What Pegman Saw

All posts tagged What Pegman Saw

14 January 2022

Published January 12, 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.

PHOTO PROMPT © Bradley Harris

A few years ago I shared this story for a now defunct blog challenge called What Pegman Saw. It seems the appropriate time to share it again (in a shorter form 😉 ) RIP Mr. Poitier, you were a trailblazer, a great actor and an elegant human being.

Genre: Biographical Fiction
Word Count: 100


            “Tell me a story, Great-Grandpa.”

            “Shall I tell you the story of Cinderella.”

             “Tell me about when you were a boy in the Bahamas.”

            He gathered the child onto his lap. “We were poor. Didn’t have a telephone or electricity. But we had the bluest skies at our temples and the ocean at our feet.”

            “What did you do for fun?”

            “Climbed trees and went swimming almost every day. Why I didn’t even see a movie until I was twelve.”

            “And now you’re a movie star like Denzel Washington.”

            Sidney Poitier kissed his great-granddaughter. “Nah, I’m just an ordinary guy.”


9 July 2021

Published July 7, 2021 by rochellewisoff

For those who know our MIA FF’r Ted Strutz who suffered a stroke a while back, I wanted to share his progress.

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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 © Sandra Crook


A few might remember a longer version of this story I posted for “What Pegman Saw” in 2017. With the summer being as busy as it is, it seemed like a good time to share a rerun. 😉

Genre: Historical Fiction
Word Count: 100


“My dearest Jimmy,

Remember 1971? The year we came back from Vietnam. John Denver must’ve written his hit with you in mind.  

“‘Pineville, West Virginia,’ you whispered low and sweet. Your eyes shone like the stars over the Shenandoah River. You laughed. ‘Just a Podunk town in the middle of nowhere.’

Nonetheless, to you it was ’almost heaven’.”

Sharon tucked the note inside his guitar and leaned it against his headstone. “I kept my promise to meet you here, Jimmy.”

Forever she would carry his face in her heart and hear his last words, “Nurse, please don’t let me die.”


In this image provided by the U.S. Army, the 2nd Brigade was faced with a new problem at their Bien Hoa, Vietnam base: from Fort Rilay to Vietnam come the 93rd Evacuation Hospital complete with nurses on Dec. 19, 1965. The problem of getting a private shower for the girls fell to Company B 1st Engineer Battalion. In the interests of the health, welfare and cleanliness of the nurses, the men of Company B decided to give up their own air-conditioned shower. The dressing area of the shower was boarded up and the entrance-way closed off. An appropriate “Off Limits” sign was made and posted. (AP Photo/U.S. Army)

August 18, 1790

Published May 17, 2020 by rochellewisoff

Today Pegman travels to America’s smallest state, Rhode Island. As always, feel free to stroll around until you feel inspired to write up to 150 words. When you’re finished, post a link to your story on the InLinkz page to share with the other contributors. Remember that reading and commenting on the other stories is a big part of the fun!

Thanks to Josh and Karen for hosting the challenge. 

Click the frog to join the fun. 

With all the beautiful pictures of Providence on the Google maps menu, my research road took me about 39 miles south of Providence to Newport.

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 150

AUGUST 18, 1790

Twelve-year-old Jacob squirmed on the wooden seat between Papa and Grandpapa Aaron. The warm August breeze through the synagogue’s open windows made him sleepy. “Why must we be here today? It’s not Shabbat.”

            His grandfather patted his knee. “I came to this country when I was your age, you know.”

           “Yes, Grandpapa.” Jacob rolled his eyes. How many times had he heard how his grandfather came to the colony of Newport, Rhode Island to escape oppression in Brazil? “I know.”

           “What you don’t know,” Grandfather pointed to a tall man sitting in the seat of honor, “is today is the day you’ll remember for the rest of your life.”

            Twenty years later, Jacob held his son on his lap. “I will never forget the day President Washington spoke at Jeshuat Israel and said these words, ‘The government of the United States gives to bigotry no sanction, to persecution, no assistance.’”



Nu? How could I resist the first synagogue in America. Established in 1763? (Guess you could call that providence. 😉 )

Click to know more

Paradise Misplaced

Published May 2, 2020 by rochellewisoff

Today Pegman ventures to the Dominican Republic. The island is rich in culture and heritage, chock full of wonderful possibilities for the alert storyteller. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to wander around until you find something that inspires you to write up to 150 words, then link your post using the blue frog below. Remember that reading and commenting on fellow contributors’ work is part of the experience.

Do your best, and have fun! Thanks to Josh and Karen for hosting.

Genre: Fiction (probably someone’s reality)

Word Count: 150

This story stands alone, but is also a sequel to my Friday Fictioneers offering this week. Couldn’t help following Mr. and Mrs.Hap 😉


Basking in the ocean breeze, Gretchen stood on the balcony of their hotel suite gazing at the clear blue Caribbean waters. Although her marriage to Jared had a rocky beginning with him blowing a rod on the way to their wedding, she had no doubt the honeymoon would be perfect.

“La Rupiblica Dominica. I can’t wait to swim. I’m glad I took español in school. Didja notice how the waiter smiled when I ordered our dinner in his language?”

Behind her, Jared playfully nibbled her neck “That chicken dish was scrumptious but not as tasty as my bride.”

Gretchen’s stomach gurgled. “Speaking of food.”

“You’re looking a little green, darlin. I’ll go buy some 7-Up to settle your tummy.”

A cramp seized her. The floor tilted as she made a mad dash to the commode.

In the other room, Jared slammed drawers and wailed. “Hells bells, someone’s nabbed my wallet!”  


*Note here’s a LINK to the story I wrote when Pegman visited the Dominican Republic two years ago. I almost reposted and then decided not to.

Mount Sinai

Published April 26, 2020 by rochellewisoff

Today Pegman ventures to Kilimanjaro in Tanzania, Africa.  Feel free to stroll around using the Street View or Photo Spheres until you find something that inspires you to write 150 words, then click the frog below and share your work with fellow contributors. Remember that reading and commenting on others’ work is part of the fun.

Thanks to Josh and Karen for hosting the challenge. 

Genre: Factual Fiction

Word Count: 150

Yep. If they’re there I’ll find them. 😉 


I’ve come to Tanzania from Canada to deliver a Torah scroll to a remote congregation. “Why not?” I said when asked if I’d like to go. “I’ve never been to Africa.”

Jelani’s dark cheeks glisten, “I was a child when Idi Amin’s henchmen destroyed our synagogue. My father wept. On his deathbed he grasped my hand and said, ‘Son promise me you will never forget who you are.” The sunlight outlines the golden star of David he wears around his neck.

The Torah is processed around the small synagogue. As it passes by, Jelani touches the scroll with the fringes hanging from his belt, then brings them to his lips with such reverence I weep.

Shivers surge through me as Yehuda Kahalani leads the kabballat Shabbat in an African chant. My pulse races. I add my voice to familiar prayers and songs. We are different. The words are the same.  




Click here to learn more of the actual story that fueled my fiction. 


Published April 18, 2020 by rochellewisoff

Today Pegman travels to Roscanvel, Brittany. Your mission is to wander around using Google Street View until you find something that inspires you to write up to 150 words. When you’re satisfied, post a link to the InLinz site and share it with your fellow writers. Remember that reading and commenting on other posts is part of the experience.

Thanks to Josh and Karen for hosting What Pegman Saw. 😀

Click to the dancing frog to participate

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 150


The September breeze ruffled Paul’s hair as he paced the perimeter of the stone cottage, contemplating his losses.  

“It is poetry, this place. Nothing like cruel Paris,” he’d told his companion and their two sons. “The clairvoyant was right. We will flourish here. Here we laugh, we cry; here we live, we die like legends.”

An infant’s squall rousted him from his musings. He hurried toward the sound. Entering the bedroom, he found his children’s mother cradling a newborn. She flashed a weary, yet jubilant smile. “Paul, say hello to your daughter.”

La perfection!” Taking the little one in his arms, he marveled at her delicate features. “Created by the angels, sent by God. I shall call her Divine. What do you think?”

Almost as if she understood, Divine grasped his finger. He thrilled to her touch. “I am your father, Saint-Pol-Roux le magnifique. Ma princesse. Welcome to Divine’s Cottage.”

Poet Saint-Pol-Roux

Divine’s Cottage


Published April 11, 2020 by rochellewisoff

Today Pegman takes a trip back to the old country, Polanczyk Poland. As always, your mission is to roam around using Google Street View until you find something that inspires you to write up to 150 words, then share your finished work with the other prompt participants. Remember that reading and commenting is part of the experience!

Do your best, and have fun!

Click the frog to join the other prompt participants! 

Thanks to Josh and Karen for the challenge!

What can I say? It’s Poland and Passover. חג פסח שמח to those who celebrate.

Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 150


Bubbeh Sylvia’s silver-white hair gleams in the candlelight. Her eyes are sparkling blue clouds and her withered cheeks glow. “Papa loved it here. At night he took us for moonlight boat rides on Lake Solina.”

            At her insistence, we’ve come to Poland so she can see her homeland one last time. After days touring the gorgeous countryside, we settle in to celebrate Passover with her brother Vladek, who bought the house from Jan Buszko and built a resort in Polanczk after the war.

            “Remember how excited you were when you caught your first fish, Sylvie?” He chuckles.

            I add a fifth question to the traditional four. “Uncle Vlad, why are we celebrating in this musty old cellar instead of your dining room.”

            Tears do not dim his smile. “Where else, bubbeleh? For in this very cellar Adonai used the Buszkos to deliver us from the most despicable pharaoh of all.”


              *Hallel, part of the Passover celebration, means Praise 

              *Bubbeleh is a Yiddish term of endearment. 

Click here for a 7 minute explanation of the meaning of the Passover Seder from Mayim Byalik 


Published April 5, 2020 by rochellewisoff

Today Pegman heads west to the quaintly-named Happy Jack, Arizona. Your mission as always is to use the photosphere/street view part of Google Maps to wander around and find something that inspires you to write up to 150 words, then post your work to the InLinkz below. Reading and commenting on other stories is part of the experience, so you won’t want to miss out! Do you best, and have fun!

inlinkz frog

I didn’t really have a clue until this morning what to write. On the other hand, I needed a diversion and it’s not like I have anywhere special to go. Many thanks to Josh and Karen (Good to see you back!) for hosting the challenge. 

Such a peaceful setting. I would love to be there right now.

Genre: Historical Fiction

(I imagine this to take place before the Conquistadors. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. 😉 )

Word Count: 150


During her eighteenth summer Sicheii told Johona he had given her to Kai, a man from another Diné clan. In her anger, she stomped her feet and wailed, beating the air with her fists. “I don’t want a man.”

“My decision is made. Kai is a dependable man,” her grandfather told her. “He will give you a home and many children.”

The Spirit had not blessed Kai with good looks. His nose was too big and his eyebrows too thick. Johona wept bitterly on their marriage night and refused to share her bed with him.

Kai did not force her.  “My hogan is yours. I’ll wait. “He flashed a crooked-toothed smile.

Two summers later, Johona gave thanks to Mother Earth at the ceremony celebrating her son’s first laugh. She rested her head on Kai’s broad chest.

“This child brings joy!” Sicheii proclaimed

“And,” Johona beamed, “he’s handsome like his father.”

*Sicheii is Navajo for Grandfather

Parents, remember your baby’s first laugh? What a sweet sound. Imagine a ceremony to celebrate it? How beautiful is that? When I read about it, I had to write about it. 😀


Let Your Light Shine

Published March 16, 2020 by rochellewisoff

Today Pegman finds himself in the once-great forests of Minnesota in the American Midwest.  Your mission is to wander around using the google photosphere until something inspires you to write 150 words. When you’re satisfied, post your link to this week’s InLinkz site to share with your fellow participants. Remember, reading and commenting on other stories is part of the fun.

Have a good time, and do your best!

inlinkz frog

Thanks to Josh for keeping the lamps lit and the wicks trimmed. 

My research trail set my feet firmly in Split Rock Lighthouse. Keep your hands clean and sanitized. Be well and enjoy the read. 😉

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 150


“G.T. did I ever tell you about the time a sea monster came up out of Lake Superior.”

The boy’s eyes grew round as wagon wheels. “Really?”

“Holy oh jumpin’ up and down mackinaw city bobcat rooster! Big as a cockingaway.”

Tom Hassing raised his hands over his head for emphasis. “Would I lie?”

“There’s no such thing as cockingways, Grandpa.” G.T.’s sister Terry giggled. “He’s just making it up, isn’t he, Grandma?”

Anna tugged Terry’s ponytail. “It’s all those hours in the tower keeping the lamp burning so ships don’t get lost in the night.”

Despite the years of isolation between the 1930’s and 40’s she never lacked for entertainment with her lighthouse keeper. How he loved telling tales, first to their two children and now to their daughter’s children.

Anna took a pan of sticky buns from the oven, basking in the yeasty, fresh-baked cinnamon aroma and laughter.


Assistant keeper Tom Hassing came to Split Rock light station for a half-season in 1933, returned in 1938 and stayed there with his wife, Anna, until he retired in 1953. During these years, the posting was year-round and they lived there with their children, Evelyn and Harry. Later, after she was married, Evelyn Hassing Amell’s son and daughter, Tom and Terry, would spend time with their grandfather at the light. My story is based on an interview with grandson Tom, called G.T.  


Published March 9, 2020 by rochellewisoff

Today Pegman hitches up his camel for a trip deep into the Saudi Arabian desert, an oasis known as Wadi ad-Dawasir. There is no street view, but more than a few photospheres. Feel free to wander until you find something that appeals to you, then write up to 150 words about it. Sharing, reading, and commenting is the meat of a photo prompt, so please participate. If you enjoy yourself, please encourage others to join this community.

Thanks for playing, and do your best! Thanks to Josh for hosting.

To read other stories, click here.

Two weeks in a row for me. 😉 I debated over this one. But being one day after International Women’s Day, it seems right to speak out for women who have no voice. 

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 150


We met in Toronto Pearson airport, where Clemira sought asylum. Her dark eyes broke my heart. She grasped my hands in both of hers. “Thank you for your help.”

Two years before I myself fled Saudi Arabia after my father killed my sister for going out in public without her Hajib. He poured acid on her while she slept. In my dreams I still hear her screams.

“I will do whatever I can.” I kissed Clemira’s scarred cheek. “How did you manage to escape?”

“The new law enabling women to drive saved me.” The plucky seventeen-year-old mother of three squared her shoulders. “My passport is up to date from our vacation. My brother—a rare sympathetic man—bought my ticket. I packed my things while Akbar slept. Then I took the car and drove to the airport.”

“Aren’t you worried about your children?”

“Akbar won’t beat them. They are boys.”


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