One Swell Foop

Published June 23, 2021 by rochellewisoff

It’s me again. Double dipping. When you read you might understand why. Nothing fictitious about this story…sigh.

Genre: Hysterical Faction
Word Count: 100

ONE SWELL FOOP

My husband and I raised our purple canopy for the weekly farmer’s market. A breeze cooled my back. “At least it’s not as hot as last Tuesday.

Jan mopped sweat from his eyes. “Still warm and windy, though. Wish we’d brought weights to hold this thing down.”

Then, he stood back and admired our handiwork—gridwalls loaded with framed works, tables full of books, notecards, and prints. “Nicest setup here.”

Perching on my purple chair, I posted pictures and greetings to Facebook and awaited prospective customers. Suddenly a strong gust upended my tent. How quickly triumph can turn to tragedy.

To my honey who puts his heart and soul into the setup to make me look good. Note the gridwall. Some of those frames bit the dust, but the artwork is intact.

We still carried on without shade. Next week will be better, right? New tent in transit. Plan B in progress. 😀

To View my artwork CLICK

14 February 2020

Published February 12, 2020 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.

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Click the Frogs (who aren’t blue) to Hop Along

Genre: Histrionic Fiction

Word Count: 100

OVERDOSE

It’s an icy Missouri day that makes me want to swaddle myself in flannel, sip hot chocolate and watch ancient black and whites.

I flip through the channels. There. “Mr. Deeds Goes to Town. Love me some Gary Cooper.” I settle in.

All at once, one of my favorite movie moments where Longfellow Deeds expresses his admiration for Mary Dawson is interrupted by a drug advertisement. An adorable toddler chases after an irresistible puppy while the announcer rattles off the possibly fatal side effects.

Aromatase inhibitors? Sulfonylureas? Cosentix? Eliquis? Methotrexate?

I’d walk a mile for an old fashion cigarette commercial.

*Note: I don’t know if this is a United States only lament but it seems there’s a new drug on the market every day. It’s not like we can go to the local pharmacy and get these without a prescription so I don’t know why we’re bombarded with annoying advertisements.

CLICK HERE for more info

7 February 2020

Published February 5, 2020 by rochellewisoff

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PHOTO PROMPT © Ulrika Undén

For a good time, click the frog!

Genre: Nothing but the Truth

Word Count: 100

THE LITTLE OLD LADY FROM PASADENA

Growing up during the Great Depression, did Maurine Kornfeld figure she’d have already climbed the stairway to Heaven by the year 2020?

Like many Americans she retired at age 65. Although she never cared for swimming as a youngster, she joined a Masters Swim group at the YMCA to stay fit. Setting her first record at age 90, she was recently inducted into the International Masters Swimming Hall of Fame.

When asked her secret, she replied, eyes twinkling. “If you can’t outswim them, outlive them.”

“Mighty Mo” is my new hero. I want to be her when I grow up.

*

CLICK HERE to meet Mighty Mo

27 September 2019

Published September 25, 2019 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.

PHOTO PROMPT © Na’ama Yehuda

Frog delightfully rendered by Keith Hillman

Genre: Hysterical Friction

Word Count: 100

CRY OR LAUGH?

Despite prognosticators’ predictions for probable precipitation, we preferred not to pass up a potentially profitable fair.

Although overcast, no rain befell us Saturday morning. Excited energy prevailed over the park full of local artists whose crafts ranged from jewelry and ceramics to paintings and photography.

Patrons crowded my tent.

“Beautiful work.

“Magnificent watercolor technique.”

Sprinkles gave way to downpour. The crowds dispersed.

We did our best to shield my vulnerable artwork.

Sales from a few bedraggled diehards kept the day from being a total bust.

I shrugged and grinned at my damp-around-the-edges husband. “Not exactly our finest hour, is it?”

***

The rain was quite heavy at times. The tent next to ours collapsed on the artists and their ceramics. The park was a virtual swamp. Although some came back for day 2 on Sunday, many of us did not. Below are a few pictures of the ill-fated event.

PHOTOGRAPHS AND MEMORIES

Published February 10, 2019 by rochellewisoff

This week Karen has invited us to take a cruise to the British Virgin Islands for WHAT PEGMAN SAW. As I’ve been in quite the reflective mood lately, I’m sharing a memory. Here in the frozen Midwest the skies have been dreary and the roads icy. A trip to a tropical island is just the ticket for this sleety Sunday morning.

St. Thomas © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Genre: Memoir

Word Count: 150

St. Thomas © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

PHOTOGRAPHS AND MEMORIES

Lush hills and tree-studded mountains surround St. Thomas like an imperial crown. Is it any wonder my son and his bride fell in love with the area? They exchanged their vows there and invited their parents to share the honeymoon.

Later, my son told me they had planned to have the ceremony on a mountaintop so his mother wouldn’t be tempted to swim away. Who would do something so utterly rude on such a grand occasion?

However nothing compared to the thrill of snorkeling along the underwater nature trail in Magen’s Bay in St. Thomas or exploring Water Lemon Cay in St. John.

I feasted my gaze on purple fan coral, yellow tangs and crimson starfish. As water takes on the shape of its container, I took on the shape of the water in an indescribable oneness. Unfettered by the mundane, I embraced the sea and it welcomed me home.

