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.
After fifty-five years Alice still missed Johnny who’d been drafted and died in Vietnam. Their daughter Sunshine, a successful lawyer in Manhattan had little time for Alice.
One day, Alice texted Sunshine. “Leaving for Australia. Going to open a restaurant.”
“Mom, are you smoking weed again?”
***
Pushing a lock of long white hair from her forehead, Alice flipped veggie burgers on the grill in her thriving café. She gazed at the mountains kissing the cerulean sky outside the window. Her town—peaceful Alice Springs—three hours or less from anywhere in Australia and thousands of miles from the Divided States.
Alice Springs, Australia
And if you have 19 minutes to spare CLICK HERE to enjoy Alice’s Restaurant.
Thanks to Dawn Landau for making Gratitude a New Year’s Tradition. I’m happy to be taking part once more.
“For the fourth year in a row, this is an opportunity to hit pause and focus on all the good things that each of us has in our lives. The holiday season has a way of rushing in, every year, and making it hard to remember that throughout the year, there are blessings. There are so many things that bring joy, so many happy things; yet it’s easy to find to lose sight of this fact, as we manage busy lives.”
To take part, set your timer for ten minutes and write 50 things you are grateful for. Once I started it was hard to stop.
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My home – just celebrated our tenth year in our dream home.
My husband – 46 years of marriage.
My 3 sons who have all grown to be men I’m proud of.
My granddaughter Olive
Her new sister Elsie born on my dad’s birthday, 12 November 2017
Olive’s adorable dog, Poppy
Friday Fictioneers – I’ve made so many friends through sharing stories, learning how similar we are in our hopes and dreams no matter where we’re from.
What Pegman Saw…I took part in it this past year. Nice to have a different prompt and 50 extra words to play with.
My health
A nearby place to swim
The joy of swimming a mile, flip turning at each end of the pool
Counting backwards in Hebrew and Spanish to keep track of my pool lengths
My elliptical trainer for those times it’s too cold to get out of the house
A good hot shower after a hearty workout
A warm cozy room that serves as office and studio
Strong, hot black coffee in the wee morning hours when it’s still dark outside
My G-d who speaks in a still small voice during those quiet times
Abundance of healthy foods
A sense of humor, the ability to laugh at myself
My friends and family who’ll laugh at me if I don’t.
My synagogue
My dancing friends on our synagogue dance team
My rabbi, who knows the value of a good pun
My blogging friends
The internet and Skype friends around the globe
The ability to make people happy with my writing and art – I say this with gratitude for the feedback from others
My 6-speed Chevy Cruz that’s paid for
No longer having to punch a clock and the privilege of doing what I dreamed of doing as a child, ie being a professional artist
Some successful book signings and art fairs.
A growing number of art commissions.
Books to read and lose myself in
Music, all kinds (I won’t deny it, I love classical…particularly Chopin).
Being able to read and write Hebrew (more or less)
Taking time to enjoy the quiet
Good paintbrushes
My computers: desktop and laptop
Legs that still work
Smelling fragrances and odors, it means my olfactories works
The color PURPLE
Other colors beside purple 😉
The fresh smell after a rainstorm
Flowers, Daffodils being my favorite
My muse who tells me stories when I least expect it
My spinning mind that decides to go into overdrive when I want to sleep.
A good Chardonnay or Sauvignon Blanc
Gluten free pasta so I don’t feel deprived
Ozarks Writers League – OWL
All of my Wisoff cousins I never knew I had until we discovered each other online
Friends I’ve known since early childhood. It’s a rare blessing to share pictures of grandchildren with the same ‘kids’ I used to play hopscotch with
“Mama, Jeffrey took my doll and hid it. Make him tell me where it is!”
“Tattletale!”
Frustrated by her children’s constant bickering, Sarah Tulschinsky stood and hurled her sewing basket to the floor. “Can’t you two play nice? Don’t you know how good you have it?”
Eyes wide, twins Jeffrey and Evalyne backed away from her. Sarah wished she could take back her harsh words. She had always made it a point never to raise her voice to them. After all they were only four. How could she expect them to understand?
