Love one another, but make not a bond of Love;
let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your soul.©Kahil Gibran
Forgiveness does not change the past,
but it does enlarge the future.
Love has no desire but to fulfill itself.
To melt and be like a running brook.
One that sings its melody to the night.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart.
And, give thanks for another day of loving.
2019©Isadora DeLaVega
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
The cloudy night casts a shadow over the river.
Sitting on the bank, I’m regretting my failures while mourning my loss.
We’d felt solace here.
You were the chuckle in my laughter. The path I walked that kept me straight.
We spent time listening to the reverberations of the rivers course.
Your eyes twinkled as you listened to me speak tender words of love.
The placid water exudes a strange calm.
There’s a stillness in the air that surrounds me.
Looking at the reflection of my face in the serenity of the water;
My thoughts linger gently on yesterday.
Gone …
2016©Isadora DeLaVega
Genre: Flash Fiction
Word Count: 100
To join Rochelle and her Friday Fictioneers
in this challenge: click here or Blue Frog Badge
Shaking his head, Sam couldn’t believe what he’d bought at auction.
Frost was on the ground; more to come tomorrow. No outdoor work ’til Spring.
How’s he going to flip the Strokov House with it’s blackened reputation? What was he thinking?
Mrs. Strokov had rented the house with her small salary from the fabric shop. Mr. Strokov would soon follow from Russia.
That morning, she argued fiercely with her daughter.
“You will testify against that teacher who shamed and violated you”.
“No Mama”, Marta wailed. “I beg you”.
“We have pride”.
That night, from the rafters, she hung her anguish.
2015©isadoradelavega
Genre – Fiction
Word Count – 100
The challenge is to write a story in 100 words – beginning, middle and end.
To join in the challenge – click here
https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2015/04/01/3-april-2015/
“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.
There was a time when things were different. You remember – don’t you???
It all happened in college. I was walking on campus with my girlfriend and you shouted something at us.
We turned.
Your colorfully bright shirt triggered a blinding glare. The sun bounced off the crimson fiery shades naturally worn by my pet Macaw. Red was your color. A sizzling burning cloak you wore so well.
What happened to our heated passion?
The days you when nothing and no one could come between us.
I’m standing before you and can’t understand your venom.
We’d grown apart.
Yes.
The days of growing old together were a distant memory.
I never wanted it to be like this.
I can’t keep myself from remembering those campus days.
When did it change?
When did we change?
I could see your eyes were filled with hatred as you walked away.
You swore revenge.
You shouted, “An eye for an eye”, while an outstretched arm mimicked a sword.
There was malice in your voice.
I knew we had slowly drifted apart.
How could you hold such rancor and bitterness for what had become so clear?
The resplendent love that emanated from us used to make the whole world go blind.
The dying embers of our love have, now, gone out.
When we kissed and parted that night, I knew, we would never meet again.
You walked away.
I was left with my cloak of memories.
Copyright 2014 © written by Isadora
Fiction Short Story written for this challenge.
The Speak Easy at Yeah Write has challenged us to write.
Your piece must include the following sentence as the FIRST line: “There was a time
when things were different.”
‘
Here are the rules:
“A Grand New Year” © photography by Isadora
Super Belated Happy New Year Wishes 2014 to all of my faithful blog followers and friends – May your coming year be filled with all the treasures your heart can hold. For blessings are many and those we are given should bring immense peace to our souls and smiles to our faces.
I’ve been gone for some time due to the holidays and to a problematic incident that occurred with my blog.
Visiting and enjoying family and friends during the holidays was grand. There is no gift greater than spending time with those who are dear to us. I am grateful for these treasures. No amount of money can purchase this type of love.
Because of my absence, a great many blog posts from my favorite bloggers were missed by me. I hope to catch up with as many as I can. I can honestly say that I probably won’t be as diligent I had been as in the past.
