Making the Bad Better

Thanks to my friend, Jan, over at Jan’s Sushi Bar, I’ve decided to give this here posting every day thing a try, y’all.

It’s called NaBloPoMo,and I can’t believe how long it just took me to write that. Stands for “National Blog Posting Month”. You post something every day for a month.

spincyclesmallThis week’s Spin Cycle topic is “your favorite post”. It was hard to select a favorite ( I like everything I write, I’m vain like that! ) but this one definitely stands out from the rest. It has the distinction of being the one post with the least views of all time.


My blog will be one year old on August 24th, I have had a total of 10,147views and a grand total of 9 of them were of this post. It also had the honor of receiving zero comments.


It’s no real mystery to me why this particular post, entitled “Mysteries”  received so little attention. I posted this after I lost my beloved grandmother, the author of this poem,  after I had just found out that I was about to become a grandmother, myself! I offered no prelude, or explanation, so it just kind of sat there waiting to be noticed.  Quiet and unassuming, it comes without  fanfare and it asks for none.

And yet, it says volumes. Kind of like my grandmother.

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Mysteries

As each season passes by,

When rain drops from the sky

Or the sun shines from above

And we feel the warmth of love,

Does not mankind understand?

These are the wonders of His hand.

How the wind stirs the trees

Or lashes out on angry seas

And whips the sand across the dune

Or scurries clouds o’er the moon.

Does not mankind really know?

These are wonders He doth show.

He pulls the shade when there is light

To make the darkness of the night

All our cares and burdens keep

While we rest in blissful sleep

When morn comes, we know someone

Moved the stars, the moon and sun.

If the greatness of this span

Is not enough to convince the man

Let’s ponder on a baby’s birth,

Life and death upon this earth,

Then we surely understand

These are the mysteries from God’s own hand.

by Gladys Parker

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Rest in Peace, Grandmama Gladys. I will always love you.

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MERRY CHRISTMAS

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This picture was taken at the majestic Biltmore House in Asheville, NC. The poem was written  by my beloved grandmother, Gladys Parker, Nov. 2000

The awe of Christmas time
Touches hearts and souls
Bringing happiness to little ones
And peace to the old.

There’s a scent of Christmas pines
Hanging in the air.
The time of love and giving
Is felt most everywhere.

And when we think about
The reason this is true,
We bow our heads and say,
Dear God, this comes from you.

For long ago in humbleness
Wise men and shepherds came
Worshiping the newborn child –
Jesus is His name!

Say each “Merry Christmas”
With thoughts of this King.
Rejoice in His love
And His praises sing.