21 October 2022

Published October 19, 2022 by rochellewisoff

The next photo is the PROMPT. Remember, all photos are property of the photographer, donated for use in Friday Fictioneers only. They shouldn’t be used for any other purpose without express permission. It is proper etiquette to give the contributor credit.

Genre: Non-Fiction Narrative/Memoir
Word Count: 100

GOOD MORNING, CAPTAIN

In October 1955, Bob Keeshan formerly Claribel on the Howdy Doody show, donned a white wig and, at 28, became gentle Captain Kangaroo, everyone’s beloved grandfather in a red coat with huge pockets.

His love for children shone through. Every morning. I joined him, carrot-nabbing Bunny Rabbit, Grandfather Clock, and Dancing Bear.

However, in researching him, I found no juicy stories, save one:

After Keeshan’s death in 2004, his grandson Bretton buried a photo of the two of them on Mt. Everest. A tribute to the gentleman’s true character.

PS: Contrary to urban legend, Keeshan was never a war hero.

I don’t know if Captain Kangaroo ever made it across the pond, but those of us in the States of a certain age, he was a good friend and grandfather figure from 1955-1984. Every morning he showed us the wonders of his Treasure House.

Again to be noted, while he did join the US Marine Corps in 1945, he never went overseas or saw combat. He was however a hero to many of us children who were lucky enough to invite him into our living rooms. 😀

14 October 2022

Published October 12, 2022 by rochellewisoff

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The next photo is the PROMPT. Remember, all photos are property of the photographer, donated for use in Friday Fictioneers only. They shouldn’t be used for any other purpose without express permission. It is proper etiquette to give the contributor credit.

Genre: All-Too-Realistic Fiction
Word Count: 100

MOURNING HAS BROKEN

Ubon sloshed through a puddle, stirring the leaves floating on the water. Why had she been so harsh with him that morning?

***

“Banyat!” She smacked his bottom. “Hurry!”

“Mamaaa, please. Don’t make me go. I miss my old school.”

His shrill whine angered her. “Do you want Mama to get fired?”

“Yes,” he replied with four-year-old logic. “Then we can stay home and play.”

***

Standing in the deserted playground, Ubon’s heart ached. What could provoke someone to slaughter babies?

“Mama? Why are you crying?”

She swept him up in her arms and held him close. “I’m so glad we moved.”

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Heartwarming and heartwrenching resolutions.

7 October 2022

Published October 5, 2022 by rochellewisoff

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The next photo is the PROMPT. Remember, all photos are property of the photographer, donated for use in Friday Fictioneers only. They shouldn’t be used for any other purpose without express permission. It is proper etiquette to give the contributor credit.

Genre: Realistic Fiction
Word Count: 100

SET FIRE TO THE RAIN

Rain pelted the restaurant window. Why had he come back to Nam anyway? Curiosity? His therapist called it “coming to terms.”

Anthony unfolded the yellowed stationery.

“October 3, 1968

“Dearest Tony,

Sweetheart, I feel like a rat, since you’re off in Vietnam. But I’m afraid you’ll get killed and I won’t have no one. I met this really nice guy named Ted. You’d really like him. We got married last night. I hope you understand.

All my love,

Caroline”

“‘You’d really like him.’” Anthony held his lighter to a corner of the letter. “Why the hell did I keep it?”

*****

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LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS

Published September 28, 2022 by rochellewisoff

It would seem my muse woke up this morning. So not only did I take the liberty of posting a thrice-run story, I’m double dipping as well. 😉

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields (Hey! That’s me!)

Genre: Realistic “Fiction”
Word Count: 100

LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS

They sat at the kitchen table, a bag of pretzels between them. Light from the old-fashioned lamps cast a warm glow in the room. Shelly savored the salt on her tongue, then sipped her Cabernet.

“It’s so romantic, isn’t it?” She moved her book closer to the light. “Dontcha love it?”

Jon turned the page of his magazine. “Not the best reading light.”

“Must you be so negative? Remember, ‘It’s better to light a candle than curse the darkness.’”

“Thank you, Eleanor Roosevelt.” He frowned. “I’ll stop cursing the darkness when the power’s restored and the TV comes back on.”

****

Adding more to my ETSY SHOP every day!

Getting ready for the Holidays. They’ll be here before you know it!

30 September 2022

Published September 28, 2022 by rochellewisoff

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The next photo is the PROMPT. Remember, all photos are property of the photographer, donated for use in Friday Fictioneers only. They shouldn’t be used for any other purpose without express permission. It is proper etiquette to give the contributor credit.

Genre: Hysterical Fiction (Wow, what a rush!)
Word Count: 100

If this is phto and story’s deja vu for you, it’s true. This is a rerun of a rerun. I wrote it in 2013 and posted it again in 2016 for the same reason I’m posting it this week. It has been an incredibly busy week and my muse is flat comatose. Since the high holidays are upon us, I take liberty…because I can.

If you’ve posted a story for this photo before, feel free to give yourself a break and post it again. Hey. It’s been 6 years. 😉 Who’s going to remember it? Right? Of course, right!

ASHAMNU

Rhoda cast furtive glances in all directions, inhaled throat-burning smoke, held it, and then exhaled, handing the joint to Marcus.

“Don’t be so paranoid.” His bloodshot eyes glittered.

Candles illuminated the corners of his darkened bedroom. In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida blared from the stereo and patchouli incense tickled her nose.

After they’d downed an entire bag of chips, Marcus plopped his yarmulke on his head.

“So much for fasting. Let’s get back before they miss us.”

Side-by-side they sneaked into the synagogue and giggled through repentance prayers.

Every year afterward, when Rhoda dutifully attended services, she chuckled as she recalled the “High” Holiday.

The Ashamnu is a traditional prayer of repentance recited on Yom Kippur, the Jewish highest of holy days or day of atonement. The word “ah-SHAM-nu” means we are guilty or we have sinned.

23 September 2022

Published September 21, 2022 by rochellewisoff

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The next photo is the PROMPT. Remember, all photos are property of the photographer, donated for use in Friday Fictioneers only. They shouldn’t be used for any other purpose without express permission. It is proper etiquette to give the contributor credit.

Genre: Historical Fiction
Word Count: 100

THE MEASURE OF A LIFE

“The space was no bigger than a closet,” said Hannah. “Only room for six of us to hide at once.”

“Were you scared, Bubbie?” asked eleven-year-old Corrie.

“Oy! So scared! I had claustrophobia. But as much as small spaces scared me, the Gestapo scared me more.”

“Did you have to stay there for hours at a time?”

“Only when the family had—visitors. Other times we children were free to play and sing. We even celebrated Hanukkah with potato latkes and presents. The Ten-Booms, such wonderful people.”

“I’m named after Corrie Ten-Boom, aren’t I?”

“Ja. May her memory be blessed.”

To learn about this very special lady and her family CLICK HERE

*********

This past week I’ve finally gotten around to opening an Etsy shop to market my note cards. Please CLICK HERE to come by and browse. There are many more entries to upload before it the shop’s “complete.” 😉

9 September 2022

Published September 7, 2022 by rochellewisoff

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The next photo is the PROMPT. Remember, all photos are property of the photographer, donated for use in Friday Fictioneers only. They shouldn’t be used for any other purpose without express permission. It is proper etiquette to give the contributor credit.

Genre: Historical Fiction
Word Count: 100

1938

“Is this how you remember it, Mom?” asked Ruth.

Naomi hadn’t seen the scenic deutsche Stadt in fifty years. The synagogue had been replaced by a church. Although some shops still existed, her childhood home did not.

She swallowed. “I was ten. Momma gave me a sack of her homemade macaroons for the long journey. She told me, ‘You’ll be safe with Aunt Gertie and Uncle Norman in New York.’

“Poppa crushed me in his strong arms. ‘Momma and I will come for you soon. You’ll see.’

“From the ship I watched them grow smaller and smaller.

“They never came.”

26 August 2022

Published August 24, 2022 by rochellewisoff

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The next photo is the PROMPT. Remember, all photos are property of the photographer, donated for use in Friday Fictioneers only. They shouldn’t be used for any other purpose without express permission. It is proper etiquette to give the contributor credit.

Genre: Historical Fiction
Word Count: 100

POLITICALLY INCORRECT

“You’re opening a Chinese restaurant, Pop?” Noriyuki looked up from his homework. “But we’re Japanese.”

“The camps certainly taught me that.” Tamaru shrugged. “Chinese. Japanese. We all look alike to them. Let’s go to the movies.”

Noriyuki stretched his legs. After spending his childhood in a body cast with no hope of healing, he relished a walk to—anywhere.

On December 7, 1966, stand-up comic, Pat Noriyuki Morita, sweat running down his back, said, “Before I begin, I just want to say I’m sorry for messing up your harbor.”

After a moment of thick silence, the audience burst into laughter.

*Once billed as the Hip Nip, Pat Morita appeared in movies and television. You may remember him as Mr. Miyagi in The Karate Kid or as Arnold Takahashi on Happy Days. As a child he was diagnosed with spinal TB. The doctors gave him little hope of ever walking. Alas after a procedure restored his legs, he was taken from hospital to a Japanese internment camp.

*As for the photo, I believe that food court is Korean. 😉

Souvenirs

Published August 17, 2022 by rochellewisoff

Another idea came to mind so I’m double dipping this week. 😀

Genre: Fiction
Word Count: 100

SOUVENIRS

“Half the fun of the beach is collecting seashells.” Relishing water and warm sand between her toes, Millie picked up a colorful mollusk shell. “Check out the reds and blues.”

“It will make a nice addition to our bowl,” said Carl.

“We should buy a few of those spirally ones at the souvenir shop. I never find them here.”

“No way. I’ll wager those don’t even come from this beach. Most likely they’re from India where they harvest them live, kill the resident creature with acid and polish them for tourists.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, raping the ecosystem is a lucrative business.”

She sells seashells by the sea shore. Click to learn more.

The model for the painting. A few souvenirs I picked up on the beach.

19 August 2022

Published August 17, 2022 by rochellewisoff

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The next photo is the PROMPT. Remember, all photos are property of the photographer, donated for use in Friday Fictioneers only. They shouldn’t be used for any other purpose without express permission. It is proper etiquette to give the contributor credit.

This was my fifth annual visit with my brother and sister-in-law. As always it was hard to leave, but good to come back home. The ocean was rough this year and dangerous for swimming most of the time. Still great beach times. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. 😉

Genre: Histrionic Fiction
Word Count: 100

ANNUAL HOLIDAY

“You take separate vacations?”

Rochelle grinned at the tanned woman beside her as the plane made its ascent. “Every year for the past five. He goes to South Dakota for the bike rally and texts me pictures of the most gorgeous scenery.”

The North Carolina landscape dwindled below. Rochelle turned from the window. Ten days of sightseeing and beachcombing with her brother zipped by. They’d laughed at punchlines without telling the jokes and reminisced about things only siblings would remember.

“Wouldn’t you like to go with your husband sometime?”

“Nah.” Rochelle wrinkled her nose. “It’s way too peopley for me.”