Healing for Multiple Personality Disorder by Learning French the Hard Way


Bonne fête maman!

Happy Mother’s Day!


Another cyberspacial gem while looking up how to say mother in French..


And now, a poem…

Because I Missed Entering the “Springtime in Paris” Contest at the Arts and Craft Store

Arts ‘n crafts chains are capitalizing,
American fleas seek a French dog home,
The ghost of Gauguin sobs into his wing,
As he sails to Fiji in his stateroom.

Aboard the Paul Gauguin Cruise, spirits muse,
Says Seurat to Degas, “What is the point?
Renoir’s bar-girl pours the wine for Matisse,
All sigh together, “Seurat has a point.”

“Reproductions of my Eiffel Tower
For only $9.99 on eBay?
On pillows? Lamps? On ‘ze curtain shower?”

Oui Monsieur, just in time for Mother’s Day.


I confess, I am guilty as charged. But I promise, no longer will I feed into the Made in China frenchy decor obsession. But now my daughter has moved on to a Dr. Who obsession.

imageI honestly do not know how this happened Officer. I will plead the fifth.

It is probably just as well that I didn’t enter the contest and win- many people would have been upset. I don’t like upsetting people.



Big news today as I awoke refreshed after sleeping most of the night with my air tubes. Hallelujah. Practicing with the machine during the day helped a lot, as did Jean L’évangéliste, le disciple bien aimé.

On a side note I made banana crepes for my mom. I stopped by quickly at the Walgreens so I could pick up some whipped cream but paused outside at the Redbox… then I got in my car to leave without going into Walgreens at all. Similar mishaps occurred throughout the day.

My sister-in-law recommends turmeric spice- in Pakistan they eat it everyday and no one gets Alzheimer’s.

Is my severe ADD  catching up with me?  Am I in love? …. Is it springtime in Paris?


2 thoughts on “Healing for Multiple Personality Disorder by Learning French the Hard Way

  1. But the rain-drops still are clinging
    And falling one by one —
    Oh it’s Paris, it’s Paris,
    And spring-time has begun.

    I know the Bois is twinkling
    In a sort of hazy sheen,
    And down the Champs the gray old arch
    Stands cold and still between.
    But the walk is flecked with sunlight
    Where the great acacias lean,
    Oh it’s Paris, it’s Paris,
    And the leaves are growing green.

    The sun’s gone in, the sparkle’s dead,
    There falls a dash of rain,
    But who would care when such an air
    Comes blowing up the Seine?
    And still Ninette sits sewing
    Beside her window-pane,
    When it’s Paris, it’s Paris,
    And spring-time’s come again.
    Sara Teasdale

    Liked by 1 person

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