Dicks Franks, Monsewer

Went to a story hour at the retirement community where Helen lives and listened to stories read by a monotone, droning, Baltimore accented volunteer.  Yes, it is nice of him to put to sleep - I mean read- to the resident's, but sheesh put some oomph into it.  He was reading a story that had french passages in it and foreign words that were absolutely appallingly butchered.  Ian, pronounced Ion by the guy, took a nap with the other listeners.  The story was about the pshaw and his trip to France aboard the vish door.  I didn't have a clue what he was talking about.  After some puzzling,  I deciphered that the pshaw was the Egyption Pasha.  One sentence was the one above, which I interpreted as "dix francs, monseiur."  

Two people this week commented to me that they would know I was feeling better when I posted again.  I think I am feeling better, finding the humor in things again.  I started a book, but it might be too depressing to read.  I was in her bookstore last summer and took a couple of pictures. She has a confessional in the middle of the store with this sign.  Chummi Bear who is still missing took a picture inside.

If the old adage "April showers brings May flowers" is true, then we are going to have lots of flowers.  It is hard to believe it is one day away from May and another school year almost wrapped up.  

Sad, Sad, Sad and More Sad

I have not posted in awhile.  I have not sewn in awhile.  I have not read a new book in awhile.  I have not walked in the park in awhile.  My seasonal funk has become a bout of depression - I think.  I really didn't know how desperately close to my heart I was counting on my vaccine trial being a miracle cure.  I knew rationally that this wouldn't happen, but I figured I would be the one to beat the odds.  The thought of going back on chemo, even the low dose that it is, has been devastating.  I don't usually write cancer stuff on this blog, but on Caringbridge everyone very nicely will tell me things will be okay.  You know what, things are not going to be okay.  I continue to fight a fight that no matter what, I am going to lose.  After I go on chemo again, it is just erosion.  Ned asked me if the bad cells and good cells are really fighting?  I asked if he meant with boxing gloves and he said, "no, swords."  Problem is my good cells have swords, but the bad cells have automatic weapons and rocket launchers.

I got the call today that Sarah had to be put to sleep this afternoon.  She is the same age, same litter as Hoover, but she got cancer.  I still haven't recovered from Riley's death and now Sarah is gone also.  I remember how cute she and Hoover were sleeping together in the baby bouncy seat.  She was the ultimate family dog.  I never met a dog who loved people as much as she did.  She loved everyone and wanted everyone to love her back.  The last few days I was told she only had energy to wag her tail, a sweet girl gone.

Add into this late nights, rotting wood, a cat with a nervous disorder, $4.69 gas, cold rain, weight gain, tired kids, a clogged toilet and it is just a sad time.  "Don't nobody bring me no bad news."