Inside the Mind of Isadora


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Friday Fictioneers – Gratitude

Although there wan’t any dinner because he’d arrived late, he felt no ill will.

Freshly brewed coffee and donuts were set out for the night. This would be enough for him.

~~~~~~~

The street lights were a warm welcome for the oncoming damp chilly night.

The lamppost, near his favorite bench, the ideal place to secure the fine bicycle he’d found at the Salvation Army today. The boots fit him perfectly, too. He was happy the saleswoman had given him this woolen blanket as he left.

Soon sleep. And, another day would have been lived.

God, he thought, life was grand.

2017©Isadora DeLaVega

Genre: Flash Fiction
Word Count: 100
Photo Prompt:©Jellicos Stationhouse

 

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Poverty and Hunger

Homeless-Man-with-shells-A.web

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.

https://intothebardo.wordpress.com/2015/09/26/100tpc-reader-event-today-link-in-your-poems-art-stories-film-music-videos-for-peace-sustainability-and-social-justice/

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Broken

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

“Broken”

While on vacation in Grenada, we decided to drive around downtown which can be 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 going to hit something or someone he hadn’t seen.
I said, “Look”, while pointing to this man. “Please!” “You must 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 face. 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 this 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”.

copyright©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;

Street Life/Slice of Life: A photojournalistic photograph, camera as observer.