Inside the Mind of Isadora


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Friday Fictioneers – Auntie Helga Visits

Honestly, this conversation is over.

Why, Miranda, why?

Because it’s my room and I’ll keep it whatever way I wish.

But Auntie Helga will be staying in your room while she visits.

And, your point?

Well, Auntie needs space to do her scrapbooking. You know how much she enjoys her hobby. She needs space.

If I tidy up, I’ll never find my stuff again. I’m a writer; we need our itty bits of paper, post-its, and books to complete our stories. Besides, Aunt Helga will only be here a week.

I guess you’re right. Okay, let’s watch a movie.

2022©Isadora DeLaVega

 

Genre: Flash Fiction

Word Count: 100

photo prompt©Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

 

To join Rochelle and her Friday Fictioneers Photo challenge

click here


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WDYS – Remember & Return to Me

#WhatDoYouSee

Who are You?

I see you in the broken mirrored glass.

My eyes express my fragmented edges. 

Where has the very rational, 

patient, and very curious person gone?

My desire to learn and meet new challenges is gone. 

He will return after the world settles again.

Our freedoms are stolen because, in war, there isn’t a choice. 

Our life’s emotions are destroyed and stripped away, separating us.

Remember and return to me. 

2022©Isadora Delavega

 

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For Sadje’s ‘What Do You See’ Challenge 

to join in click here

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                                                           Image credit: Amine M’Siouri @ Pexels

 

 


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Friday Fictioneers – Make Magic Happen

The funeral was exactly the way my grandmother wanted.

She pre-paid and planned it all before she died.

Always the forward-thinking woman, no one would be able to leave any details out.

The rose garden was to be her final resting place.

She’d say, “Where else would I want to be? These roses have helped me create beautiful paintings that will live on in the homes of many long after I’m gone.”

Her garden was magical. She could grow colorful varieties.

I’m sure she’s looking down at us and saying, “Pick up a paintbrush and make magic happen.”

2022©Isadora DeLaVega

 

Genre: Flash Fiction

Word Count: 100

photo prompt©Dale Rogerson

 

To join Rochelle and her Friday Fictioneers Photo challenge

click here


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Crimson Creative Challenge – The Lost Tour

It is impotant that we forgive ourselves for making mistakes.

We need to learn from our errors and move on … ©anonymous

When the ship docked, we disembarked and signaled the cab that would be taking us to the pyramids.

It was a two-hour ride to Chichen Itza, the Temple of the Kukulcan, the archeological site.

Our friends had advised us to skip the costly ships tour and opt for a cab instead. We would be there with the same people we had been sailing with but for less money. Herbert was frugal about spending money, he thought it was a good idea. 

The driver, who spoke little English, took us down unexpected bumpy unpaved roads. We barely spoke more than a few sentences in Spanish. 

He said he had driven to Chichen Itza many times. We had our doubts. It was 2 1/2 hours since we departed the pier. Oh my, would the headlines read:

“Lost tourists, eaten by wild animals at dusk.” 

Eventually, our driver seemed less confident about where he was going. He thought he had made a wrong turn. I guess that’s why the road was unpaved. 

Frustrated, he found a road that led to his home. It was an old wooden shack in dire need of repair, and you might say dilapidated. 

Although fearful, we exited the car and met his mother, sister, and brother-in-law. They welcomed us with huge smiles. Their children played on dirt floors while a baby slept in a hammock. They insisted we sit and eat something. 

It was a pleasant visit. We learned a lot about their Mayan customs and cultural traditions. 

We never made it to the pyramids. But, we arrived back at our ship with more knowledge about the Mayan people than we would have on a pricier tour.

Sometimes, a mishap can turn into a beautiful experience.

2022©Isadora DeLaVega

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Crimson Creative Challenge – #182

to join in click here


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Friday Fictioneers – Pierre’s Tulip Garden 

She was waiting for Pierre in the garden. He’d gone to get some wine for their moonlight stargazing tonight. He was always very romantic.

The floral scents engulfed her as she walked among the many

prize-winning tulips.

There were many varieties. Pierre was proud of his green thumb. 

Turning, she saw him running towards her. 

“Mona! My precious flowerThe love of my life.”

Finally, he said it. 

“Oh, Pierre!

Mona, my flower!”

Oh, Pierre! I love you too!

Pierre reached her. He knelt and moved her foot aside.

“My flower!” “You were standing on my prize-winning flower.

2022©Isadora DeLaVega

Genre: Flash Fiction

Word Count: 100

Photo Prompt:©Na’ama Yehuda

To join Rochelle and her Friday Fictioneers challenge

click here

*****Do to alot of out of state visitors, I’ve edited an oldie but somewhat goodie from a FF 2017 story that goes well with this pix. Ejoy 😎 🌸 😍


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Sister’s Forever

Is solace, anywhere, more comforting than in the arms of a sister©AliceWalker

Image© Ben White@Unsplash

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Great joy within my heart

for upon the trees

The blossoms spring

titanium white and crimson gold

The azure sky

The sun’s splendid glow

Divinely lit and encapsulates 

my sanctuary 

A world that takes me to another place

A beautiful painting of simplicity and grace

Transparent, connected forever 

Warm and joyous to my heart. 

2022©Isadora DeLaVega

For Sadje’s ‘What Do You See” # 131 Challenge 

to join in click here


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Learning to Swim

Summer is freedom for a child. Your school vacation begins.

No more homework, no more tests, and no more uniforms. I attended

Catholic school, wearing shorts and t-shirts was a respite from formality.

My family lived in an area of three-story brownstones in Brooklyn, N.Y. Pools weren’t anywhere in my neighborhood. There was a pool within a twenty-five minute bus ride. We never went there.

