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.