23 September 2022

Published September 21, 2022 by rochellewisoff

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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.” 😉

16 September 2022

Published September 14, 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: Poetry
Word Count: 100

SPRING AND SUMMER CATARRH

Ah the warm smell of lilacs
Rising up in the air.
Daffodils, ever my favorite.
A feast for the eyes.
Flora and fauna.
Dandelion seeds delight children
Who blow them into the wind.
Goldenrod
Ragweed
A Mid-Summer-Night’s Bad Dream.
According to Dr. John Bostock in 1828
Neither bleeding nor purging
Alleviated
The itch of the eye,
Or running of the nose,
Or the incessant tickle in the throat.
That was then, this is now.
Antihistamines bring some relief.
In closing,
A word of advice, my fellow allergy sufferers,
Take care whilst driving.
It’s impossible to sneeze without shutting your eyes.

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.”

2 September 2022

Published August 31, 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.

Every writer has those days when their imaginary friends won’t come out to play. This has been my week. 😉

Genre: Hysterical Friction
100 Useless Words

DRAWING BLANKS

“I’m drawing blanks.” I stare at David’s photo. “I’m the leader. I can’t just post a photo prompt without my own story.”

“Drawing blanks is a good title,” says my good friend and nemesis Harvey Wingnut. “As an artist you should be quite adept at that.”

“You’re so funny I forgot to laugh.”

I beg my muse for an idea.

“Sorry, chick. You’re on your own,” she whispers. “I’m vacationing in the Bahamas.”

You get the picture.

I study the shadowy prompt and wonder who’ll be buried under that shed this week.

“You win, Harvey. ‘Drawing Blanks’ it is.”

It means nothing but, then, neither does my post. Fun stuff with our niece in July.

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.

12 August 2022

Published August 10, 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
Word Count: 100

YOU TALKIN’ TO ME?

“Did you know…?”

Dale rolled her eyes as she unpacked the picnic basket. “I feel a history lesson coming on from Rochelle-A-Pedia.

“Ahem.” Rochelle ran her fingertips across the rough picnic bench surface. “The word table is derived from the Latin word Tabula and its earliest models were mostly used by ancient Egyptians. Betcha didn’t know that. Furthermore, through the years, wood workers and manufacturers learned how to customize and adjust furniture used in—”

“Betcha I didn’t care.” Dale gently knocked on Rochelle’s forehead. “Yoohoo? I’m thinking of another term derived from Latin. Tabula rasa.”

“Whassat?”

“Look it up.”

5 August 2022

Published August 3, 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 Faction
Word Count: 100

ROAD READY

My best friend and I took Driver’s Ed the year we turned sixteen thinking we’d get our licenses together.

I passed the written part with flying colors. Recognizing road signs and learning the rules of the road was a snap.

The actual driving part was another story. Both excitement and terror welled up as I gripped the steering wheel. Images of every traffic accident I’d seen on the news zipped through my mind.

My instructor shook his head at my attempt to parallel park. “Your final driving score is negative fifty-one. Might I suggest you purchase a lifetime bus pass?”

22 July 2022

Published July 20, 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 Faction
Word Count: 100

CHLORINE DEPRIVATION

Retirement has certainly taken the sting out of Monday. Every day is a weekend. Monday’s one of my swim days. Fifty-four invigorating laps. This morning I tingle with anticipation.

Sipping my morning coffee, I check my emails which are mostly deletable spams.

“What’s this? A member announcement from my fitness center? Have my old-fogy dues gone up again?”

My breath catches in my throat as I read. It’s as if I’m staring down a tunnel with no light on the other side.

“ ‘The Indoor Pools, both lap and rec, will be closed until further notice due to lifeguard shortages.’

Nooooooo!”

15 July 2022

Published July 13, 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

HE NEVER GOT A DINNER

Papa put the finishing touches on a straw hat, placed it on his head and, to little Aaron’s delight, broke into a soft shoe.

Mr. Jerwick applauded and laughed. “I’ll take the hat, Mr. Chwatt. But I’m no dancer.”

“Hey Pop,” said sixteen-year-old Aaron. “Check out my uniform for my new job.”

“Doing what? So many buttons.”

“I’m a singing bell boy.” Aaron raked his fingers through his wavy red hair. “Making people smile—like you, Pop. And how about my stage name?”

From Vaudeville to Broadway and film, history will forever remember award-winning entertainer Red Buttons with a smile.

Aaron Chwatt was the son of Jewish immigrants. His father, Michael Chwatt made his living as a milliner in New York’s Lower East Side who enjoyed entertaining his customers.

RED BUTTONS NEVER GOT A DINNER