Inside the Mind of Isadora


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Weekend Humor

Party Hound©artist Al DeLaVega

 

Weekends used to be my downtime from social media.

During our current crisis, it has become media our way of communicating.

To enliven your spirits here is a silly joke.

If you have a post with something humorous, be sure to leave it in the comment area.

I’m always up for a laugh or two. I hope you are too.

LOLOL … Have a Happy Weekend 😎

 

There I was sitting at the bar staring at my drink when a large, trouble-making biker steps up next to me, grabs my drink and gulps it down in one swig.

“Well, what are you gonna do about it?” he says, menacingly, as I burst into tears.

“Come on, man,” the biker says, “I didn’t think you’d CRY. I can’t stand to see a man crying.”

“This is the worst day of my life,” I say.

“I’m a complete failure.

I was late for a meeting and my boss fired me.

When I went to the parking lot, I found my car had been stolen and I don’t have any insurance.

I left my wallet in the cab I took home.

I found my wife with another man … and … then my dog bit me.

“So I came to this bar to work up the courage to put an end to it all.

I buy a drink, I drop a capsule in and sit here watching the poison dissolve, and then you show up and drink the whole damn thing!”

But hell enough about me,  How are you doing?”

~~~~~~~

When we think things can’t get any worse, there’s always something lurking.

LOLOL … 😎


54 Comments

Friday Fictioneers – Foolish Games

“Quiet she’s walking this way,” Patricia whispered. 

Francesca approached cautiously. 

They huddled together excluding her.

Shelia chastised Patricia’s meanness. “Invite her!”

~~~~~

“Hey, Francesca, want to come to my party?”, Patricia asked, while handing her a paper.

An invite? She couldn’t believe it.

“Sure,” she said. “I’ll ask my Mom”.

~~~~~

“Please, Mom”. “Patricia is the popular girl.”

“Fine, one hour only.”

~~~~~

The instructions read: ‘Go 2 blocks passed the deli on Elm Street.’ Desperate, Francesca asked a passing older woman.

“No dear, there’s no Cherry Lane around here”.

A heavy rain began to fall, the perfect cover for a fools tears.

2019©Isadora DeLaVega

~~~~~

 

Genre: Flash Fiction
Word Count: 100
Photo Prompt: J.Hardy Carroll

To join Rochelle and her Friday Fictioneers challenge

click here

~~~~~

***** Bullying is the use of force, threat, exclusion or coercion to abuse, or intimidate aggressively toward others. The behavior is often repeated and habitual in an event to overpower another.

***** Although I attended a Catholic parochial school which should have made bullying null and void, it did not. As the only Latino child in an all anglo school, my ethnic difference provided a great deal for students to use against me. Bullying comes in many colors and ethnic backgrounds; perhaps, one day it will be erradicated.

 

 


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Sunday Song – I Hurt Too

art-angel-ps-man-on-lap-web

Poetry is a life-cherishing force.
For poems, are not words after all,
but fires for the cold,
ropes let down to the lost,
something as necessary
as bread in the pockets of the hungry.”
© Mary Oliver – A Poetry Handbook

I Hurt Too by Katie Herzig with lyrics

*****Google image

*****Rectify – Season 1


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Sunday Song – In the Arms of an Angel – Hallelujah

Anthony Bourdain dead @ 61 June 25, 1956 – June 8, 2018

Chef – writer – TV host

Photo’s and article by Variety

click here to read

If you or someone you know is considering suicide,

please contact the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-TALK (8255)

Kate Spade dead @ 55 December 24, 1962 – June 5, 2018

Fashion Designer

Photo’s and article by Variety

click here to read

If you or someone you know is considering suicide,

please contact the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-TALK (8255).


19 Comments

Story of a Broken Man

Grenada Drunk Man & Shell Art.web (1024x884)

Broken

While on vacation in Grenada, we decided to drive around downtown which could be quite a challenge. Suddenly, I was overcome by the sight of a man sitting on the sidewalk.

“Stop,” I shouted.

Startled, my husband stopped the car assuming he was about to hit something or someone he hadn’t seen.

I said, “Look,” while pointing to this man. “Please!” “You’ve got to find a place to park.”

He drove a bit and found a parking spot.

Since we were unfamiliar with the downtown area, we had to walk several streets in search of where the man had been.

I thought I should purchase one of those shells he was selling since he looked like he was in need of a sale.

Eventually, we found him.

He was unaware I was standing next to him until I said, “Hello, I see you have some shells for sale.”

Tear filled hazy eyes glared at my me. I felt sucked in by his sadness. He was dirty with a profound odor of the unsanitary kind. It was the type of odor you knew was from a lack of any type of facilities. Yet, I felt compelled to talk to him. In one hand he had a cup of rum; the other hand held a blunt, doobie, marijuana joint. Drugs!

After briefly talking about his shells, I told him, “I noticed he was drinking and smoking marijuana at such an early morning hour.” It was 10:00 a.m.

He said, “There’s no set time for me to kill my pain.”

I didn’t dare ask what his sorrow was.

I asked, “Does it help your pain?”

No words were said. Just a tilt of the head in my direction with a curved smile that led me to believe he didn’t think I’d understand.

We spoke for a short time.

I handed him the money for the shell with a little extra. I recommended he use it for food or shelter. I told him to keep the shell so he could sell it to someone else.

As I began to walk away, he took another puff from his big sweet scented herb and shouted, “Pretty Lady” …

I turned.

He continued, “Someday, when you get to heaven, say hello to my angel. I know you’ll meet her there. Tell her, I’ll be with her before long.”

2018©written by Isadora

 

~ Kindness is loving people more than they deserve ~

Grant that, we may not so much seek to be consoled, as to console,
to be understood, as to understand … Saint Francis of Assisi

*****

 

*****Definition of Broken: forcibly separated into two or more pieces; fractured. incomplete; being in a state of disarray; disordered;

**** I received the Bronze Award for a: Street Life/Slice of Life: A photojournalistic photograph, camera as observer.

*****This story was originally posted in February, 2014 


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Hidden Deep Inside

The closet door flung open.

“What are you doing in there?”, he growled.

Before I could answer, I was being pulled up by my hair and pushed towards the kitchen.

“Get in there and help your mother.”

I guess he doesn’t want to know.

“See what happens when you hide from work,” she said.

Hide from work? How about I was hiding from the jump rope he just beat me with while you were talking to Mrs. Rosen about styling her wig.

There’s a place I go to tell my troubles. Hidden deep inside the closet is my peaceful place.

2017©Isadora DeLaVega

 

Genre: Flash Fiction
Word Count: 100
Photo Prompt: Rochelle

To join Rochelle and her Friday Fictioneers in this challenge

click here or the froggy button above

 

*****In 2015, an estimated 1,670 children died from abuse and neglect in the United States. In 2015, Children’s Advocacy Centers around the country served more than 311,0002 child victims of abuse, providing victim advocacy and support to these children and their families. info:wikipedia
For more information click here: http://www.nationalchildrensalliance.org/media-room/media-kit/national-statistics-child-abuse/

 


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Friday Fictioneers – Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree

friday-fictioneers-12916-lucy-solMegan hadn’t slept a wink.

She was surprised her mother had said she’d take her tomorrow. Plagued with social anxiety, her mother never went out. But, she said she would.

Megan picked out her red and green snowflake hat and gloves. She wanted christmas written all over her in the photographs mother would take.

Morning dawn peeked through the curtains. Megan had butterflies in her stomach from anticipation.

She smelled coffee.

Mother was up.

She ran downstairs.

“Mother, what time are we leaving to see the tree at Rockefeller Center?”

Without turning she sulkily said, “Not today, Megan, maybe tomorrow.”

2016©Isadora De La Vega

Genre: Flash Fiction

Word Count: 100

 

Rochelle hosts the Friday Fictioneers challenge
to join in click here

to read other entries click froggy button

~~~~~

*****Social anxiety disorder also called social phobia involves overwhelming worry and self-consciousness about everyday social situations. The worry often centers on a fear of being judged by others, or behaving in a way that might cause embarrassment or lead to ridicule.

Anxiety disorders can cause such distress that it interferes with your ability to lead a normal life.This type of disorder is a serious mental illness. For people who have one, worry and fear are constant and overwhelming, and can be disabling. But with treatment, many people can manage those feelings and get back to a fulfilling life. info:web md

For Online Support Group: Anxiety and Depression Association

 


10 Comments

Sunday Song – I Hurt Too

art-angel-ps-man-on-lap-web

Poetry is a life-cherishing force.
For poems are not words, after all,
but fires for the cold,
ropes let down to the lost,
something as necessary
as bread in the pockets of the hungry.”
© Mary Oliver – A Poetry Handbook

I Hurt Too by Katie Herzig with lyrics

 
*****Google image

*****Rectify – Season 1


36 Comments

Friday Fictioneers – The Bills

friday-fictioneers-9162016-shaktikiff2The letters were stacked high on the kitchen table. Bills. They were four months behind on their mortgage. The last letter warned of foreclosure.

Sighing wearily, she walked to the basement where her husband often hid-out, drinking booze and smoking marijuana. He’d told her it made him relax.

She could smell the pungent odor as she descended the stairs. Her decision to leave him hardened.

He was lying on the cement floor.

Shocked at the needle hanging from his vein; a note on his lap.

‘The insurance money should be enough for you and the kids.’

“Coward”, she screamed.

2016©Isadora DeLaVega

Word Count: 100
Genre: Flash Fiction

To join Rochelle and her Friday Fictioneers
in this challenge: click here

*****Photo Prompt©Shaktiki Sharma


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Friday Fictioneers – Just a Boy

Friday Fictioneers 560 March 4, 2016 - copyight-sean-fallon

He was born with a death sentence.

The doctors spoke gently as she wept.

She was overcome by the diagnosis of hydrocephalus.

She carried him for 9 months. He couldn’t have a disability.

How could she create a defective child?

They told her to institutionalize him.

You won’t be able to manage his condition.

She refused. He’s my son. I’ll always love and care for him.

He is 59 now. Sits on the floor staring at the wall – any wall.

He just stares and holds his little jar of batteries he calls his friends.

A boy in an adult body.

2016©Isadora DeLaVega

Genre: Realistic Fiction
Word Count: 100

 

To join Rochelle and her Friday Fictioneers challenge
click here or the froggy button above

 
***** My brother was born with this illness. Although his jar wasn’t filled with batteries, the photo immediately brought him to mind.

***** Hydrocephalus (from Greek hydro-, meaning “water”, and kephalos, meaning “head”) is a rare medical condition in which there is an abnormal accumulation of cerebrospinal fluid (CSF) in the brain. This causes increased intracranial pressure inside the skull and may cause progressive enlargement of the head if it occurs in childhood, potentially causing convulsion, tunnel vision, and mental disability. It was once informally called “Water on the brain.” information from wikipedia