Holidays are no fun unless you can have fun WITH them.


I used to throw myself, face first into every single holiday on the calendar.

I had fun planning the day, cooking, decorating trying new things.

And then a few years ago I suffered from a severe bout of depression that involved medication, therapy and the  soul crunching reconstruction of the person I thought I was.

On one of those less then stellar evenings during that time,  one of my now former friends and I went out for a bite and on the way back ( she was driving )  she  flipped on the radio to a station that played non stop Christmas Carols and drove through one of the local neighborhoods where everyone on the street decorated their houses with lights and robot reindeer galore and demonic elves tossing presents down chimneys.

I was trying to tell her I wasn’t enjoying this ride- but she babbled on and on about each and every house we passed and just before I was about to punch her in the face she snapped the radio off and trilled, ” wasn’t that great?”

” No.” I said. ” I think it all looks cheap and nasty.”

” Oh you Scrooge.” and she babbled on and on about how much she loved it all.

So I wondered, as I watched the cluelessness spread before me like fake snow, when I used to throw myself into the Holidays how many people wanted to punch me in the face? Above it all, why did  I bother?

My poor brain just broke that evening.

I understand now that pulling away from things that enjoyed was a symptom of the illness that I was struggling with and am now starting to get my arms around.

I took it a step at a time and got myself back to writing and creating and reading, I took care of my health, planned daily goals and as sappy as it sounds made sure I laughed everyday.

I still haven’t got back to the point were I enjoy the holidays the way I used too, but I’m working on it.

This year I bought Easter candy, I bought myself a new dress to wear and I’m thinking I might buy some bunny ears for my dog to wear ( He’s a Labrador which makes him a hunting dog- so you know, dress him up like a bunny hahahaha ).

Who knows, maybe I’m on the way back to celebrating the holidays again.

I have missed them- and maybe they’ve missed me too.



Daily Post Prompt:  Outlier




Bound By Dust

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Photo A.M. Moscoso

She should not be here in the dust

where there is no water

no breath of air

no life

nobody to care.

She should take to the air

she should find the Sea

she should lift her wings and fly

Don’t be




Infernally Yours


Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Every doubt, every scar, every insult, every hurt, every injustice every demon.

I was told to overcome them, banish those demons- put them behind me, bury them, shove them into a room and lock the door and throw away the key.

Go ahead and build and fashion with my own two hands a room where the air is chilled by despair, lit by anger and every square inch, every corner of that cavernous room is crammed full of bones, twisted shadows and the torn and bloody remains of  every me who ever was in doubt, ever injured, ever insulted or dealt an injustice.

The crying the half breaths and the whispering and shouting into nothingness would never end in that room- does anybody know that?

Why doesn’t that matter?


Create a Hell is the advice I get,  create a hell shut the door, lock it and throw away the key.

I can see myself standing in front of the door. I can feel the coldness, hear the despair. I can see the handle being frantically turned and worked from the other side.

I should lock that door, throw away the key and walk away from that door…

Or I could open the door, walk inside and

embrace what I find there and make it my own.



I Hate Lemon Juice

Not Lemonade

 When life gives you lemons… make something else. Tell us about a time you used an object or resolved a tricky situation in an unorthodox way.


The last time I think I did anything particularly clever I was 14 or maybe 15 years old.

I was failing at every single class in school and managed to talk my way into staying in regular classes and not get myself bounced into Special Education.

Basically I said if they did that to me I’d quit school.

So they let me stay in regular classes and I started to do well and then I hit the honor roll and then I got accused of cheating.

So I would go into my math classes and goof off so the best I would do is pass the tests at a C or D. I chose to sacrifice my math grade because I truly and with the passion of million white hot suns HATED math.

I got sympathy for that because “girls’ were supposed to struggle with math.

I could bomb at Nuclear levels at math which was acceptable- nobody talked about putting me in Spec Ed for that.

Come to think of it, I was writing a lot back in those days and I even won awards and that is the only reason I wasn’t forced marched into classes with students who were even more challenged then I was.

Once I got into Highschool I either got A’s or F’s.

You know who cared?

That’s right.


Since then I can’t say I’ve done anything really clever, haven’t been bailed out of dire situations, haven’t scored any big wins in the game of life.

Most of the time I’m just glad to not get noticed on a day to day basis. I’m not sure, but I think writing sort of cancels that one out.

It’s odd, part of me has been ready to fade into obscurity and another part of me goes out and writes, hits the enter button on my laptop and sends my thoughts out to the interwebs where they will float around until the Interwebs are no more.

So writing I suppose is the way I’ve dealt with life jamming lemons down my throat.

I’ve lost people I cared about, my nephew died a young man, I suffer from depression and at times all I can manage is to get to work, come home and walk the dog.

I manage to write though even on my worst days.

There could be less interesting ways to make something out of lemons  I suppose.

The Story Of Our Flying Dutchmen

Sink or Swim

Tell us about a time when you were left on your own, to fend for yourself in an overwhelming situation — on the job, at home, at school. What was the outcome?


Sink or Swim…pull yourself up by those bootstraps! Just make up your mind to survive and do it…DO IT  ON YOUR OWN.

Nobody can stop you, except for you!


Do you know who stresses this can-do attitude the loudest?

The people who open their mouths the widest and spew this wouldn’t spit on you if you were on fire that’s WHO.

Would you like to know how many ” I survived  and so will you tales” I’ve heard all of my life?

Enough to flood the Earth twice over.

As I’ve listened to these stories I always hear that little thread- that little throw away line passed over briefly, quickly about someone being there – the neighbor who showed up and knocked on the door or the cat or dog who jumped in a lap and reminded you that you weren’t lost, that you weren’t alone…

‘And then I  decided to SURVIVE- and that’s why I know you can too!”

No you survived because you had a Pilot, the thing the Dutchman needed on that fateful night to help her out of the storm.

For some reason, people have a hard time ‘fessing up to that.


The first reference in print to the ship ( Flying Dutchman)  appears in Travels in various part of Europe, Asia and Africa during a series of thirty years and upward (1790), by John MacDonald :

The weather was so stormy that the sailors said they saw the flying Dutchman. The common story is that this Dutchman came to the Cape in distress of weather and wanted to get into harbour but could not get a pilot to conduct her and was lost and that ever since in very bad weather her vision appears.[1]

So yes, I’ve sunk, I’ve managed to swim through shark infested waters and I made it to the shore- but never for a minute was I alone- that’s how I made it. I was lucky enough to have a family member, my dogs, my cats and some true blue friends there when the storm hit.

And that’s why, when the people in my life who have stressed the ” Take Care Of You First” manage to get caught in a storm, I’ll be there for them too.

  For as much as I’d like to see a few of them get sent straight to Davy Jones Locker I won’t stand by and do nothing because  I couldn’t live with that decision.

I don’t want to look out into the darkness one night and see the Flying Dutchman of my creation caught in a storm that will never end.

It’s not an image I can live with and it’s not one I want to take into eternity with me.





:::Holidailies Prompt:::

Recycling Christmas


Every Christmas and every New Years I go into the season thinking it’s time to make a fresh start of it- expand on the good things, toss out the bad.

Celebrate it all and  move into the New Year open to whatever comes my way.


Before she died my Aunt suffered from severe depression.

I remember I was watching her draw ( she was a very talented artist) and I was telling her how I was doing a lot of writing and I hoped to write books one day.

She looked so sad and she said, ” People in our family all had dreams and none of them ever came true.”

She died a year later.

That’s what her New Years brought her- despair, grief, sadness and death. I wish she could have known more then that in her 39 years of life.

When I think about ringing in the New Year, that anything is possible so why can’t that anything be great? I remember that last conversation with my Aunt and I wonder if I’m just fooling myself.

Is New Years is just another date that we face with all of the despair and pain and sadness from the year before. Or do we get a clean slate, a chance to start anew. 

I’m not sure.

I wish I was.





Tell us about a time when everything seemed to be going wrong — and then, suddenly, you knew it would be alright. 


I’ve been through a lot of storms- I know, haven’t we all?

Haven’t we all taken one from a blunt object right between the eyes, got stuck in the back with more than a few knives?

And as our eyes turn black and we try to find a way to gracefully pull those daggers out ( oh sure, it hurts but life goes one and I’m okay you’re okay, blah, blah, blah ) when does that moment of clarity hit us in waves of peace and joy?

When does the air fill with the scent of sandalwood and patchouli?

When is that moment when do the clouds part, the line shines down upon us, the door swings open and we just know we’re going to be okay, in fact better than okay?


Well if anyone knows, I’d sure like to know the answer and so help me- if it involves something on a Facebook meme or you sat in a circle somewhere and shared your way to a ‘better place’ I might not be ready for that story or that particular message.

Come to think of it, I never have been ready for that sort of thing.

When I hear those sorts of missives, I feel like I just woke up one morning to find I have two heads and neither one of them knows what the hell is going on.


When things go wrong, horribly, catastrophically bad I have never in my life known in the midst of  it all knew that things were going to be okay.

My reality is that I just stand there in the middle of the storm and say to myself, ” Oh. Great. Now what is going to happen to me? Flying Monkeys with Rabies? Demonic Possession? Gamma Ray Strike? What? What the Hell is next?”


And do you know what happens?


Something a hundred times worse.

Something far more horrible than anything I could have ever imagined, and as a writer I can  imagine some pretty awful things.

So no.

I have never suddenly knew that things are going to be okay.

It seems like the days just suck less as they wear on, I don’t smile as much, I don’t laugh as much.

Eventually the  regular days start to roll in, then the laughing and the smiling comes back a little at a time. Sometimes  I take it all and I write about it ( what’s that saying about not screwing with someone who buys ink by the barrel).

But for the most part I’ll be eating a cupcake or a slice of pizza and I’ll start to reflect on what’s been happening in my life


I laugh because whatever tried to get me, didn’t kill me even though it tried like Hell.

I lived through it.

Yay me.

Spirit of Victory