Anecdote

All posts tagged Anecdote

25 May 2018

Published May 23, 2018 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. 

Please be considerate of your 70 or so readers and keep your story to 100 words. Thank you. 

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

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Genre: Anecdote

Word Count: 100

VINTAGE

            “Sesenta y seis.” Counting backwards, I freestyle, somersault at the wall and backstroke. “Sheshim v’hamesh…”   

            My Medicare card arrived yesterday, officially heralding the long-since passing of my youth.

            “Sesenta y cuatro.” I flip and breast-stroke to the other side.  “You’re only as old as you feel. Sheshim v’sh’losh…”  

            How do I feel?

            The crystal bowl on my table sparkles in my mind—an heirloom dating back to my grandparents’ wedding in the early 1900’s. A century hasn’t dulled its beauty.

            I dive under the water and flex my flippers. This little mermaid has miles to swim before that final lap. 

 

Yes the bowl in the photo is the bowl in my story. 😉 Originally it was part of a three-piece set. My dad was one of three children. My grandparents gave each of them a piece when they married. Personally I think my parents got the best of the set. It has been a source of fascination since I can remember. And, yes, I do count backwards, alternating Spanish and Hebrew  when I swim laps. (Sensenta y seis -66, sheshim v’hamesh -65, sesenta y cuatro – 64, sheshim v’sh’losh – 63 and so on and so on and scooby dooby do 😉 ) It helps me stay focused. The pool at our fitness center is 25 ft in length. 66 lengths equals a mile.

 

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WOODSMOKE AT TWILIGHT

Published March 4, 2018 by rochellewisoff

There is a road some fifty-three miles NNE of New York City with a strange reputation. This week, Pegman has stranded you there.Volumes have been written about Clinton Road in West Milford, NJ, but you only need to write 150 words. The only limit is your imagination.Feel free to capture your own streetview. If you’re not up to a weird tale, feel free to wander anywhere within the state of New Jersey for your story.Once your 150 words are polished, you can share with other contributors using the Linkup below. Reading and commenting on others’ work is part of the fun!

Many thanks to Karen and Josh for hosting this challenge that gives me 50 more words to play with. 😉

While the photo below is taken from the Pegman Buffet, I must confess, despite the directives, I didn’t stay in New Jersey. I went to Rickey Road in Raytown, Missouri, where, as with Clinton Road, the stories abound. 

Genre: Fictionalized Memoir

Word Count: 150

WOODSMOKE AT TWILIGHT

            I looked forward to my troop’s wilderness excursions. Had it not been for scouting, I might never have seen the great outdoors beyond my backyard. My parents, while not religiously observant, adhered to the eleventh commandment—“Jews don’t camp.”

            Overnights were the best. Following an afternoon of dodging poison ivy and climbing hills, we’d gather around the campfire. Our mouths and fingers gooey from roasted marshmallows, we topped off the day with ghost stories about the infamous and spooky Rickey Road.

            “My uncle found a man’s head in the grass,” said Lucy in a loud whisper.

            “Ooooooo,” we’d giggle. “Gross!”

            Margo’s cheeks glowed in the blaze. “It opened its eyes and screamed, ‘I want my golden arm!’”

            Our childish imaginations kicked into overdrive. Each storyteller sought to outdo the last.

            Back home in my own bed, I wouldn’t sleep for a month without a nightlight.  

            I miss those good times.

 

*********

 

Troop 499-Can you find me?

 

1 December 2017

Published November 29, 2017 by rochellewisoff

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Our Mantra

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. 

As you can see, we’re jumping on the Black and White Bandwagon of late. 😉

PHOTO PROMPT © What’s His Name

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Ladies and Gentlemen, the story you’re about to read is true…

Genre: Anecdote

Word Count: 100

GOING CONCERN

            Proverbs 22:6 admonishes parents to “train up a child…”

            No one bears the weight of it more than mothers of sons graduating from diapers to Underoos. I was convinced when one of mine said, “I do” at the altar, he would.

            Toilet training was often touch-and-no-go. Number One-of-Three loved to show me his creations, real or imagined. Once he brought me the empty chair insert and chortled.  “Potty, Mommy.”

            “In a pig’s eye,” I muttered.

            From then on, whenever he made a deposit he’d bring it to me and say, “Pig’s eyes.”

            Oh be careful little lips what you say.

MAZEL TOV BEGORRAH

Published March 13, 2017 by rochellewisoff

Today Pegman takes us to Dublin.

Feel free to stroll around the area using the Google street view and grab any picture you choose to include in your post.

To enjoy stories inspired by the What Pegman Saw prompt or to submit your own 150-word story, visit the inLinkz button:

For guidelines and rules for the What Pegman Saw weekly writing prompt, visit the home page.

This week’s location was suggested by the talented Alicia over at Up From the Ashes. Thanks Alicia!

Thanks to Karen Rawson for running the show.

______

Sorry to be so late this week. I had a busy weekend and really didn’t think I’d make it at all. However the Pegman Force is strong and resistance was futile. Below is my choice from the Pegman Prompt Buffet. 

Genre: Anecdote

Word Count: 150

MAZEL TOV BEGORRAH

My mother cradled my newborn son in her arms. “Look at his Yiddishe punim. If you couldn’t have a girl, the least you could’ve done was name him after my father of blessed memory. Sam’s a good name.

I grimaced. “It’s not like I had control over the sex, Mom.”

She glowered and I could pretty much read her mind as soon as the words “control” and “sex” left my mouth. Her opinion of my marrying a goy was no secret.

“You can always come home,” she often reminded me—until the day I announced my pregnancy.

Despite her objections and disappointments, over the years Mom grew to accept her son-in-law and adore her grandson. No matter what, she insisted on calling him Sammy.

“What kind of name is Shannon for a Jewish boy?”

What better name for a baby born the day before St. Patrick’s day?

 

Shannon and his mother a few years later. 

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