While they were outside playing tag and climbing trees, the postman delivered a letter from Arel that had been lost for almost two months. His detailed account tore her heart into pieces.
Before she could explain to her son and daughter what had happened to those poor children in Kishinev, the front door opened. Wolf stepped over the threshold. Evalyne and Jeffrey raced to him. He scooped them up, one on each arm and spun them around.
“Papa, the lights comed back on today and we gots water, too!” Evalyne always had to be the first to share whatever she knew.
~~Taken from Please Say Kaddish for Me
________________
“Do you miss those boys and girls in Kishinev, Auntie?” Evalyne’s round eyes, brimming with curiosity, seemed to pop out of her slender face.
“Would you miss your nose if it fell off?” asked Havah.
Sarah held her finger to her lips. “Evie, you’ll wear Auntie out with your questions.” “How else will she learn? She can never ask me too many questions.”
Evalyne and Jeffrey Tulschinsky are Sarah and Wolf’s twin children. In the excerpt from Please Say Kaddish for Me they are five years old when Sarah receives a lost letter from Arel telling her about the Kishinev pogrom.
The excerpt from From Silt and Ashes takes place a few months later, after Arel and Havah have settled in Kansas City.
Evalyne is the more outgoing of the two children. Although Havah loves both children, she is drawn to the precocious little girl who is constantly asking questions.
Evalyne (author’s mother) and Norman Weiner on their 15th birthday.
Sarah Tulschinsky, Arel’s older sister, fascinated Havah. Her crooked-toothed smile eclipsed her hollow cheeks. Skinny, with a thatch of kinky black hair and round eyes, she lacked Shayndel’s physical attributes.
Arel said he could not recall ever hearing Sarah raise her voice, until seven years ago. Always the dutiful daughter, she did whatever she was told until her father arranged for her to marry a man twice her age. With shrieks of rage that shocked everyone, she stuffed her few belongings into a carpetbag and left home. The few kopeks she had scrimped together from mending clothes paid her passage to America.
Amid stench and disease in the ship’s steerage, she met her beloved Wolf. Married soon after their arrival in New York, they followed their dreams to Kansas City where they lived in a flea-infested shack among the impoverished unwashed in a settlement known as McClure Flats. Side-by-side, she and Wolf established his tailor shop. Within two years, they saved enough money to move from the slums into a two-story home.
~~Taken from From Silt and Ashes by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
Sarah Tulschinsky is a gentle presence in both Please Say Kaddish for Me and From Silt and Ashes. In the first book the family in Svechka looks forward to her letters telling of her life in America. Although Yussel, who feels that he drove her away, wrestles with his guilt and worries that she hasn’t forgiven him.
Sarah is the first to welcome Havah to Kansas City. However, when she sees how Yussel dotes on Havah, she feels twinges of jealousy. In the end a close bond forms between the two women.
We are a growing community of blogging writers who come together each week from all parts of the globe to share individual flash fictions from a single photo prompt. The prompt goes up early Wednesday morning CST to give each writer time to compose a story by Friday. Some use the photo as a mere inspiration while others use it as an illustration. Use your imagination and think outside the box.
WARNING! This is an addiction for which there is no 12 step recovery program.
THE CHALLENGE:
Write a one hundred word story that has a beginning, middle and end. (No one will be ostracized for going over or under the word 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 FICTION.
Make note in your blog if you’d prefer not to have constructive criticism.
EXERCISE DISCRETION AT ALL TIMES WHEN COMMENTING ON A STORY! BE RESPECTFUL. THIS IS NOT THE TIME OR PLACE PLACE TO PROMOTE POLITICAL OR RELIGIOUS VIEWS. IF YOU HAVE SEVERE OR HOSTILE DIFFERENCES OF OPINION WITH ANOTHER PERSON PLEASE TAKE IT TO EMAIL OR ANOTHER METHOD OF PRIVATE MESSAGING.
Should you find that you’ve made an error you can delete by clicking the little red ‘x’ that should appear under your icon. Then re-enter your URL. (If there’s no red x email me at Runtshell@aol.com. I can delete the wrong link for you).
Thanks to Blogspot bloggers for disabling their CAPTCHAs.
