If Tomorrow Comes…

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.

It’s ridiculously hard ….damn near impossible….a monumental task on the weekends..the biggest challenge of my life so far….can we just say only seven days left?…almost over and I have really, really run out of things to saybecome the bane of my existenceworse than I ever imagined it would be…forcing me to dig deep these last few days.

The theme of this was supposed to be “tomorrow”, but really, how much can you say about something that’s never here, is not guaranteed to arrive, and yet, the whole reason most of us keep getting up every day. See? It’s not like just posting your recipe for making sweet ice tea, y’all.

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This little cutie pie is my granddaughter, Freya. I’m just going to blatantly cheat today and post a poem that my grandmother wrote about baby smiles, miles, gloom, shadows, God, tomorrow and time.

She would have adored this face, God love her.

TIME

Enjoy the times a little child smiles
Or old folks running their healthy miles.
Take time to smell flowers in bloom.
Look into the shadows – cast out the gloom.

Time is precious and time will tell
If its used wisely and used well.
Sometimes its wasted – that is sad!
One life lived is the time we had.

Our God created everything.
Take time to worship – His praises sing.
If tomorrow comes, what will you do?
Waste not the time that comes to you.

Gladys Parker
Sept. 2000

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.

For Wordless Wednesday – BOOKS

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This photo is for Wordless Wednesday, hosted by Dixie over at French Lique, Texas. The theme for this week is “Books”. Since it’s kinda hard impossible for me to post something anything without at least a few words going on and on about it, I have to tell y’all about this photo. This white headed, beautiful southern lady is my favorite author and my Grandmother, Gladys Parker. She passed away last October at the young age of 96, and her mind was sharp as a tack right until the very end.

In this photo, she is sitting at her dining room table in her tiny apartment, which she called her “Penthouse on the Third Floor”.  She is looking over a book of poems that she wrote, a collection called “Then and Now.” The picture on the table is an original oil painting, also her’s. She was a self-taught artist, poet, beloved mother and the epitome of a grand, southern matriarch.

You can read more about Gladys, and read some of her poems, by visiting her blog, The Rock of Gibraltar, here.

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For more Wordless (or not so wordless) Wednesday photos, visit the other participants at French Lique, Texas, by clicking here.

IF

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If I had a million bucks
Or thousands – just a few
I would never hesitate,
I’d divide it all with you.

If I won the Nobel Prize
And that I’ll never do
But, if it really came about
You’d be honored too.

If I had just one wish
And knew it would come true
I’d wish for health and happiness
And share it all with you.

Health and happiness – magic words.
Sometimes hard to find
Often when needing them,
They’re right there in our mind.

So many ifs in our lives
Only dreams, its true
But honest – if “ifs” happened
My thoughts would be of you.

Gladys Parker
Dec. 04

CHRISTMAS TIME

Grandmama,

Although you are not going to be here today,  I made you collards. Your poem is proudly displayed on our mantle, you know, the one you wrote for us a few Christmases ago about a “little” dog, named Hannah. As we open our gifts this morning, our thoughts will be with you, and the many years we were lucky enough to have you in our lives. We will be remembering your sweet, smiling face and your words of encouragement.

Even though you didn’t make it to Christmas this year, you did get to remind us all of Christmas and make us all laugh when you joked about being “Rudolph the Red Eared Reindeer” while you were in the intensive care, and they had taped a glowing red oxygen monitor to your ear.

Some of us are not doing so good today, Grandma. I think Ryan and his girl need to be gently reminded again, of the advice you gave them the last time you saw them, “to just be good to each other”. If you have any pull in these things now, we could use a little help on this one.

I hope you are enjoying a big bowl of collards with Mama and Papa Green, all your brothers and my Uncle Billy. Please thank them all for me, for taking care of you until we can be together again. Loving you, every day, your grand daughter,

Ginger

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CHRISTMAS TIME

Christmas music is in the air
With songs and praise every where.
It fills our hearts with love and joy
For Mary’s child – a baby boy.

This child was born many years ago.
His name is Jesus and we know
The Story of His humble birth
And mission here on the earth.

Trees are blinking with tiny lights
And dusted with a bit of white.
Gifts wrapped up with fancy bows
What’s in the package? Nobody knows.

By Christmas morn the secret is out.
Just what I wanted is the shout
And happy faces show girls and boys
All excited about their toys.

Its really a magic time of year
A time of compassion, love and cheer.
A time for remembering the Holy One
Jesus Christ – God’s beloved Son.

Gladys Parker
Nov. 2002

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.

The Seagull

 

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This was written by Gladys Parker, 7/29/1968

He nestled his head in his own rustic feathers,

They were worn and old by age and weather.

And I pitied him as he moped close by

His youth was gone, it could be I.

The once keen ears must have heard

The calls and cries of another bird.

For he moved his head – opened an eye

And raised his wings as if to fly.

His strength ebbed away and flight was nil;

So he tucked his wings and stood there still.

I looked at him; he looked at me;

The old sea gull down by the sea.

Soaring aloft like graceful wings,

Youth glides by, dances and sings.

Then one day sits by the shore

And waits for life to be no more.