People  will be putting this into their mouths and eating it for

 Thanksgiving.

It’s called

” Tofurky “

Here’s what I will be truly grateful  for this  Thanksgiving:

I WON’T be eating this.

a.m.m.

I asked my Sister  if she wanted me to give her a hand this around the kitchen this

Thanksgiving.

She said no.

Strange.

Who couldn’t  use an extra set of hands when  making a big meal.

So I called her again and said I would love to bake some cookies…how did that sound?

Great she says.

Wonderful I tell her.

I just love to make Gingerbread Cookies I reminded her.

She asked me if I wouldn’t mind making them with heads this time.

I always make them with heads I laughed.

Attaching the gingerbread heads to the gingerbread bodies would be a nice touch she says-and  it would be something new for me, wouldn’t that be nice she asked.

Sure, I think I could really ENJOY baking boring cookies.

So this morning I sent my Sister an e-mail.

I asked if I was still banned from carving the Turkey.

Damn straight, was her speedy reply.

Brother.

I tell one silly story about a dissection class I  took while carving the Christmas Turkey and I get forced to use plastic SPOONS for the rest of my freaking life at family holiday meals.

Some people have NO sense of humor.

NONE.

Well.

There must be something I could bring to dinner I said to my sister in a phone call this evening

 that would not make

 the people in our family think about things without a pulse and smelling like formaldehyde.

 Not a chance says my Sister says after a very long pause.

Well.

I don’t know what your Thanksgiving will be like this year, but apparently

I

will be dining with a bunch of weirdos.

 What can I say

besides

I hope your

Thanksgiving is as interesting and fun

as mine.

 

When I get to work in the mornings

it is cold and it is dark and I like it that way.

On the short walk from my bus to the building I work in I collect things like sights and sounds and smells and store them in my mind’s eye for stories.

A few days ago before I got a chance to switch from bus ride mode to collector mode I noticed a handful of papers were blowing up the sidewalk towards me.

I stopped one with my foot and looked down at it.

Sheet Music.

Interesting I thought- a musician must have lost their notebook- maybe they left it on the top of their car and drove off. Or maybe someone really hated this stuff and they just tossed it as they walked down the street.

I kept walking and as I turned the corner under the bridge I could see the street was littered with sheet music.

Weird I thought.

And then I looked to my left and there blocking one of the streets off was a police car and next to the police car at there is an entrance to a little alley and two Police Officers were putting up crime scene tape.

It was a sad sight.

I was wondering how to write about that strange walk- I thought I would take a picture, something to capture that cold dark morning and that little alley with the yellow tape and the dark figure I saw laying on the ground.

I just stood there with the sheet music blowing around my feet and I watched the police secure the area and I watched other people cross the street so that they could catch a glimpse of something I don’t exactly feel curious about in general.

 I left my camera in my bag and I kept walking.

I turned the corner and there in the middle of the sidewalk was one single piece of sheet music.

It was separate from all the rest of the music, and it was waiting for me right there on the sidewalk on top of a manhole cover

I took out my camera and clicked away.

Then I looked down so that I could see what the song was.

Your Daughters And Your Sons

I looked back up the street to the alley and I felt the cold and  it wasn’t as dark and then I went to work.

I still think about that music and the alley and that walk

and

 I still haven’t found a way to tell this story.

a.m.

DOA

definition from wikipedia

DOA is also frequently used as slang : an idea or concept has no chance.

Photo: A.M. Moscoso

An October Memory:

One late Fall afternoon when I was a kid my little Sister was walking around our front yard picking flowers.

She held a small bunch them in her chubby little six year old hand and I remember that she started to sing:

Mama Had A Baby And It’s Head Popped Off

And then with a flick of her finger the head of the flower shot up into the air and then it hit the ground.

 I asked my Sister why she was doing that to the flowers and she turned to me and said:

Anita Had A Baby And It Had No Head.

a memory

 a nightmare

that belongs to all of my Octobers.

a.m.

I have a notebook- a real with paper in it- where I keep stories that I find in the newspapers or magazines.I also like to write things in there like names of people and places that I find interesting .

This notebook is a to do list for my brain.

And

sometimes these odds and ends work their way into a story

and sometimes I just like to look and laugh.

I know it’s weird…but if you read my stuff can you honestly say you are surprised?

So, without further ado

Here’s a page from it- it includes a story I found today….

Need a hand? Man digging yard startled by specimen hand

By Associated Press

Story Published: Sep 18, 2009

Investigators believe it’s a decades-old medical school specimen left by a former resident.

Still, it was an odd discovery for the electrician who dug it up in the northeastern part of the state. It was muddy, but only the fingertips showed signs of decay.

Maryland State Police Trooper First Class Dave Feltman says the hand found Tuesday appeared to be surgically removed.

The son of a previous owner of the house tells police it was a souvenir he took home as a student at the University of Maryland’s medical school more than 50 years ago.

Police said they believe his account, but sent it to the state medical examiner as part of routine procedure.

This isn’t a horror story- it’s not even a scary story.

But if you wonder how it was that I became the writer I am today- and why I chose to write the stories I do it

actually explains a lot.

So let’s begin with

a little snapshot from my life

I’ve titled:

Me, Betsy and The Church Zombie

 Me and my friend Betsy had our sleepover at my house because I knew where my parents had stashed the Easter Basket Candy- look, horror movies just work more if you can mix Jelly Beans in with Jiffy Pop- freshly popped on your stove- top try it sometime-.

So as usual me and Betsy are out of our minds with excitement over the movies and we kept getting sent down to the gym which also served as our school’s cafeteria for ” Quiet Time ” for talking loud in class.

The Zombie incident happened in the early 1970’s and our school was  built in 1905 so our gym was actually a basement. It looked like a gym but no matter how much light they pumped into that room it was always dark.

John B Allen- Seattle WA 1905- I was a student there- 66 years later!

Well, on one of our many trips to ” Quiet Time ” me and Betsy would sit down in that gym, in the half light and talk all about Zombies. Now, I have to explain why exactly it was me and Betsy spent a lot of time in that basement together for talking in class.

First of all, we did talk a lot about Monsters, but we had to talk loud- or mostly I had to talk loud because my friend was going deaf. In fact by the time we were nine she was completely deaf. At any rate, Betsy was just starting to adjust to her hearing loss and hadn’t caught onto things like lip reading or sign, so if you said something to her you had to make sure you said it loud so she got it the first time or you had to say it a bunch of times- which made Betsy cry because she felt ‘dumb’.

Look, Betsy was wearing leg braces and she had a wandering left eye, she didn’t need to feel ‘dumb’ on top of that:

So I talked loud.

All of the time

And we were always getting into trouble for it.

All of the time.

Oh don’t feel sorry for us  we got used to getting into trouble for not using ’soft voices’  and sometimes, because we were on the honor system, we were supposed to take ourselves to the basement and check in. Most of the time we just went out to the playground for 20 minutes and then took ourselves back to class.

Well, Nightmare Theatre did some sort of Zombie Fest and by Easter Sunday Betsy and I were all about Zombies- where did they come from? Did they have stinky breath? How come when they ran their heads didn’t fall off?

We even went up to my unfinished attic and drew them all over the exposed ceiling joists.

And then we had to go to Church – for Easter Mass.

It’s not like this ends bad for me and Betsy.

We were sitting there listening to a story about dead people coming back to life and a story about an empty tomb and crying women-

So I look over at Betsy and she’s already shaking her head.

 I am already nodding.

And she looks confused- I knew that look, she was trying to figure out if I had said something so to get my point across I made what we called ” Zombie Arms ” ( you know how Zombies walked with their arms straight out? Those were Zombie Arms.)

Betsy, to clarify things made Zombie arms and went a little slack jawed.

I nodd.

She shakes her head in disbelief.

” Yeah- huh ” I stage whisper.

” Jesus was a Zombie?” she asks- you know loud.

And to make sure my friend can hear me I say, ” yeah and he’s coming back- today “

You know, I’m not sure if it was really that quiet in that huge Church on the day Betsy and I dropped to the floor and crawled up the side aisle to escape the Zombies, but that’s the way I remember it.

And to this day I have this theory.

I think that me and Betsy could go through our entire lives committing one sin after another because I’ll bet to this very day everyone in the Church that day are still praying for our Souls.

I know I do.

And here ends the story about

 Me, Betsy and The Church Zombie

 photo by: Anodyne

where do I get the ideas  for my stories

where do I dig up the weird things that inspire me to write

and today I thought I would show you…

that I am inspired by the things

I see every single day

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Photo: A.M. Moscoso

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Instead of watching a movie

last night I read this book that is full of stories- true stories- about people were buried alive

It all sounds frightening

and sure I can easily imagine what it would be like.

But as I’m reading it I’m thinking that the common thread in these accounts isn’t the horror of the situation that these people found themselves in in that time before their dark death.

It’s the terror these people felt when they realized

they were going to die alone and that nobody would ever know

what really happened to them.

I think I’m going to keep my light on for awhile after I go to bed tonight.

a.m.

I have never been afraid of going off road and exploring

empty houses

and empty buildings.

I’ve gone into places with just a flashlight

and when I carried one I would leave my phone in the car.

The only thing I was afraid of was getting bugs in my hair.

I really hated it when that happened.

Well.

One day I found this empty house

and I had a great time poking around in there

and for some reason I sat there

on a dusty dirty floor

in what used to be the living room

and I thought:

Anything could have happened here…

anything.

Someone could have proposed marriage right on this spot

or somebody could have stood right here and been told that

their Mother had died or that their son was joining  the Army

or their daughter was pregnant or there had been a terrible accident…

all of that could have happened right here in this small space where I was standing in this house nobody had lived in for years.

These were random thoughts about normal,  familiar and safe things that happen to us all in life- which was funny considering where they had come to me.

But when I left, as I walked down the walkway to the path that would take me to my car I saw a shovel leaning against a doorway that led down into a root cellar.

I became painfully aware of the fact that the Sun would be setting soon.

I ran all the way to my car.

If you were to go

through these Halls

alone

and if you could walk under these empty eyes

as they watched your every move

all by yourself

Somewhere in this place

Where death stands in every corner

and waits along the walls

you would find Rosalia Lombardo

who has been here since

1920

and it will occur to you

as you looked down into her glass topped coffin,

that it is still 1920 for Rosalia

and

She will always be two years old in this place….

 forever.

Note below from Famous Embalmings

Rosalia Lombardo, who died at age two on 6 December 1920 and was one of the last corpses to make it to the Capuchin catacombs of Palermo, Sicily before the local authorities banned the practice. Nicknamed the ‘Sleeping Beauty’, Rosalia’s body is still perfectly intact. Embalmed by a certain Alfredo Salafia.

More on the

Capuchin catacombs of Palermo

below

:::  KING’S CAPUCHINS’ CATACOMBS OF PALERMO ITALY:::

One afternoon I didn’t have anything to do so I went to this cemetery and watched a grave digger dig a grave on top of a hill.

This brand of grave digging wasn’t being done horror movie style. This was a guy on a backhoe listening to a Walkman as he worked.

When he was done there was a hole in the ground waiting for somebody who was having a hell of a bad day to be lowered into it.

After he left I watched the tent go up and I saw the chairs being arranged and then the flowers were brought out from a van and these Funeral Directors fussed over each vase and when they were done it did look pretty amazing.

I mean, it takes skill to beautify a hole in the ground.

When the service began there was a little breeze and by the end of the service the wind was howling and the tent was lifted up a few times but it didn’t blow away.

Then after the family left the business of lowering the coffin into the ground was done and the grave was filled in and the grave flowers were carefully placed around the spot where the headstone would go.

When it was finished and just as the gates of the cemetery were shut the cemetery workers- including a couple of the funeral directors came up to the little hill and they started to take the tent down.

They took the canvas and laid it flat on the ground and stood along the edges.

Someone separated from the group and cruised around the top of the hill. I saw that person check the driveway up to the grave site and when they got back I heard someone say ” let’s do it. “

They lifted the canvas up with a snap and at the next big blast of wind they tossed the canvas up and it lifted them a few inches off the ground.

They laughed and did it a few more times and at one point there was a discussion about a higher place in the cemetery where they could get airborne but that was voted down because it was getting dark.

To this day I remember that storm and those people because in this place of somber ritual, a ritual designed to separate us from an unbearable reality so that we can move forward…somewhere in all of that death and decay

the Human Remains.

Once I was sitting on a beach late at night when a man walked by me and said, “It’s  dark down there ” and as he walked away from me I realized he had been looking to his left as he spoke…and from his left I thought I heard an answer

only

nobody was to his left …

except for the Ocean.

All these years later I’m glad for one thing…that I never got a good look at his face.

Strange things happen at Sea…This true story is one of them.

Crewman’s disappearance during rescue in Alaska unexplained

By JEANNETTE J. LEE, Associated Press Writer

There’s one thing I just can’t admit to people I know- I actually like some of Woody Allen’s films. I don’t know why, because I shouldn’t like them. 

My brain isn’t wired to like movies with brittle shrill characters who couldn’t find their own back sides if you gave them a map, a book called “Backside finding for Dummies” and a Backside Finding Search and Rescue team to help them out.

 I like movies with Pirates and Ghosts and Demonic kids that stuff babies into wine caskets and Mad Scientists that drip honey on people while they sleep and then turn bugs loose to devour the victim alive.

That’s me, that’s what I’m all about, and though I won’t cop to liking “Hannah and Her Sisters” I will say without a moments hesitation and lots of enthusiasm that one of my favorite movies of all time is Donovan’s Brain.

I like it for the ending.

At the ending of the movie the brain escapes from it’s tank and flies around the lab, chasing the mad scientist and his friends. The best part is Donovan’s spinal cord is still attached to the brain and the spinal cord is whipping around the place just like the creature in ” Alien ” would end up doing with it’s tail over 20 years later.

All kidding aside, I liked Donovan’s Brain because somebody had a story and they told it and exactly the way they wanted to tell it. They didn’t pretend it was anything other then a story about a killer brain that could fly.

That’s real story telling and that kind of story telling takes guts.

I keep that in mind when I write my own stories. 

Donovan’s Brain-  food for thought.

this is from my journal…if anything it’ll give you some insight to the ‘map’ I follow when I write my stories here at the Bridge.

amm

When I was a kid, I lived on a neat street.

The kids were neat and the parents were neat and all the kids were in Scout Troops or took swimming lessons at the pool.

They all went on camping trips and had barbeques during the summer and during the winter they all went skiing.

Except for me, of course.

When we first moved to this neat street my parents used to try and force me to play with the neighbor kids and I wouldn’t- I said they were Zombies and that I was pretty sure they’d eaten the last kid who lived in our house.

I remember the way my Dad looked at me the first time I said that. He just shook his head and I’m not sure but I think it was weeks before he said another word to me.

I was nine at the time- so I could be off on that by a bit. 

The problem was I wasn’t a neat kid, I was that weird little kid that didn’t have any friends and never got invited to parties and I got kicked out of Blue Birds because I forgot to bring the treats when it was my turn to do treat day.

Actually the Blue Bird Leader’s daughter kicked me out- I didn’t care because they never got treats that day-, which still makes me laugh when I think about it.

I may have been a weird kid, but I wasn’t a dumb kid and I made it a point to never be with any of these kids alone- or with their parents who smiled too much.

In fact, I used to have nightmares about those kids and their parents and in my dreams they were running me down with their station wagons.I still have those dreams.

Over the years I ran into some of these kids- I drove one to their final resting place in a hearse, a friend of mine arrested one for molesting his children and another is in prison for killing her stepson.

After I kept hearing these stories I decided to take a drive down that Neat Street.

I saw the Neat Parents- they were puttering around their lawns or checking their mail or talking to their neighbors (just like the old days, it’s true some things never change) and I was horrified at how they all looked so worn out and old and tired and I realized those weren’t the Neat Parents-

I was looking at the Neat Kids. 

I slammed my brakes on and pulled visor down and looked in my vanity mirror and checked my face. I don’t know what I was looking for, but it was awhile before I felt calm enough to drive away.

From the backseat I could hear that nine year old Anita who used to be say,

“ Told you, they’re Zombies. Now let’s go home.”

And that’s exactly what I did.

( poem )

The Garden of Proserpine

by A. C. Swinburne, 1866 

( historical )

Photos ofThe Duwamish River, Washington State

Here, where the world is quiet;
     Here, where all trouble seems
Dead winds’ and spent waves’ riot
     In doubtful dreams of dreams;
I watch the green field growing
For reaping folk and sowing,
For harvest-time and mowing,
     A sleepy world of streams.

I am tired of tears and laughter,
     And men that laugh and weep,
Of what may came hereafter
     For men that sow to reap:
I am weary of days and hours,
Blown buds of barren flowers,
Desires and dreams and powers
     And everything but sleep.

Here life has death for neighbour,
     And far from eye or ear
Wan waves and wet winds labour,
     Weak ships and spirits steer;
They drive adrift, and whither
They wot not who make thither;
But no such winds blow hither,
     And no such things grow here.

There go the loves that wither,
     The old loves with wearier wings;
And all dead years draw thither,
     And all disastrous things;
Dead dreams of days forsaken,
Blind buds that snows have shaken,
Wild leaves that winds have taken,
     Red strays of ruined springs.

We are not sure of sorrow,
     And joy was never sure;
Today will die tomorrow;
     Time stoops to no man’s lure;
And love, grown faint and fretful,
With lips but half regretful
Sighs, and with eyes forgetful
     Weeps that no loves endure.

From too much love of living,
     From hope and fear set free,
We thank with brief thanksgiving
     Whatever gods may be
That no man lives for ever;
That dead men rise up never;
That even the weariest river
     Winds somewhere safe to sea.

Then star nor sun shall waken,
     Nor any change of light;
Nor sound of waters shaken,
     Nor any sound or sight;
Nor wintry nor vernal,
Nor days, nor things diurnal;
Only the sleep eternal
     In an eternal night.

for more information on the Duwamish River visit

Life on The Duwamish River

A River Lost

The Paper Noose

elliot bay, 1907

I work up the street from Elliot Bay in Seattle, Washington.

It’s a pretty historic body of water and lots of important historic things have happened there.

One of my favorite historic things is when a Boeing 307 ditched into Elliot Bay back in 2002. It was flying from Seattle to Everett and it ran out of gas

Yes, really.

I mean they go up and like 3 minutes later they’re on empty and ditching in Elliot Bay and I’d have given anything to have over heard the conversation in the cockpit when that happened.

SOMEBODY forgot to check the fuel levels.

Anyway.

To add to the weirdness that you can only find in Seattle and the waters around her is the story about the Floaters.

It’s sort of embarrassing- we have this great waterfront and a lot of people will fly from the other side of the world to visit Pier 69 and these Cruise ships dock here and all these tourists will be taking pictures or eating caramel apples or eating at one of the restaurants or waiting for a tour bus and they’ll look down into the Bay and see…

A dead body in the water.

Floaters.

This time it was different.

Take a look: 

Ferry rider spots body in Seattle’s Elliott Bay

Story Published: Aug 8, 2007 at 11:48 AM PDT

Story Updated: Aug 8, 2007 at 9:59 PM PDT

By Associated Press

SEATTLE (AP) – A ferry rider spotted a body floating in Seattle’s Elliott Bay on Wednesday.

Fire department spokeswoman Helen Fitzpatrick said the department, police and the Coast Guard were notified about the body about 7:30 a.m. north of Harbor Island.

A fire department boat picked up the man’s body and turned it over to the King County medical examiner’s office.

Here are some links to Story Starters that inspired me

to write the stories you can find here at Anita’s Owl Creek Bridge

FYI

They weren’t ’strange’ until I got my hands on them…

 trust me…anybody can use them

so

!HAVE FUN!

Story Starters

Ceremony Of The Mirror

Descansos

The Deserted Farmhouse

Walk Inside A Painting

Not Quite Alice

The Lonely Ones

Soul Food Cafe Home Page

Here’s a short film for you to watch

All I can say is I hope that when you roll your eyes up into your head  they don’t get stuck there…remember- everyone needs to have a good laugh- even out here at Anita’s Bridge

Lator Gators.

I woke up to this news story.

A set of skeletal human remains in a diving suit was found in Commencement Bay in Tacoma Washington.

The body was recovered at 200 feet and a quote from the story says,”It could have been here for years, up to 9 months,” said Detective Ed Troyer with the Pierce County Sheriff’s Department. “

 All the same the Diver- hidden by the dark waters of The Bay- came up to the surface and it’s a haunting story.

Isn’t it?

YouNewsTV™

Story Published: Aug 7, 2007 at 9:16 AM PDT

Story Updated: Aug 7, 2007 at 5:24 PM PDT

By KOMO Staff

Watch the story

Investigators are trying to identify the skeletal remains of a diver, recovered Monday in Tacoma’s Commencement Bay. An off duty firefighter discovered it while diving in some pretty deep waters.

The water is deep enough to make for a challenging search. From the shore, there’s a slow decline, then at about 55 feet, there’s a sharp drop-off.

At this point, most divers only go about 130 feet deep. But there are more extreme divers who use special equipment and go deeper. The body was found at 200 feet.

“It could have been here for years, up to 9 months,” said Detective Ed Troyer with the Pierce County Sheriff’s Department. “We have identified a couple of different divers that have gone missing from down here over the years that have gone missing over the years that we have not recovered.”

Crews had to use a sonar camera to locate the body, and a remote control robot to dive the distance, and pull the body up to the surface.

At this point, it’s up to the medical examiner to answer the mystery of the diver’s identity, and how long the body has been underwater.

Welcome to Anita’s Owl Creek Bridge Oscar, I think you’re going to feel right at home.

amm

Cat predicts deaths of nursing home residents

By Associated Press

PROVIDENCE, R.I. (AP) – Oscar the cat seems to have an uncanny knack for predicting when nursing home patients are going to die, by curling up next to them during their final hours.

His accuracy, observed in 25 cases, has led the staff to call family members once he has chosen someone. It usually means they have less than four hours to live.

“He doesn’t make too many mistakes. He seems to understand when patients are about to die,” said Dr. David Dosa in an interview. He describes the phenomenon in a poignant essay in Thursday’s issue of the New England Journal of Medicine.

“Many family members take some solace from it. They appreciate the companionship that the cat provides for their dying loved one,” said Dosa, a geriatrician and assistant professor of medicine at Brown University.

The 2-year-old feline was adopted as a kitten and grew up in a third-floor dementia unit at the Steere House Nursing and Rehabilitation Center. The facility treats people with Alzheimer’s, Parkinson’s disease and other illnesses.

After about six months, the staff noticed Oscar would make his own rounds, just like the doctors and nurses. He’d sniff and observe patients, then sit beside people who would wind up dying in a few hours.

Dosa said Oscar seems to take his work seriously and is generally aloof. “This is not a cat that’s friendly to people,” he said.

Oscar is better at predicting death than the people who work there, said Dr. Joan Teno of Brown University, who treats patients at the nursing home and is an expert on care for the terminally ill

She was convinced of Oscar’s talent when he made his 13th correct call. While observing one patient, Teno said she noticed the woman wasn’t eating, was breathing with difficulty and that her legs had a bluish tinge, signs that often mean death is near.

Oscar wouldn’t stay inside the room though, so Teno thought his streak was broken. Instead, it turned out the doctor’s prediction was roughly 10 hours too early. Sure enough, during the patient’s final two hours, nurses told Teno that Oscar joined the woman at her bedside.

Doctors say most of the people who get a visit from the sweet-faced, gray-and-white cat are so ill they probably don’t know he’s there, so patients aren’t aware he’s a harbinger of death. Most families are grateful for the advanced warning, although one wanted Oscar out of the room while a family member died. When Oscar is put outside, he paces and meows his displeasure.

No one’s certain if Oscar’s behavior is scientifically significant or points to a cause. Teno wonders if the cat notices telltale scents or reads something into the behavior of the nurses who raised him.

Nicholas Dodman, who directs an animal behavioral clinic at the Tufts University Cummings School of Veterinary Medicine and has read Dosa’s article, said the only way to know is to carefully document how Oscar divides his time between the living and dying.

If Oscar really is a furry grim reaper, it’s also possible his behavior could be driven by self-centered pleasures like a heated blanket placed on a dying person, Dodman said.

Nursing home staffers aren’t concerned with explaining Oscar, so long as he gives families a better chance at saying goodbye to the dying.

Oscar recently received a wall plaque publicly commending his “compassionate hospice care.”