The photo this week is mine. It’s a still life of “stuff” that I used as a model for a watercolor which is the book cover of my short story anthology, THIS, THAT AND SOMETIMES THE OTHER that debuted in November 2011.You can find it in the right hand margin of this blog. 😉 In any case I’m interested to see how many stories it will inspire this week.
This week my story is not so much fiction as autobiography. My maternal grandfather came to America in 1903, as my mom was fond of saying, with nothing but the clothes on his back. After coming through Ellis Island, he slept under park benches in Central Park and eventually hitchhiked to the Midwest. At least this is the story I’ve gleaned from my mother and cousins. Grandpa wasn’t a warm fuzzy person and it’s only been the past few years through research for my novel that takes place in turn of the 20th century Eastern Europe that I’ve drawn some conclusions. They may or may not be accurate but I’ll never know because I was too afraid of him to ask.
Click here to learn about the world from which my ancestors escaped.
Genre: Memoir
SUNRISE, SUNSET
Every Sunday my mother dragged me to my grandfather’s house. She said I should get to know him, learn from him. After all he’d survived Russia’s pogroms. My family history.
But I asked no questions. He offered no stories.
One week mom took a vinyl copy of Fiddler on the Roof for him to hear. His timeworn torso sank into his recliner as he listened to Tevye the milkman sing.
“If I were a rich man, yaba-deebee-deebee-bum.”
Forty years later I still remember how my austere grandfather’s granite-hard eyes transformed to liquid quartz.
Ready or not, here it comes the holiday season is upon us and I’m not at all prepared. On the upside this is my sixth week as facilitator for this wonderful group of blogging authors.
As this page goes live it’s November 28, the dawn of my 41st wedding anniversary. (No. This isn’t this week’s photo prompt 😉 )
Now that you’ve oo’d and ah’d over my vintage wedding picture here are the “rules”:
Depending on your preference, leave your blog link in the comment section or use the linkz tool (or both ;)). My story follows for those who’d rather not read it before writing their own.
Please make sure your link works. If you find that you’ve made an error you can delete by clicking the little red ‘x’ that should appear under your icon. Then re-enter your URL. (If there’s no red x email me at Runtshell@aol.com. I can delete the wrong link for you).
If your blog requires multiple steps for visitors to leave comments, see if you can simplify it. Please, for the sake or our writerly nerves, disable CAPTCHA–that wavy line of unreadable letters and numbers. It’s frustrating to have to leave a DNA sample, your blood type and your shoe size just to make a comment. (So I exaggerate. But hopefully you get the picture).
Challenge yourself to keep stories to 100 words. (There’s no penalty for going over or under).
Make note in your blog if you’d prefer not to have constructive criticism.
Be kind in your comments to others. Exercise discretion.
Many thanks for all the well wishing on our anniversary. As always, Jan sent roses to the restaurant. I have to kvell. My husband’s an incurable romantic and hasn’t missed a November 28th in all these years.
Now without further adieu, here’s my story.
LAYAWAY
“One more cheesy rendition of Jingle Bells and I’m outta here.”
After seven hours of checking out surly customers on swollen feet Carla’s holiday spirit reached its lowest ebb. As she slammed her register drawer a burst of warm fluid soaked her pants.
An associate helped her to a pallet on the dressing room floor. Another called 911.
A hard contraction sent pain-waves through her spine. The paramedic spread her legs and shoved his hand between them.
“Ten centimeters.”
Carla pushed.
“It’s a boy!”
The overhead speakers blared with Burl Ives singing.
From left to right: Beth Carter, Jan Marler Morrill, Shirley McCann, Me, Madison Woods, Kent Bonham.
This weekend I attended the Ozarks Writers League, OWL for short, in Branson MO. There I had the pleasure of meeting some of our Fictioneers, including our founder Madison Woods. However I did miss Russell Gayer and Keli Wright who are both FF’rs and OWL members. (Congrats to both on being contest winners.)
Last week Ted Strutz took a trip to Hawaii and met Doug MacIlroy.
Both visits, one personal and one vicarious, thrill me. It makes me feel connected. I dream of a larger meeting one day, but for now we have the internet and shared stories.
Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple 