It never occurred to me to designate a theme song for my blog until Junk Chuck (whoever he) dropped by my “About Rochelle” page and left this video. Nothing more to add. Enjoy!
😉 Shalom,
Rochelle
P.S. Click here to meet Chuck. You won’t be sorry.
Personal Musing
All posts in the Personal Musing category
The Gift
Published July 3, 2014 by rochellewisoffFor the first time in over two years I took a two-week break from Friday Fictioneers. The reason being that I had some special out of town guests and I wanted to devote as much time to them as I could. Many of you know these two stellar writers, Janet Webb from Naperville, IL and Douglas MacIlroy from Kamuela, HI.
Since Doug planned to be in town for a couple of disc golf tournaments I invited him to the “Fields Bed and Breakfast.” Naperville isn’t far from Kansas City so I extended an invitation to Janet. One of the perks of having more than one guest room is that we can accommodate more than one guest.
It was nice to relax and get in some recreational reading. I think I was waking up from a recreational nap when Doug snapped the photo.
Doug sitting at my desk.
One of the high points of the visit was a trip to Joplin where we had lunch with Russell and Connie Gayer. Since they live in Arkansas we met in a somewhat central location. On the way we stopped for gas in Webb City, MO. Doug snapped the next photo. Too good to pass up.
Janet Webb in front of that Webb City water tower.
Connie and Russell Gayer. A rather serious expression on one of our favorite humorists.
The man behind me is my husband, Jan. Connie took the picture.
We celebrated Doug’s victory in his division of the KC Wide Open.
One of Doug’s favorite Kansas City sites. A disc golf shop downtown. The photo’s a bit blurry but the expression on his face says, “I’ve found Paradise.”
Selfie in a reflection. Doug had to snap this one so you get an idea of the differences in our heights. (One of us has some.)
While Doug was in Columbia for his second tournament, I managed to break my toe, the second in two months. You can read all about it here.
Y’all come back now. Take your shoes off…at your own risk.
Toemageddon
Published June 29, 2014 by rochellewisoffLIGHTNING STRIKES TWICE
I’ve often claimed to be my own anecdote. But if I can’t laugh at myself…and so on and so on and Scooby dooby dooby do.
Although I don’t like to share my physical trials and tribulations, sometimes a situation presents itself that’s too ridiculous not to share. For example, some may recall post about my minute clinic excursion for a mouth ulcer last year that led to a trip to the ER for an abnormally low heart rate.
My story begins during the last week of April when I slipped and stubbed my left big toe before going of to work. I thought nothing much of it as I donned my shoe. No bruise, no swelling. It was uncomfortable but not unbearable the rest of the day. Imagine my shock and amazement when I removed my shoe that afternoon.
X-rays showed that I’d fractured it at the top joint.
A month later, another x-ray showed that my poor broken digit hadn’t healed. My sentence was another four weeks in the stylish, open toed “oxford.” Ironically I haven’t had much pain with this one. For this I’ve been thankful.
This brings me to this past Friday morning. As I blissfully stepped out of the tub after a refreshing shower I banged my right toe against the sliding-door track. Sharp pain. But I’ve done that before many times over. Nothing to worry about, right?
Instead of subsiding, the pain grew steadily worse as did the swelling and discoloration. By yesterday morning (Saturday) it had swollen more. My husband insisted on taking me to the local ER.
Before all was said and done I warned the ER nurses about my heart rate which for me is normal. (49 for those curious readers.)
A tech came in and snapped four different x-ray views. I prayed for a diagnosis of simple bruising. Go home put ice on it.
No such luck.
The PA came back and showed me one of the x-rays on her iPhone. A lovely little fracture in the middle of the joint where foot meets toe.
So I look forward to returning to work Tuesday wearing not one, but two, ortho boots.
Sigh. Off to take my pain meds.
L’chaim.
13 June 2014
Published June 11, 2014 by rochellewisoff
REMINDER: This page is “FRIDAY FICTIONEERS CENTRAL” and is NOT the place to promote political or religious views. Also, you are responsible for the content of your story and policing comments on your blog. You have the right to delete any you consider offensive.
