Hamish and The Poison Bee

My dog is a Chocolate Labrador in name only.

He’s more like a fuzzy happy garbage can that eats whatever you drop into it- need I mention that I’m sure he’s the reason why my cat’s litter box is suspiciously clean at times?

Together it’s safe to say that Hamish eats anything.

Anything that is except for the Baby’s Bee ( that’s what we call pacifiers in my family- Bees ) that turned up in the street on our walks.

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Hamish sniffed the Bee once and from then on he walks wide circles to get away from it- not only does he avoid it I’ve noticed other dogs doing the same thing.

It’s been there for almost two weeks now- so I named it the Poison Bee.

( Hamish putting hate on the Poison Bee )

Sometimes I’ll be going through my day or just as I fall asleep at night or when I wake up in the morning and I think to myself- what is it with that Bee…the Poison Bee…and I’m starting to think maybe it’s got to me, that it’s in my system working it’s way through my blood like poison does.

Maybe.

Photo A.M. Moscoso

BEWARE THE POISON BEE

H.Macbeth

 

Here’s Spit-Er Beauty In Your Eye

We prize beauty.

We have fought wars for it, killed for it, allow doctors to slice and carve our flesh and fill it with silicone, metal, and even magnets to shape it, to bend it and force to make our bodies beautiful.

From The Article: 12 Most Bizarre Body Implants       

Yes his tattoo has breast implants.

 

 

I have seen a lot of death and various stages of decay in my life time and this is what I’ve learned about the life expectancy of beauty.

You can change it, redefine it, shame people for having it or not having it.

But if you look at it, if you really open your eyes to it beauty is there is always there in all things  and it takes many forms.

I try to appreciate it and enjoy  seeing it no matter what shape it takes.

I think it makes me a kinder person- to both myself and others.

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Photo A.M Moscoso

 

Daily Post Prompt: Exposed

I Wrote This. In Ink.

Photo: A.M. Moscoso

 

Anybody with the Facebook account can be a writer or a journalist.

Anybody with an Instagram Account can be a Media Star.

So I’m beginning to wonder,

what’s the point in it all.

Photo A.M. Moscoso

If everyone is talking

is anybody listening

or are we just waiting for

someone, anyone to pause for a breath

so we can jump in and

for a moment shine?

 

I used to think that

writing and painting

drawing and singing, acting and photography

was a craft you worked at

dedicated yourself to

learned about and lived all of the time.

It lived in your soul.

 

Now all you have to do is enter your password

click and flick and there you are

securing your immortality on the internet

among photobombing cats and dogs

clueless  millennials, angry Bernie Bros

superstars all.

 

I think I’d better keep writing and reading

creating and listening

walking the world,

getting lost, being found

with my dog at my side, and not my phone

gloriously

independent

Anita Marie

a renaissance woman

app free

Vilhelm Hammershøi

Daily Post Prompt: Better

hellhounds and me

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Yesterday an impressive storm rolled into town.

I watched it move up from Seattle-, there was thunder and lighting  and the clouds were dark and light and they swirled together in odd patterns as it moved into our area.

I’ve seen storms like that in the Midwest- not so much in the Pacific Northwest.

Here’s an interesting factoid:

I’ve almost been hit by lighting about four times.

Yesterday  on the bus ride home it hit somewhere close to us and the right side of the bus filled up with a flash of silver light.

I don’t know why I felt guilty, but I wasn’t surprised it was that close. It usually is.

I’m starting to think of lighting as the Hell Hound On My Trail.

Like Robert Johnson sang, I gotta keep moving I guess.

I got to keep movin’, I got to keep movin’
Blues fallin’ down like hail, blues fallin’ down like hail
Hmmm-mmm, blues fallin’ down like hail, blues fallin’ down like hail

And the days keeps on worryin’ me
There’s a hellhound on my trail, hellhound on my trail
Hellhound on my trail

 

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Photo A.M. Moscoso

 

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Daily Post Prompt: Panicked

Margaritas and Cupcakes

There are two holidays that I will throw myself into, headfirst with  blind gelato bingeing passion:

Halloween and my dog Hamish’s Birthday.

I missed Hamish’s first birthday because I was in Las Vegas- every time I think about that I feel guilty and buy him some new toys. I buy him toys buy Kong- which means I blow some serious coin on toys that he drops into mud puddles or drowns in his swimming pool ( you read that right, he has a swimming pool) when he gets tired of them.

My guilt knows no budget.

So this is how I feel about Hamish Birthday and Halloween as a rule:

They need to be bankers holidays.

I want businesses  to close, I want stamps and coins minted in their honor and if you even think about making gluten free treats on those days instead of real treats that make your teeth scream in agony before the sugar even crosses your lips I will personally show up at your house and kick you out of the human race.

I do like Holidays for the most part- they’re fun, some involve food and music and if you don’t get the day off,  other people do and your commute to work is a light one.

I just don’t want to take bankers holidays seriously, I don’t want to be forced to reflect on the day if I don’t want to and I don’t want to argue about their significance to the world or the community or the greeting card industry.

Who’s with me on this?

I should mention, cupcakes and margaritas are involved in my vision the new Banker’s Holiday calendar. If they were a staple of all the banker’s holidays I wouldn’t feel the need to cut so many of them loose.

amm

Our Random View Prompt#71

DO YOU LIKE BANK HOLIDAYS?

The Strange Day of A.M. Moscoso

My bus ride home from work in Seattle isn’t a bad ride, it’s not even a boring ride.

Some people   I ride with are interesting- we talk about movies, books, our pets what we have planned for the weekend, there are people I don’t talk to but I do watch because they always look angry or bored  but my personal favorites are the people who are determined not let anyone sit next to them.

It’s a little mini-drama, each time the bus stops to let people on the drama begins.

Will the next person on board sit next to them? Will they not sit next to them? Will they drop dead before they get a chance to sit next to them? Should I get up and sit next to them at the last minute just when they think they have the entire seat to themselves because sometimes I feel like quite the little devil?

Today I was lucky- a Mom and her little boy, who looked to be around six years old sat next to me on the long bench seat at the front of the bus.

She had a pierced tongue and he was dressed in jeans and a nice white t-shirt, he had an old school crew cut  and he was wearing brand new Carhart boots.

They looked like they had walked out of two different time streams- he from the 50’s, she was a biker chick from the late 90’s.

They both started to compare the bus to the way the bus smelled like a Bus Station bathroom right after they had cleaned it, in fact the bus she said smelled like urinal cakes and her son agreed..

The people sitting across from us ( One lady was one of my ‘ this is my seat, darn you, walk on ) looked offended.

I laughed and agreed because you know, when the air conditioner went on the bus did smell like a freshly cleaned public bathroom.

After we chatted about the way the bus smelled we moved on to another topic and we bonded:

The little boy asked me if I liked ” The Minions ” and I said that I did. I told him I loved the movies, had the toys and I had gotten a Minion t-shirt from my Mom for Christmas.

The little boy and his Mom had a Kindle with the Minions game on it and I watched him play.

He showed me a few things and when his turn was up he gave it to his Mom for her turn and he looked at me right in the eye, which I liked.

” Who is Shaymus? he asked me.

That was when my bus ride took a little side trip.

” Who?” I asked.

” Is he your dog?”

” Is who my dog?”

I saw his Mom give us the side eye from her game, she was all ears.

” Shaymus. ” he said. He looked at me again and then he said carefully. ” Saymus?”

” My dog is named Hamish” I told him.

Photo A.M. Moscoso

 

I didn’t ask him how he knew that, I didn’t at that time wonder if I knew the boy and his Mom or if they had ever rode the bus before and over heard me talking about my dog. I just looked at him and waited for the next question.

” What’s your cat’s name?” he asked.

” Darwin.” I said.

He looked skeptical.

I have three cats and I love them dearly but my cat Wolfgang who passed away it 2008 at the age of 17 is always on my mind.

It was a teeny fib on my part and we both new it.

The little boy looked straight into my eyes and through the back of head.

He touched my arm and said there were other games on his Kindle he could show me.

I took it as a peace offering of sorts.

Then it was his turn at Minions and he insisted on showing me some moves on the screen and I left the Twilight Zone because it was time to leave. I can’t believe I did that so quickly, but there are times when you listen to that little voice in your head and things for the most part turn out well for me when I do.

 

I could  speculate about the little boy and our conversation about  Hamish and my Cat whose name I held back to see what would happen because playing devilish games is what I do sometimes.

I enjoy writing about the odd,the Macabre, I love to look at life through a fun house mirror.

And to turn a phrase-

Sometimes those things look into me.

 

Photo: AM. Moscoso