It’s Not Rocket Science

RDP Tuesday: Impression

Photo by Keenan Constance on

” I’ve been thinking about writing a ghost story. ” Resi told her friend Penni.

They were having coffee- actually they were drinking Italian Sodas but in Seattle everyone knows if you go out for drink that doesn’t involve alcohol, you say you’re going to grab some coffee.

Penni jabbed her straw into her drink and started to twirl a bit of crushed ice around her extra whopping serving  whipping cream. ” A ghost story? Is that right? ”

“Drown you little bastard”, the raspy little voice that lived behind Penni’s right eye hissed down into her cup. ” Drown!”

” Did you say something? ” Resi asked Penni.

” Nope. Not me.”

” Huh.  Anyway. Well sure. They’re pretty basic. It’s not exactly rocket science is it?  I mean, you would know. You’ve been writing them forever, haven’t you? But I thought I could put my English Lit degree to use, my parents would be so pleased.” Resi threw her head back and chuckled.

Penni  agreed, ” It’s been thirty years since you got it and both of them are dead, but sure. I think they would be pleased. Better late then never.

The little cube bobbed up and pleaded for Penni to spare it’s life.

Penni snapped her head forward. She looked down into her cup and right eye glared and glowed red.

The cube gurgled and coughed. It even cried a little,  but of course she refused to spare it’s short and fragile life.  She put her little straw on it and pushed it down into her drink, past the whipped cream through the strawberry goo all the way to the bottom.

” I’m sorry, what did you say? I couldn’t quite hear you. ” Penni smiled. ” It’s a little noisy in here.”

” Inspiration. I thought we’d walk through that cemetery by your house for a little inspiration. How can a cemetery not leave an impression on the artist’s soul.” Resi declared dramtically.

Penni lifted her straw up from her cup.

She smiled wolfishly at it and then she dabbed a little whipped cream on the end of her red straw decorated with white stars and she licked it off. ” Sure. Inspiration.  Let’s go find you some.”




It’s International Puppy Day!

 Happy International Puppy Day!

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Hamish Macbeth isn’t a puppy anymore, now he is all grown up and  serious.


No he isn’t. He likes to walk around with a blanket over his face. Most of the time he walks into the walls and furniture and sometimes me.

I think he gives himself extra points for that.

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Just a boy and his dog.

Photo A.M Moscoso

Hamish Macbeth doesn’t care about your dumb rules!

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Baby Hamish Macbeth

Photo A.M. Moscoso

I hope you enjoy International Puppy Day too as much as Hamish Macbeth does!

Anita Marie


Hamish Macbeth.

A Tale of Two Funeral Directors

Fandango’s One-Word Challenge: Myriad


Once someone asked me what was the strangest Funeral Home story I had ever heard was and given I’ve been in a lot of positions where I was told stories or been part of a conversations where people were more then willing to talk about all kinds of experiences they’ve had with the dead, cemeteries or funeral homes- this one is my favorite because I am a part of it.


Years and years ago, I think it was in the 1930’s a local funeral director left in the company hearse to, as it’s put in the business ‘ do a removal’.

He left in the late in the afternoon, and because it was around late October it was already getting dark and it was foggy. You could hardly see your hand in front of your face.

But there was no way this Funeral Director was going to leave a family in emotional distress with a the remains of a loved one cooling in their house so he made the drive.

He must have driven slow in the less then half light and the fog in his big black hearse. He must have  inched his way slowly around the road that ran above the icy river below.

When he got to the bridge that lead to his turn off his car was completely  swallowed by the fog. Still,  I imagine you could hear the tires working their way over the wooden bridge…

and then all you could hear was the river.

He never made it to the other side.

It was quite a mystery,

The Funeral Director who disappeared, hearse and all on the way to a call.

It made a great Halloween story.

However, like some great stories ( that don’t get turned into a franchise )  this one came to an end.

Years later they found the hearse and the funeral director and the empty coffin still waiting for the corpse the Funeral Director was supposed to pick up when he disappeared on that October afternoon.

Strange, or not so strange depending on your point of view  was where they found them.

They  found them in the river, almost directly under the bridge they were crossing over all those years ago.

I drove over that bridge several times in a hearse myself over seventy years later, I made  my last drive over it two years before they found the Funeral Director, The Hearse and The Empty Coffin.

When I think of The Funeral Director, I think of him in the drivers’s seat, his hands clutching the steering wheel, his head tilted  towards the surface of the water and  when I think about all those times I drove over him-

I hope his eyes were closed.