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PHOTO PROMPT Copyright-Ted Strutz
Genre: Historical Fiction
Word Count: 100
BENEATH BUNKER HILL
Determined to keep his promise to Joseph’s orphans and give him a proper burial, Paul searched the grave where dozens were buried. Flies buzzed. Maggots burrowed into the eye-sockets of the nine months’ fallen patriots. Mouldering flesh and matted hair cleaved tenuously to shattered skulls. His gorge rose. He covered his nose and mouth. How would he ever recognise his friend amongst so many?
His thoughts wandered to a day long-past.
****
“Remarkable, Master Revere.” Joseph studied his smiling reflection.
****
Sunlight glinted off a bit of copper in a corpse’s mouth. Paul gasped.
“My dental work. It is General Joseph Warren.”
To know more click here.
6 June 2014
Published June 4, 2014 by rochellewisoff
REMINDER: This page is “FRIDAY FICTIONEERS CENTRAL” and is NOT the place to promote political or religious views. Also, you are responsible for the content of your story and policing comments on your blog. You have the right to delete any you consider offensive.
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PHOTO PROMPT
Copyright – Douglas M. MacIlroy
Genre: Poetic Musing
Word Count: 95
NORTH STUDIO
He left delicate strokes of life
On rice paper.
Katsushika Hokusai embraced age,
Unshaken by his advancing years.
Seas swirled beneath his skillful fingers
As the eternal mountain loomed ahead.
Infinite wisdom rippled from the artist’s hand.
Here is her life.
Once young and wasteful,
Kishiko lights a candle.
Undimmed eyes stare into velvet darkness.
Sixty years flow behind her
As brilliant pathways loom ahead.
I am the artist.
Here is my life.
On the path,
Kindled by passion
Unafraid of the future.
Strength in my arms
And excitement in my steps,
I am Kishiko.
Hokusai had a long career, but he produced most of his important work after age 60. I find great comfort in this. To learn more about the prolific artist, click here.
15 November 2013
Published November 13, 2013 by rochellewisoffWELCOME TO FRIDAY FICTIONEERS
As always, writers are encouraged to be as innovative as possible with the prompt and 100 word constraints.
Henry David Thoreau said it best.
“It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see.”
THE CHALLENGE:
Write a one hundred word story that has a beginning, middle and end. (No one will be ostracized for going a few words over the count.)
THE KEY:
Make every word count.
THE RULES:
- Copy your URL to the Linkz collection. You’ll find the tab following the photo prompt. It’s the little white box to the left with the blue froggy guy. Click on it and follow directions. This is the best way to get the most reads and comments.
- MAKE SURE YOUR LINK IS SPECIFIC TO YOUR FLASH.
- While our name implies “fiction only” it’s perfectly Kosher to write a non-fiction piece as long as it meets the challenge of being a complete story in 100 words.
-
- ***PLEASE MAKE NOTE IN YOUR BLOG IF YOU PREFER NOT TO RECEIVE CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM.***
- REMINDER: This page is “FRIDAY FICTIONEERS CENTRAL” and is NOT the place to promote political or religious views. Also, you are responsible for the content of your story and policing comments on your blog. You have the right to delete any you consider offensive.
**Please exercise DISCRETION when commenting on a story! Be RESPECTFUL.**
Should someone have severe or hostile differences of opinion with another person it’s my hope that the involved parties would settle their disputes in private.
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My story follows the photo and link tool. I enjoy honest comments and welcome constructive criticism. 
- Shalom,
Rochelle
**Note: My response time after Thursday might be a little slow. I’ll be hosting fellow FF’r Janet Webb (meeting her in person for the first time! :D) and she’ll be accompanying me to the Ozarks Writers League-OWL-conference Friday. I’m looking forward to seeing a few more of us there. Wish we could all meet face to face. ;)**
Genre: Literary Fiction
Word Count: 100
DAUGHTER OF VOICE
For two years I saved to travel to the Holy Land where I dreamt of walking in the footsteps of the great Bible prophets.
After five days of touring ancient ruins and being dragged into schlock shops, I’d had no transcendent revelations and didn’t feel any closer to heaven.
On the sixth day I saw the violinist. No crowds gathered around her, yet she performed with captivating passion that would’ve humbled Paganini. I dropped several coins into her open case. And there…
…in Jerusalem’s Cardo, amid patrons and peddlers, I came face to face with the unpretentious face of God.
The Cardo
EMERGENCIES OF A DIFFERENT SORT
Published November 9, 2013 by rochellewisoffA few days ago I managed to burn the roof of my mouth on a baked potato. Please don’t ask for details, it’s embarrassing. If that’s not bad enough, the burn turned into rather nasty aphthous stomatitis. Mouth ulcer.
