Inside the Mind of Isadora


Story of a Broken Man

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


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 


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:



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



Sunday Song – I Hurt Too


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


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


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


Poverty and Hunger


One day, the parish priest came to visit the 4th grade class.

He asked the pupils, “How can you tell when night has ended and day has begun”.

”Could it be,” asked one of one enthusiastic student, “when you can see an animal in the distance and tell whether it’s a sheep or a dog?”

“No,” answered the priest.

Another student asked, “Is it when you look at a tree in the distance and can tell whether it’s a fig tree or an apple tree?”

“No,” answered the priest.”

“Then when is it?”

The pupils were anxious to know.

“It is when you can look upon the face of any man or woman and see that they are your sister or brother. Because if you cannot see this, it is still night.”


Everyday, we encounter people from all walks of life. Some who feel like kindred spirits and some who feel like strangers. It’s easy to accept those we view as being ‘one of us’.

However, we feel a separation and fear of those whose lifestyle are at odds with our own. We can identify with our family, our gender, our country of origin, our religion and assume that every person who fits into those categories will agree with our point of view. It isn’t necessarily so.


I stumbled across this homeless man while I was on vacation. Many tourists passed without a glance his way. He was selling shells. He had an unsanitary odor, was drinking alcohol at 11:00 a.m. and smoking something that had a distinct fragrance.

I stopped.

I stopped because, as a child, I was taught by my Dad that we should help those who have less than us. Often, he would take us to an area in New York called the Bowery. There were homeless people there. He’d park the car and take us kids for a walk among them. They were scary for a child. He would ask them if they’d eaten. He would purchase some hot dogs or sandwiches. He would give us the food to give to them. Then, he’d give them money. Always saying, “ Don’t give up hope. Tomorrow will be a better day.” They’d say, “Izzy, thank you for not forgetting us. You’re a good man.” I felt a sense of pride for my Dad.

On the drive home my Dad would say, “These people don’t want to live this way. Life can bring hardship on you without any notice. You should always help those less fortunate than you. God is watching you and will know if you’re a good and caring person to those in need.”

That day while on vacation:
I stopped because this homeless man was in need.
I stopped because I knew I could give him hope if I helped him.
I stopped because in spite the way he looked, he was a human being.

Of course, he was shocked that I had stopped and was talking to him. Afterwards, he wanted me to take one of his shells with me. I paid him for it but told him he could sell mine to another tourist. Smiling I said, “I’m happy I was just able to talk to you today.”

His eyes filled with tears. He said, “ Pretty lady, I know you’re an angel. No one sees me sitting here. You did. When you go back to heaven, I hope you’ll see my beautiful wife and tell her I miss her.”


There’s tremendous satisfaction in making others happy, despite our own situations. Shared grief is half the sorrow, but happiness when shared is doubled. If you want to feel rich just count your blessings and all the things you have that money can’t buy.
Today is a gift, that’s why it’s called the present.
2015©Isadora De La Vega

This is being posted for The BeZine 100TPC 2015
If you’d like to share your views on hungry and poverty
join in with poems, stories or photographs.


Friday Fictioneers – Despair

Friday Fictioneers A Prompt Photo - trg3
Sitting on the railing, he pondered the possibilities of flight. He was enveloped in a fog of despair. Just moments before his chest was bursting with joyous ecstasy. The love of his life had accepted his proposal. Her smile was radiant. She spoke of an overflowing love for him.
If there hadn’t been that accident on the bridge?
It had angered her.
Days before she’d been despondent. He thought he would reach her with his proposal.
Frustrated, she’d gotten out of the car.
She jumped.
He wanted to fly.
He wanted to lift her up in his arms.
2015©Isadora DeLaVega

Genre: Flash Fiction
Word Count: 100


To join Rochelle and her Friday Fictioneers in this challenge click here or the froggy button:


What is Depression?
Depression is a real illness that impacts the brain. Anyone suffering from depression will tell you, it’s not imaginary or “all in your head.” Depression is more than just feeling “down.” It is a serious illness caused by changes in brain chemistry. Research tells us that other factors contribute to the onset of depression, including genetics, changes in hormone levels, certain medical conditions, stress, grief or difficult life circumstances. Any of these factors alone or in combination can precipitate changes in brain chemistry that lead to depression’s many symptoms. info from the Univsersity of Michigan Mental Health


For more information about depression:

World Mental Health Day October, 10, 2015 – Dignity Mental Health Foundation
University of Michigan Depression Center – Mental Health


Nurture Yourself – Believe in Yourself

Nurture Yourself believe.web

Whatever people think of you is really about the image they have of you and that image isn’t you. author Don Miguel Ruiz

Crying Teen.web
©drawing by©kiki marcel – Title – Sticks and Stones are Better 11th Grader @ Port Charlotte High School – Florida

Believe in yourself
even when no one else does.
If someone tells you that
you can’t do it,
prove them wrong
Do It !!!!

Angel - blue wings and sunThe one who they are judging in your name is a character they create.


Heart - bright colors

Becca whose blog On Dragonfly Wings with Buttercup Tea hosts Nurturing Thursday every week to “give this planet a much needed shot of fun, support and positive energy”, she says.
If any of my readers are interested in joining the nurturing, I applaud and welcome you to do so … the more the merrier!!

Frequent Contributors to Nurturing Thursday
On Dragonfly Wings with Buttercup Tea
Laurie’s Gentle Healing Words


Nurture Yourself – with Blessings

Yellow Orchid.webAngel Wings ©photography by Isadora

It is in loving, not in being loved, the heart is blessed;
It is in giving, not in seeking gifts, we find our quest;
Whatever be your longing or your need, that give;
So shall your soul be fed and you indeed shall love.

This weekend some will be celebrating the Christian celebration of Easter. My effort to write something that represented some type of story based on religion, culture and life was difficult. It was arduous to choose from so many myths and complex dogmas I have in my life. They were taught to me by a schizophrenic depressed mother who was obsessed with religion; a step below fanatical. She practiced a combination of Catholicism, Buddhism, Santeria, Espiritismo, Judaism and fixated Mythologies and Philosophy. I lived in a Hasidic Orthodox Jewish neighborhood which added to my confusion. I went to Catholic school by day and heard my friends talk about the Torah they studied in the afternoon. I grew up thinking everyone was multi-religious. In respect to the first religion I was taught through Baptism, I chose to write a poem from my Catholicism. Peace be with you, Happy Easter … !!!!
2014 written by Isadora

Jesus - traditional

Lord Speak To Me

Lord, speak to me in such a way
That I may surely know
The purpose that You have for me;
The path that I must go.

Then, when the pathway is made clear,
And the journey I begin;
When fear and doubt start creeping in
Please speak to me again.

Remind me of Your presence, Lord,
Each mile along the way.
Let not my steps grow weary
Keep speaking, lest I stray.

The roadblocks will be many,
Dead ends I’m sure to see;
But I’ll reach my destination, Lord,
Because You spoke to me.

One Body One Bread

No matter where we are in life,
There remains a part of us that
Draws support from and nurturing
From someone with more experience …..
Namaste …

Each Thursday Becca hosts Nurturing Thursdays … if any of my readers are interested in joining the nurturing, I applaud and welcome you to do so … the more the merrier!!

Nurturing Blogs: