It Wasn’t That Long Ago


Photo A.M. Moscoso

Last year at this time we were on a train heading out to Wisconsin to visit our  son and his family.

I remember being a little bored, impatient. I took a lot of pictures and played around with my camera. I did enjoyed the leisurely pace of traveling by rail,   but I did not enjoy the fact there was no WI-FI on the train and my laptop was not cooperating with my phone so I couldn’t use that to get on the net.

Oh well, I thought- plenty of time for  cruising the net later.

The scenery that chugged by my window was pretty and the trip itself was not without some excitement because the train hit someone who was crossing the tracks. I think that happened in Minnesota. I’ve seen what a train does to a human body and I was really glad I was sleeping when it happened and that there was nothing to see when the train started to move.

And then we finally we got to Wisconsin.

I also had a cold so I was out of sorts for most of my stay but I still enjoyed my visit.

We made plans for our next trip out- plane or train? Spring or Winter?

Oh well. Lots of time to figure that out we thought because we had all the time in the world- an entire year as a matter of fact!

But then March rolled up and the Coronavirus made itself at home and everything shut down.

Photo A.M. Moscoso

I am still thinking about our next trip out-

there really is plenty of time to figure it all out.

No denying it, no getting around it may as well surrender myself to the idea.

I have a lot of time on my hands because all of the clocks have stopped moving and the days of the week don’t have names anymore.

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Grapes With Rabies

RDP Thursday:PUCE

Photo by Little Visuals on

When my Dad

used to get angry with me

which he did often because I was never quite up to scratch

in the daughter department and he was never quite satisfied that I wasn’t a mental defective

his face used to turn an alarming shade of red when he started to yell at me.

I was always a little fascinated by that because he had red hair and green eyes that got

blood shot when he was super mad so it looked like his entire head was catching on


I would stare at him , you know waiting for him to spontaneously  combust,  and he

would screech

” wipe that look off of your face little girl

and I would try to not laugh because by the time I was 12 I was five foot five and taller

than him by an inch or two plus the thought of people going catching on fire for no

reason was comical to me. Probably too comical.

So now when I think of the color red it makes me laugh- which has created many an awkward situation  when I see blood.


On the other hand when my Dad wasn’t angry with me, just overwhelmed by the

human wreckage created by half of his DNA his face would turn purple and words

would fail him and he would just stand there, turning purple and trying to burn holes

into my face with this glare that was supposed to turn me into a puddle of cowering, spineless, goo.

It never worked.

Do you know what green eyes in a face purple with rage looks like to me?

A grape with rabies.


So rage at me, be disgusted try to intimidate me

I don’t mind- take your time and give it your best shot.

I want to see if you’re going to burst into flames or turn into a  rabid grape.

It’s one or the other, it always is and I am always amused.

Photo by Anni Roenkae on





The Wedding Cake Destroyer Takes Me Down Too

    Photo by Todd Trapani on

At about the time my five year old cousin jammed her tiny fist into the side one of our relative’s wedding cake because she just wanted a ‘taste’ ( and I should add that children had been specially not invited to this event, so I wasn’t even there ) my Dad’s family decided that the  invitation to our Great Aunt’s Christmas party would not extend to me, my brother,  my sister or my cousin who  had since the Wedding Cake Incident, had taken to sticking her hands and fingers into food at ALL of the family events.

My parents skipped the party that year – which was odd because they weren’t known for making grand gestures- but it turned out my Table Manners Deprived Cousin showed up because my Dad’s mother would not tolerate her favorite Grandchild being treated so horribly at Christmas and brought her anyway.

Bless her demonic little heart, my cousin ran around like a thing possessed and refused to sit still for more then three minutes and fingered and poked everything every single treat and dish of food  she could get her hands on.

My Parents got the call a few days later that it was assumed my Dad would bring us because we weren’t the problem and it was assumed he understood that but hell-how was he supposed to know?

For being great story tellers, my Dad’s family seemed to drop the ball in the communication area . It wasn’t one of our strong suits I guess.

The next year we  got our usual invitation, I got more attention then normal and hung out in the kitchen while my Great Aunt made her tradition Bourbon Balls and we watched my Cousin, now a year older and faster and more coordinated running from one room to the next with traces of food on her fingers.

My Great Aunt looked at me and it was pretty clear she wasn’t going to indulge me in idle chit chat, not that she ever did and I took a seat at her kitchen table .

Every time I hear someone yelling for my cousin to put it down, or get off of that I reached out and took a cookie or a piece of candy from the table were my Great Aunt was plating  her treats and helped myself.

I nibbled my treat- I didn’t pop it into my mouth and munch and I held my pinkie finger up the way you did when we took tea.

My Great Aunt saw me of course and she reminded me to use a napkin too.



My Dearest Bones

Photo By Moscoso/Casey

J.L.Moscoso-my Grandaughter in-


“Alas poor Yorick, I knew him well.”
Hamlet, Act 5, Scene 1

This phrase occurs in Hamlet, a popular play by William Shakespeare. The main character Hamlet says this phrase when he is with Horatio, speaking to the gravedigger. He looks around the dead bodies and finds the skull of Yorick, the royal jester. Considering the skull, Hamlet speaks as if Yorick is alive before him, uttering these words in Act-V, Scene-I, “Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio: a fellow/ of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy.”



RDP Tuesday: SCRAP


Bits and pieces from my life

before it was mine to live

hanging from a branch on a dying tree

spit here the commercial says


you can watch it come back to life and live!


I guess you could say I’m haunted by the past

by those names and dates and faces

but to be fair I have become aware

that maybe

I haunted Percival’s future.

Percival Godfrey




Ghost of Me

RDP Wednesday – SIBLING

The only sibling dynamic I have ever found interesting is the one that involves human Chimerism.

Human Chimerism occurs when a woman is carrying fraternal twins and one of the embryos dies very early in the pregnancy and the surviving twin absorbs it.

Cain and Abel? Ha- Cain has nothing on an embryo that absorbs it’s sibling and then carries it’s twin’s DNA around like a hunting trophy or something.

While that thought rolls around in your brain, here’s an interesting factoid about Chimerism.

I read that in utero twin loss runs up to 30% so it’s thought that there are actually more then a few human Chimeras out there.

In essence, these Chimeras are carrying around the ghost of their twin, which I suppose makes them a human haunted house.


I went there.

So. Like.

Happy it’s almost Halloween.

The Birth of Weasel Eyes

When my youngest son was small he asked me what color eyes his cousin had- they weren’t brown, or blue or green so what color could they be?

Was there any other color he asked in amazement, could someone say, have yellow eyes or orange eyes?

His face was pale because an entire universe that had not existed for him a few minutes before had opened up in biblical proportions right then and there.

Sorry to say, I informed him with heartfelt regret, humans could not have yellow or orange eyes…his cousin’s eyes I told him were hazel.

” Really? ” he asked me ” she has….Weasel Eyes?

My son was six and I was once the older sister who moved her younger sister’s doll around at night so that when she woke up in the morning she would think her Baby Alive had come to life at night and crawled around her room.

” Yes. ” I said. ” Yes she does. She has weasel eyes.”

” How Mom, how did she get ….weasel eyes.”

The years fell away from me and as they did the Anita Marie from a long time ago roared back to wherever it was she had hiding, or banished to and she leaned down and whispered into Julio’s ear, ” Her Mom got them on sale at KMart, they were on sale.”

” Really?” he asked me hopefully.

” Real as Santa Claus.”

Julio stamped his foot, just like the kids in the olden days and he said, ” You’re not funny.”

I thought about it and told him, ” You know, I think I am.”


Here’s the actual funny part- over 25 years later and we still refer to my sons cousin as ” Weasel Eyes ” and for some strange reason, we have taken to calling anyone who is a strange or odd as ” Weasel Eyes.”

Of that dig I am innocent.

My defense is simple:

The apple never really does fall far from the tree and my youngest Son is a man who has taken after his Mother’s heart. If Weasel Eyes grew to new highs or lows, blame him.

On the other hand, I am the older Sister who convinced her younger sister her doll was crawling all over her room at night and to this day, somewhere in the back of her head she still thinks it did.

RDP Thursday – WEASEL

Inspiration Has Teeth

When I was little

my Dad’s mother

insisted that my cousin, a tiny fair-skinned naturally blond child with blue eyes

looked like Shirley Temple.

She insisted my cousin was talented  and special in all  things requiring God given gifts like singing and dancing and being charming.

I was not tiny or fair-skinned or blond.

I did not have blue eyes.

I was told my hair looked like a rat’s nest because it was dark and long and usually messy and that my skin was ‘muddy’ and that I had a ‘grating voice’.

But my Dad’s mother did offer me a bit of constructive advice.

She advised me to develop some kind of talent and to work on my personality because I concluded by the unkind smirk on her face,  that was my only hope at not being a total piece of human wreckage.

I can’t tell you how successful I was, but I’m an okay writer and I’m great with dogs and I’m not afraid to take a punch and my best talent is that I can roll my eyes up into my head and I have no feeling in part of my face so I can stick pins in there and not feel a thing.

Combined with the eye rolling thing, it’s pretty spectacular.

As to my talented Shirley Temple look a like cousin, I have no idea how far her natural God-given talents took her.

She made it clear she wanted nothing to do with my Grandmother or the rest of her immediate family after her Mother died.  Trust me she had her reasons and I don’t begrudge her that. She moved away in her twenties and never looked back.

I, on the other hand was there  just before Grandmother died.

Me and my rat’s nest hair and ‘muddy yellow skin’.

I  wonder if she was disappointed that my face being one of the last she saw and not one that belonged on a Christmas card.

It’s not one of the questions that I wonder about and it certainly doesn’t torture me because

without a doubt

I know the answer.

Daily Addictions Prompt: Develop

She Really Wrote That


When I was little

and  somewhat melodramatic

( that is before I discovered the joys of just being strange and macabre )

I used to tell my family that I hoped that circus that they always said

was going to show up and steal me away because the circus was always in need of sly, sinister and naughty workers

would do it soon because my family were



Running away never figured into my dramatic exits.


But then I discovered the joys of Space Travel from Star Trek

and one day I wrote

in Magic Marker-

I’m not sure what the Magic part was because it’s not like the

ink disappeared

on the contrary, it lasted for ever-

on the refrigerator door:

I’m going to Mars because

I’ll never have to clean my room again  because  it will be on Earth-with the toys I hate and the ants in my lunchbox.


Rag Tag Daily Prompt : LETTER