By Friday I couldn’t eat, because the tiniest nick caused so much pain I wanted cut off my head. After getting my boss’ okay to leave the bakery early I went to a close-by pharmacy with an urgent care.
This particular store refers to this as a “minute clinic.” There I waited over two hours to be seen by the solitary, overtaxed nurse practitioner.
“Why am I seeing you today?”
“My mouth hurts.”
While she entered my particulars into her data base, I went on to explain how I’d injured myself and how much it hurt.
What I expected next was that she would look at my poor mangled mouth, write a prescription and send me to the pharmacy counter to have it filled. And, of course, that’s not what happened.
She had to take my vitals.
“Blood pressure is a little high, but pain will do that.”
Then she listened to my heart for a full minute.
“Have you had heart problems?”
“No.”
“Your heart rate is too low. It’s between 40 and 44.”
“I work out. It’s always been low.”
“This is dangerously low.”
After scaring me into thinking I would soon be corpse du jour, she informed me that she was sending me to ER and no way would she allow me to drive.
“Do you have dizziness or pain.”
“Yes. I haven’t eaten all day because my mouth hurts.”
“I’m more concerned for your heart. They will give you lidocaine at the hospital.”
At her insistence I called my husband to share my news. I could hear the controlled terror in his voice. Then I sat for another forty minutes until he arrived. He took me to the hospital close to our house. Another forty minutes of evening wasted.
“You feeling okay, honey,” he asked.
“No. I’m starving and my mouth hurts.”
When we reached the ER, I was quickly ushered to an examination room, changed out of my icing-crusted uniform into one of those famed hospital numbers of song and story.
This time the nurse hooked me up to a heart monitor, automatic sphygmomanometer and stuck little rubber contacts all over me to prepare for an EKG. Then the interrogation began.
“What meds are you taking? Any allergies?”
I answered each question to the best of my ability. Then the doctor came in and asked more questions.
“Are you having any pain?
”
“My mouth hurts.”
By then, I’d played “Who’s on First, What’s on Second” with at least four professionals.
The doctor shined her little flashlight in my open mouth. “Yep. I advise using Anbesol. I don’t have any so you’ll have to go to Walmart.”
Then she told me she was going to hook me up to an IV, take some blood and check my electrolytes.
The whole ordeal took another two hours culminating with the doctor telling me everything looked great and that I just have a low heart rate.
“I’m sending you home.”
As the nurse wrapped up the visit she asked me if I had any pain.
“My mouth hurts.”
Voice of a Spanish Dancer – You’re Never Too…Anything
Published September 30, 2013 by rochellewisoff
YOU’RE NEVER TOO…ANYTHING
Between 17 August and 1 September, two events touched my life as few others have. The first was watching 17-year-old Leahi Camacho become the youngest swimmer to swim the 26 mile Moloka’i channel from Moloka’i to Oahu. The second was Diana Nyad’s triumph in her 103 mile swim from Cuba to Key West.
Through a mutual friend of her father I was able to access a tracking map to follow Leahi’s progress. Although she’s unaware of it, when I swam my laps that day I went a mile with her.
While she had a lot of support, I wonder how many well-meaning friends or relatives told her she was nuts. Long swim for someone so young. Think about it in a few years, when you’re older. Stronger. More mature.
If this was the case, I’m happy she didn’t listen. She knew the risks involved and dove in headfirst to follow her heart.
On the flip side, when are you too old to dream? Is it when you turn 60? Or maybe when you’ve blown out the candles on your 65th birthday cake and are eligible for Medicare?
It’s my personal belief when you’re too old to dream and learn you might as well plan the funeral. You’re already dead.
On that note, I turn to a new role model in my life. Diana Nyad. Four times she tried and failed to swim from Cuba to Florida. Did she give up? Not a chance. At the tender age of 64 she achieved her goal.
Does this mean I’m going to attempt a long distance swim, like my two heroes? I don’t think so, but the thought is in the realm of possibility. But, for the time being, I’m happy to swim laps in a much smaller body of water.
The pool is my think tank. Unfettered by gravity, my mind is free to tell me stories. With each stroke I’m closer to reaching my goals. To dream. To write.
“It’s never too late to be who you might have been.” T.S. Eliot.
Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple 