The Sweetest Ones Are Never Out Of Reach


When I was about five years old we moved to a great house with a gnarled, climbable and deceptively welcoming cherry tree in our back yard.

If you stood under the tree or looked out at it from one of our windows facing the backyard it was beautiful and when the wind blew and it would scatter pink blossoms gently to the ground.

But if you got up into that tree, it was a different story.

The nice sturdy limbs were slippery. Some of the branches would snap if you as much as looked at them and at any given time there was always a bee hive just waiting to drop on your head.

But did that stop me from trying to climb as up into the tree as I could?


Of course not- and I was always willing to risk it for one thing.

The Cherries of course.


The sweetest, plumpest, the darkest, richest cherries were always up on the very top branches.

So I would climb that tree when the cherries would ripen, I’d get as high up as I could go and then I would settle on a branch and spend all day eating cherries.

I’d spit the pits out, or sometimes I would throw  them at the ever present bee hive and sometimes I’d even pick some cherries for my Mom- though I never put the best ones into the basket.

I have since spent lazy warm afternoons on beaches in Hawaii and California, in the mountains and next to rivers all over the Pacific Northwest and Colorado  with nothing to bother me but my inability to WANT to roll over and shift the sun off of my face for a second or two- and nothing felt as good as those days I spent in that tree.

My tree and I did have a rough patch in our relationship.

One day I was stretched out on a branch and I’m not sure how it happened but I fell out of my cherry  tree.

I smacked and busted branches all the way to the ground- which I hit with a mouthful of cherries and some still clutched in my hand.

The cherries in my hand were mashed- the ones in my mouth ended up dripping out of my nose and I was pretty sure I had swallowed a bug too.

I remember running my tongue over my teeth and tasting the cherry juice and the slightly salty taste of the blood in my mouth. I remember looking up into the tree and seeing clusters of dark, juicy red cherries just above my perch- the one that had viciously  evicted me just minutes before.

I stood up, wiped the mashed cherries from my hands onto the front of my dress…

and I started to climb.


Daily Post: Juicy

The Best Idea Ever-Oh Never Mind

Photo: A.M. Moscoso

Photo: A.M. Moscoso


This is picture of a piece of rusted metal stuck into the ground.

I guess I could call it art, but the reality of it is I took it on accident.

I was trying to take a picture of my puppy who was just learning ‘stay’ and on that particular day he forgot what it meant.

The sticks around the post  look pretty cool though, don’t they?


Photo A,.M. Moscoso

Photo A,.M. Moscoso

I was trying to take a selfie because I wanted a picture of me and the snow which was just starting to fall.

Blew that one- but the glass looks cool at least.

Photo: A.M. Moscoso

Photo: A.M. Moscoso

This is my dog Hamish.

He looks amused because I was standing up on a jungle gym and had almost fallen off when I leaned over to take his picture.

He of course can jump up and down off of that thing all day long and later when he figured out that I couldn’t he goes up there and bounces around on the rope bridge and in turn that causes him to go deaf because he can’t hear me say, ” Hamish don’t do that.”

I love that dog- even if he has a touch of the smart alec about him.


Photo A.,M. Moscoso

Photo A.,M. Moscoso

So there you are- pictures that I thought would say one thing and ended up not saying diddly- squat unless

” Ha, ha, ha on you Anita” counts.


Daily Post: Squat

Oh. Hamish.

One afternoon I noticed my high energy dog- Hamish Macbeth was being a bit on the quiet side.

I looked over at him from where I was writing and he looked up and then he looked over to his right and yawned.

I asked him if he was feeling ok.

Hamish yawned.

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Photo A.M. Moscoso

I went back to writing and Hamish’s sigh turned into a weird little puppy yap so I looked over to what he was looking at and noticed that there were a pile of his toys on the corner of his bed- and under the pile of toys was my cat Micey:

Photo: A.M. Moscoso

Photo: A.M. Moscoso

Sometimes I wonder about my dog- but mostly I wonder about my cat and if revenge really is a dish best served cold.

I’m afraid in this case…it will be.


Have You Tried Hitting It With A Shovel?


When I was in High school my friend and I worked in the school library.

One of the librarians liked my friend- me not so much.

Anyway, one day my friend was showing us a Valentine Card that her boyfriend had given her and the Librarian – That-Did-Not- Like-Me said that my friend should put it in a photo album because ” true love never dies “.

I looked at the card and considered this.

” I’ll bet it does if you hit it in the head  with a shovel.”

My friend laughed.

The Librarian – Who-Did -Not- Like-Me said,

” You’re going to die alone Anita.”

True story.


So Help Me Dior

It was time- my hair needed work.

So on THE DAY I put on my favorite Dior Makeup- which is  what I do when I’m serious about cleaning up and looking a little less rough around the edges as usual and I took myself to my stylist of over 20 years.

” Oh. ” he said. ” Well. It’s not that bad.”

He picked up a brush and tapped it against the palm of his hand and did not smile.

So he worked his magic and set me under the dryer where I was left to consider not skipping out on my appointments. ” Well at least I didn’t have to wear a ponytail.” I said with a light little laugh.

The silence was deafening.



I always have high hopes for these days- and guess what my hair did end up looking pretty awesome…it was bouncy and the color was just right…it felt perfect…

now if we could just do something about what is UNDER it:


What can I say.

I live in hope.