Sunday was our beach day in the summer. My father loved the beach. 

Despite our no school discipline, he had a routine we had to follow.

We still attended mass on Saturday.

Sunday, we’d awake at 6:00 a.m., get dressed, grab our towels, pails, and shovels and be in the car at 7:00 a.m. It was an hour’s drive to Staten Island on a ferry. It was such fun to get out of the car and lean on the railing, feeling the ocean’s mist on my face. 

Once we arrived at the beach, we all had items to carry to the water’s edge. My father cooked potato salad and fried chicken the night before. He was a cook in the army. He enjoyed cooking on the weekends. I was learning how to cook from him at age 5. 

My task at the beach was to take care of my younger disabled brother. He was five years old, and I was ten. I’d collect shells with him and build things in the sand.

One Sunday, my father decided to teach all of us to swim. We watched him from the shore. He looked like a dolphin. I was apprehensive even though it looked like fun. It was my turn. He picked me up and took me way, way out. Eventually, he dropped me in the water. 

Gurgle, Gurgle, Gurgle,

I swallowed water, flailed my arms, and thought I would drown.

After an eternity, my father picked me back up and walked me to shore. I cried and cried and cried. I was inconsolable. I never went in the water again. The sandy seashore was my safe place from that day forward. 

I never did learn to swim, but I do doggie paddle in my pool. Many have tried to teach me, but my fear still lingers from that day. When my children could walk, I took them for swimming lessons. They’re all great swimmers, and one is Red Cross certified. I knew how much they would enjoy the beach, pool, and boating if they learned how to swim. 

Learning to Swim never happened for me.

2022©Isadora DeLaVega

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Throw Back Thursday  April 14, 2022 # 34 – Learning to Swim

for info on how to join in this challenge 

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Friday Fictioneers – Forever All Alone

Darkness covers me like a blanket

Shadows surround my thoughts

My arms wrap tightly around me

Deserted, no one home

You keep me isolated 

My only friend, just you

Smiles ne’er intrude our space

With you, I’m safe and whole

The thorns of my emotions

Keep rising from deep inside

Always in your shadows

Always in your arms

I cannot see the rose

Only thorns of pain

Madness all around me

It keeps me huddled tight

Tomorrow won’t be different

It will always be the same

Fear keeps me shaking

My spirit is tattered, worn

Darkness gives me comfort

Forever, all alone

2022©Isadora DeLaVega

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Genre:Flash Fiction

Word Count: 102

Photo Prompt:©Dale Rogerson

To join Rochelle and her Friday Fictioneers challenge

click here

*****A similar photo by Ted Strutz was posted on Friday Fictioneers back in 2017. I wrote this poem for that image. I didn’t get many views or comments. I thought  I’d edit it a bit and add it to this photograph by Dale Rogerson. Sorry about the two extra words.

Enjoy … Happy Easter Everyone 🌸 😍 🐣 🐰 🌸


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Cafe Chat – Chivalry Lost

Welcome … grab a cup of coffee, hot chocolate or herb tea. 
Now, sit in a comfy chair and let’s chat.

What is chivalry?

Answer: it’s the combination of qualities expected of an ideal knight, especially courage, honor, courtesy, justice, and a readiness to help the weak.©dictionary

Readiness to help the weak is no more. Let me unveil the tale.

Several weeks ago, while waiting for a table on the patio of one of my favorite Italian restaurants, hubby and I sat chatting and feeling free that the mask mandates were lifting. It was a pleasant evening to be outdoors. You can order drinks, but there is no outdoor service. Mama’s is a popular restaurant with delicious food. There’s a crowd. Everyone is chatting, laughing, and enjoying the wonderful feeling of being able to be out and about. 

The wait is short, our names are called, and off we go to meet the hostess. 

 Due to my compromised immune system, I wasn’t confident to go mask-less. So, I put my mask on as I approached the young lady at the entrance. When I got to the doorway, my toe from my sneaker caught the edge of their entrance doormat. 

Down … Down … Down … I went. I was flat on my side with an outstretched arm, bent leg, and my head right on the indoor mat. 

Plop … Plop … Plop 

I lay there on the ground for what seemed like a month, but it was only a few seconds. Hubby grabbed my arm to help me up, but I was like jello. My body wouldn’t respond to what I wanted it to do. 

 Eventually, I begin to focus and grasp that I’ve fallen when a man with a pizza box in hand steps over me on his way out of the restaurant. 

The man did not bother to ask if he could help, nor did the other patrons out on the patio. Actually, he said, “Welcome!” as he continued on his way.

WHAT???

Hubby picked me up, and we walked to our table. The owners of the restaurant came over to ask if I was okay. I felt shaky and embarrassed. I was mad at myself for putting the mask on while walking. I think it impeded my visual concept of space. I haven’t worn a mask since. I much prefer COVID to a fall. 

Now, let’s not get angry about my mask rebellion. I’ve been wearing a mask from the very beginning of the pandemic. I continue to support wearing maks. I’ve had COVID twice. I know it’s no walk in the park. It’s a horrific illness, and I am not ready for a third Covid event. 

But, falling at my age is a big problem. I have osteoporosis which means my bones are thin, thin, thin. I have bad knees too. I did fall on the side of my body. My injuries are bruising, some headaches, swelling, and overall body aches. 

Despite these symptoms, the most painful thing is knowing that we are no longer willing to help someone who can’t help themselves. 

There’s no ‘Readiness to help the Weak’

2022©Isadora De La Vega

*****the photograph above is of my daughter. She works in Hospice care. This is what they wear in their office. The mask they wear with patients involves a lot more covering.