Three interesting things just happened all in a row.

1) I am continuing to sift through boxes of items and getting rid of weird things. I found my birth certificate. I’m not sure why that isn’t in my folder marked “Very Important.” The form asks if my parents are of Spanish origin. Why?

2) I found another letter from my Grandma who passed away last year. I don’t know how it got separated from the rest. This one was extra adorable because she got a new set of colored pens, and decided to try them all out.


I spent the last few days thinking about how I am stubborn, arrogant, unbending, and generally horrible.

My Grandma often included random bonus material in her letters to me. This one included a copy of a poem called, “The Touch of the Master’s Hand.” It’s cheesy, you will recognize that immediately. But it hit the spot.

Twas battered and scarred,
And the auctioneer thought it
hardly worth his while
To waste his time on the old violin,
but he held it up with a smile

What am I bid, good people”, he cried,
“Who starts the bidding for me?”
“One dollar, one dollar, Do I hear two?”
“Two dollars, who makes it three?”
“Three dollars once, three dollars twice, going for three

But, No,
From the room far back a gray bearded man
Came forward and picked up the bow,
Then wiping the dust from the old violin
And tightening up the strings,
He played a melody, pure and sweet
As sweet as the angel sings

The music ceased and the auctioneer
With a voice that was quiet and low,
Said “What now am I bid for this old violin?”
As he held it aloft with its’ bow

One thousand, one thousand, Do I hear two?”
“Two thousand, Who makes it three?”
“Three thousand once, three thousand twice,
Going and gone”, said he

The audience cheered,
But some of them cried,
“We just don’t understand.”
“What changed its’ worth?”
Swift came the reply.
“The Touch of the Masters Hand

And many a man with life out of tune
All battered with bourbon and gin
Is auctioned cheap to a thoughtless crowd
Much like that old violin

A mess of pottage, a glass of wine,
A game and he travels on.
He is going once, he is going twice,
He is going and almost gone

But the Master comes,
And the foolish crowd never can quite understand,
The worth of a soul and the change that is wrought
By the Touch of the Masters’ Hand

(The internet says this is written by Myra Brooks Welch)

3) You know how when you’re on a website, you click a link, and there is sometimes a period of waiting while the next page loads? Maybe you’ll see an image of an hourglass, or a spinning buffer wheel of some kind. While I was loading something on WordPress, a circle popped up that said “Beep Beep Boop.” I’m just saying it was weird.


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