered many truer depictions of grief than what Alma Whittaker experiences when she learns of the death of Ambrose Pike:

There is grief below grief, she soon learned, just as there are strata below strata in the ocean floor—and even more strata below that, if one keeps digging…. There is a level of grief so deep that it stops resembling grief at all. The pain becomes so severe that the body can no longer feel it. The grief cauterizes itself, scars over, prevents inflated feelings. Such numbness is a kind of mercy.

What better required reading for physicians who daily attend to the victims of loss? I wish that the doctors who cared for my father at the end of his life had puzzled over Hanneke de Groot’s words on suffering:

“Well, child, you many do whatever you like with your suffering,” Hanneke said mildly. “It belongs to you. But I shall tell you what I do with mine. I grasp it by the small hairs, I cast it to the ground, and I grind it under the heel of my boot. I suggest you do the same.”

Hers is an exact description of how my father handled pancreatic cancer. Diagnosed just two weeks after the birth of his first grandchild, he only had six months to live, but never accepted his diagnosis. In fact, he denied it quite belligerently. But it didn’t mean he was ignorant or cruel. It would have taken an insightful physician to understand my dad’s grieving process, or at least a well read one.

Medical journals can only take one so far in becoming a great physician. There is an entire literary canon available to doctors in addition to their medical texts that can help them examine the deeper questions of their patients and ask better questions of themselves. Beautifully crafted characters and sentences can help all of us investigate the profundities of human experience. And physicians, as much or more than anyone, should be fluent in this practice. After all, it’s impossible to attend to the human body without eventually being baffled by an encounter with the human soul.

I hope that young doctors won’t leave behind a love for broad reading as they depart their undergraduate institutions to follow the rigorous path of doctoring. For an encounter like one with my dad, there may be only one sentence that matters.

Excerpts from Gilbert, Elizabeth, The Signature of All Things. New York: Penguin, 2013. Print.

The Green

I’m just overwhelmed by the beauty of nature this week.

This photo, for instance, taken in the front yard.

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And, in perfect timing, a dear friend gave me a book that’s all about finding God in “ordinary time.” I love what the author, Sarah Arthur, says about her reading habits by the seasons: “I read poetry in springtime, novels in the winter, how-to books in autumn and baking recipes. But come summer, suddenly I’m somehow illiterate: creation itself is one long run-on sentence I can’t find the end of.”

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For me, it’s this spring that’s making me a little bit illiterate and also reluctant to get anything done indoors. I’m trying to write. This season should make writing almost inevitable with the wealth of inspiration flooding from the trees, the ground, the sky. But for some reason, it’s harder than that. I just want to sit and admire.