“When we’re in the water, we’re not of this world.”
……Gertrude Ederle

17 August 2018

Published August 15, 2018 by rochellewisoff

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As always, please be considerate of your fellow Fictioneers and keep your stories to 100 words. (Title is not included in the word count.) Many thanks.

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.

PHOTO PROMPT © Yvette Prior

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Genre: Histrionic Faction

Word Count: 100

UNLUCKY STRIKE

Remember how commercials bombarded us with catchy slogans?

“I’d rather fight than switch.”

“Winston tastes good, like a cigarette should.”

Serling delivered his famous Twilight Zone intros while wisps of smoke framed his face.

During his renowned interviews in the 1950’s, Mike Wallace brandished his ubiquitous coffin nail.

I coughed. “I wish you’d quit smoking those nasty things, Mommy.”

Taking a long drag, she covered a burn hole in her skirt with a daisy applique. “I need them to calm my nerves.”

She finally quit in 1980—just a year before lung cancer claimed her.

“Were they worth it, Mom?”

These little goodies came on the back Raleigh cigarettes. You could save them and buy all kinds of things, from jewelry to appliances. We used to joke that Mom would use hers for an iron lung. Somehow that’s not as funny as it used to be.

11 May 2018

Published May 9, 2018 by rochellewisoff

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PHOTO PROMPT ©Jill Wisoff

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Genre: Memoir

Word Count: 100

The story you are about to read is true. No names have been changed to protect the guilty.

FAMILY TIES

“Wise-off?”

“No. ‘Wiss-off.’ It’s a short ‘i’.”

Very few can pronounce it correctly on the first try. We were the only Wisoffs in Kansas City—probably the world. Talk about feeling like the odd one out.

“Your great-grandparents who came over from Lithuania with 7 children shortened Wissosky,” said Dad. “There are plenty more little Wisoffs running around back east.”

In 1999 thanks to AOL, I met Jill Wisoff who lives in New York City.

Say what you will about the evils of social media, but thanks to my unique surname, I don’t need DNA to find relatives on Facebook.

Click to hear and see a recent reading I did. Sight, sound and four flash fictions.

HOMEWORK

Published January 20, 2018 by rochellewisoff

This week Pegman takes us to Haiti’s neighbor, the Dominican Republic, in the central Caribbean. Feel free to use the crazy capture I posted, or find your own photo sphere anywhere within the country’s borders.

Your assignment is to produce 150 words (or less) inspired by this week’s location. Will it be fiction? Essay? Poetry? The only limit is your imagination. After you’ve polished your piece, you can share it with other participants at the link up:

I’m back after being MIA last week and probably will be a few more times. However, when I saw Dominican Republic in my inbox I was hooked.

Genre: Memoir

Word Count: 150

HOMEWORK

There’s a special place in my heart for the Dominican Republic. However, not in the way one might think. I’ve never played on the sandy beaches of Santo Domingo nor lounged under its palm trees beside the Caribbean Sea.

From 1964-65 I was in 6^th grade. Our teacher, Mrs. Humo, assigned each student a country to study for the entire school year. This included keeping track of current events.

Those lucky ducks given Laos and Vietnam, as you might imagine, had much to report and clipped tons of newspaper articles. Not so for the hapless girl assigned the República Dominicana.

I diligently studied, drew detailed maps and combed the Kansas City Star for any news of my tiny tropical island. Nada.

The following spring, after I’d moved on to the trials of junior high, revolution broke out. The Dominican Republic headlined the news. What? They couldn’t have revolted last year?

30 June 2017

Published June 28, 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.

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Genre: Memoir

Word Count: 100

“I AM STILL ZVI.”

He smiled from his front seat on the bus. Zvi obviously enjoyed his job—introducing a group of dusty pilgrims to Eretz Yisra’el.

“The field on the left is 100% cotton. On the right—50% polyester.”

Looking beyond his twinkling eyes, one could see the depth of his faith and commitment to his ancient homeland. I only imagined what he experienced as an IDF soldier in 1967 for he avoided speaking of it.

Eleven years later I still hear his voice and his daily greeting.

“Today in Israel there is no rain, there is no snow. Don’t worry. Be happy.”

Zvi with his daughter Sarah, also a tour guide.

Shalom!

“Move, you dumb ass!” “Yes, dear.” With Cuzzin Kent.

Greetings from HaAretz – The Land

At the Wall

PRICELESS

Published June 19, 2017 by rochellewisoff

Today Pegman takes us to the Burj Khalifa in Dubai.

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.

Thanks to K Rawson and J Hardy Carroll for heading up this challenge, one that I can’t seem to avoid. 😉 I’m not even caught up on my Friday Fictioneers reading, commenting and replying.

The Gold Souk in Dubai

Genre: Memoir

Word Count: 150

PRICELESS

“Cash for your old gold,” boasted a reputable local jeweler.

He set up a table at the front of the grocery store where I worked as a cake designer. There he made his offer to employees and customers alike.

“Wish I had something to trade in, I could use the money,” said Maggie, my coworker. “You got anything?”

My husband is something of a jewelry junkie and bought some stunning gold pieces while stationed in Dubai during the Gulf War. Nothing I care to part with. My favorite is a simple heart ring, the symbol of storms we’ve weathered in our marriage.

“Nah, but I wonder what this is actually worth.”

Maggie took it and left the bakery. When she returned she tossed it on the counter. “It’s fake.”

Isn’t it sad that a “trained professional” didn’t recognize 24 carat gold?

Like my daddy used to say, “It’s always something.”

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