My goal for 2014 is to take a step back from all of the electronics and have people to people time; physically touching those who mean so much to me. It will be difficult since so many of your posts have become the addiction that goes along with my morning coffee.
During my absence, my email box overflowed with notifications. Curiously, I opened one e-mail that was new to me.
You know what they say about curiosity killing the cat.
In the e mail there was a request to use one of my posts. Throughout my blogging time, I have generously given permission to many to reblog or use my written words or photos.
In the request from this particular person,
– who shall remain nameless; although, I could have exposed him/her but stardom for that person will not come from my blog –
there was something about it that felt unnerving. I chose to decline interest in he/she’s request. The intensity of the following e mail demanding an immediate answer chilled me. I couldn’t understand the belligerence. When I responded that I felt threatened the attitude of this person continued to be demanding and aggressive causing a frightened tension in me. The final e mail to me stated that ….
“I was evil and that my e mail address would be deleted from his/her carrier. A blocked warning against me would be issued if I attempted to contact him/her.”
I have no idea if this person exists. They are as they have no blog. I have no idea if they are a person as their gravatar is a cartoon. But, most importantly, why was he/she so hostel and demanding about a post?
Yes … this knocked me over for many reasons.
I’ve never thought of myself as harsh or ill tempered. I was raised in an abusive environment so I steer clear of aggressive people or situations.
I’m not cowardly. Rather, I’m non-confrontational.
I believe that more can be gained with honey that with venom.
I strove to develop a blog that was filled with all of the corners of my mind. The posts were there to express – the me I am – in all of my many personas. There was always a common denominator in all: love.
I love everyone until they hurt me. I’m an innocent bay open to all who wish to come and play in my world of love. It felt odd to be called evil. No one had ever said that to me. I’ve never had a falling out with anyone. I would rather discuss an issue and be open to another’s opinion or ideals.
I’ve been in the business world for 28 years. It isn’t a pony ride. It’s a brutal bronco ride all the way. You have to be tough. You have to stand up to lots of testosterone. But, I never felt there was disrespect.
I hope this person if it is a real person finds comfort in my words. I wish no ill will. I know I am of a kind spirit and will continue to be.
What will become of my blog?
From legal advice, I was told to delete my posts. I’m recreating my blog. I am an artist so the artist mind never rests. I hope it will be something you’ll enjoy as much as my past posts. Or, I may do it all over again the same exact way. Right now, I can’t see that far ahead.
My WordPress stats were grim. Although I don’t follow stats, I jumped in for a quick visit and was knocked out. Two knockout blows in a row. I was hanging on to keep from falling off my chair.
The helpful hints that went along with the stats brought a puckered smile to my face. Their suggestions for more followers and post comments were the things I had been doing all year.
So, I need to analyze it all and figure out what direction is best for me. I want to develop a following for when I release the books I have in draft form. With more hard work I hoped to improve my blog and, hopefully, stay ahead of the bullies that decide to chase me.
It will be a busy year for Copper Whimsea’s by Al and Isadora Art Jewelry. I will have to spend a bit more time tidying up those web-sites, creating new ones in order to expand into the technological world; leaving behind the art show world I have been marketing the artwork in.
In the meantime, my blogs will be back soon. Be sure to pop in from time to time to see how it will to go.
Happy New Year Blessings to All …
Isadora
Mabel says ….
I have some Retired Health Messages I’ve been ‘Pondering’ …
As I was lying in bed pondering the problems of the world, I realized that there are a few things that don’t make sense to me.
For example –
1. If walking is good for your health then why isn’t the postman immortal? I’ve never seen an old postman. Have you?
2. A whale swims all day, only eats fish and drinks lots of water but is still fat. Is it a slow metabolism?
3. A rabbit runs and hops all day and only lives 15 years. A tortoise doesn’t run and, mostly, does nothing; yet, lives to 150 years old. It must be those naps he’s been taking that are helping him live longer.
I think it’s the tortoise life for me.
Come back and see what else I’ll be ponderings …..
Mabel 💗
***** Mabel is a ficticious character I’ve created. Any similarities to anyone living or not is purely coincidental.
image credit- http://www.dreamtime.com/
Father’s Day Musing
It’s Father’s Day. Today, we get to “Thank Dad’s” for all the things they do.
The truth is that my father was a harsh, brutal, cold disciplinarian. He ran his household with a military reign. He was in the army at age 16. He must have been a good soldier because his children learnt to be good ones, too. Intense physical discipline wasn’t out of the question. It could get quite bad. But, today is a day to remember Father’s in a good way. Here’s a memory that has some happy moments.
We went to the beach twice a month from May to August until I was seven years old; then, it stopped. He’d get all the food ready the night before: fried chicken, potato salad, watermelon and cool-aid. We were in charge of getting the blankets and towels.
At 5:00 a.m. we were up. Within an hour, we were scurrying to get out the door. We went to a beach on Staten Island, New York. He took the ferry over. When we’d get to the pier, I was always fearful that our car wouldn’t cross onto the ferry and we’d be floating in the water.
On the deck, we’d watch the ferry speed through the water and pass other ferries on their way back to pick up more cars waiting at the pier. The wind would blow through your hair with that early morning crisp wet mist from the splashing waves. My hair was a ball of fluff by the time we’d get there.
The beach was always deserted when we arrived.
Who gets to a beach at 7:00 a.m.?
It was clothes off and in you go. Anyone,usually me, who was afraid to go in the water was tossed in. It didn’t matter that I couldn’t swim.
“It’s time to learn”, he’d say.
Food always tasted better with sand and salt from your wet lips in every bite. Barely 11:00 a.m. we were fed and dry. Now, it was time to head home.
He seemed to enjoy those beach days. It could have been a memory from his service days. He never went to the beach as a child. He grew up on a farm. He farmed all day. He left at 15 and joined the service to get away from his new 22 year old mother. His Mother had passed away when he was 14 leaving 8 siblings for him and another brother to care for. His life wasn’t easy. He showed the anger, suffering and pain on his face all the time. After he passed away, it took years for me to understand that. I wish I had better memories. Unfortunately, I do remember the summer I spent kneeling on bathroom tile for 3 hours every day as penance for bad behavior. I haven’t gone to that emotional place yet.
Strangely, I don’t resent him. I do love him in a distant kind of way. I feel that many of the things he taught me have been positives in my life. I maintain a very clean household. I can cook masterfully. I enjoy the arts, reading, culture and religion because he expected us to know all of them. I’ve been a disciplined hard worker all of my life both as a mother and as a business woman. He did the best he could with the skills he had.
I thank and bless him for the life he gave me. I hope that he is happy with his Mother in heaven.
Happy Father’s Day Dad …!!!
What is the Best Time you ever had With Your Dad?
A Bronze Medal
Humbly, I stand before you on this podium and receive my Bronze Medal proudly. I am among countless distinguished photographers. Each photo I’ve taken has been with the artful creativity of celebrating whatever I may be documenting in them at that time. Your appreciation and recognition for that gives me an enormous feeling of joy. I hope all of you will visit the other winners and see their wonderful photos. http://thedarkglobe.wordpress.com/2012/08/19/and-the-winners-are-tdg-tell-us-a-story-results-are-in/ It was a pleasure for me to have participated and to be among the other winners.
“Thank You’” to all of the judges for selecting me as one of your winners in your Dark Globe “Tell a Story” Photography contest. A bronze medal is far more than I ever could have imagined. You hard work and dedication in doing this contest is commendable. I am shockingly stunned and grateful to have received this.
Gratefully,
Isadora
To see my entry for “Survival” go to: https://insidethemindofisadora.wordpress.com/2012/08/07/the-dark-globe-tell-us-a-story-photography-contest-survival/
Inside the Mind of Isadora 