Little Sally was standing on a high stool with a pair of long kitchen tongs trying to get down one of the frying pans that Father had suspended from the ceiling on a hook over a fishing line.
Crash bang boing… skillet bouncing across the tile floor Little Sally quickly jumping down and scurrying after it hoping no one had heard the calamitous noise Grandmother said something like ‘waking the dead’ once and it had stuck in Little Sally’s mind and that’s all she could think of as Mother was napping in the adjoining room.
“Sally! What are you doing?!?!”
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Little Sally said to Mother the other day, “Mother, I want to make a birthday cake.”
Mother said, “Sally, you don’t know how to bake yet.”
“I know,” Little Sally said, “I meant I want you to bake a cake, because I want to put the frosting on it, and I know how to do that.”
“Are you sure, Sally, I don’t think you’ve ever iced a cake before.”
“Well how hard can that be? I watched that nice lady at the bakery do it, I want to make one for her.”
“Do you know how to spell her name?”
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Today I am a Wednesday Fictioneer and will deviate from the posted prompt, because today is a special day. I want everyone to look at the photo above, because that is exactly how Rochelle would eat her birthday cake, I’m sure of it. (I don’t have a photo of Rochelle, so I borrowed Paulette Goddard eating cake in the Charlie Chaplin movie Modern Times, 1936)
Click that Frog to see this week’s Friday Fictioneers stories!
She graduated from The Theater School in Chicago, winning Best Actress in her Junior and Senior years. She would go on to act professionally in Chicago and San Francisco. Today she is the drama instructor at a high school, taking a role in a play on occasion. I’ve seen a lot of her performances over the years, but one will always stand out in my memory:
She was eighteen years old and had the lead in a play. You could hear the purses click open and tissues being retrieved. I was not watching my daughter, I was watching Anne Frank.
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I’m always honored when Rochelle Wisoff-Fields uses one of my photos as a prompt for the Friday Fictioneers writing group. I was attending a play at the Paramount Theater in Seattle when I took this photo. I didn’t have a chance to write my story then, but here it is now. Here is another story I wrote about the same actress… THE CRUSADER … and the Acting Student
Note to my fellow Friday Fictioneers: I missed writing a story for this prompt from a few weeks ago. Here is my story. Hopefully Rochelle will not notice that I have posted it on a different week, but I wanted my FFFriends to read it.
Little Sally left her pail in the grass.
Mr. Robert didn’t want to hit it with his mower so he hung it on a nearby shed.
Coming back with her shovel, Little Sally couldn’t reach it.
She went and found Bobby.
Bobby got down on all fours and Little Sally stood on his back.
She still couldn’t reach the pail.
So she jumped up… still not high enough.
When she came down Bobby collapsed.
Undeterred, Little Sally got the milking stool and made Bobby get back down on all fours.
Noontime, Mother clangs the dinner gong.
Little Sally sprints for the house leaving her pail in the grass.
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It’s always fun to find a new writing group. My pal Rochelle Wisoff-Fields is good at finding them. Rochelle, who you may know from reading my stories, is in charge of Friday Fictioneers and herds over 100 writers each week.
Please check out Writers Unite. I enjoyed seeing their prompt photo and a story immediately popped into my head, so this is definitely a flash fiction.
I never did know why he wanted to be on Survivor. He said it was to ‘find himself’. I always thought that was bullshit, myself. I’d go for the adventure, to search for idols, see the chicks in their bikinis. Actually underwear, that’s what they make them wear. I would’ve been self-conscious doing that, just my luck they would choose something dorky for me to wear. Remember Phillip’s pink briefs? The weather wouldn’t bother me, just the rice. Jeff snuffed his torch first.
I wonder if he ever found himself, and where the hell is he, he never came home?
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Survivor is my favorite television show. Susan Eames told me she used to live in Fiji and took this photo there. That’s where Survivor is filmed, how about that?
To read the other stories by FF Writers prompted by the guy in the tree, here’s the frog link. And what the hell! It’s barely noon on Wednesday and 39 writers have already posted stories. It’s FRIDAY Fictioneers, people!
A telephone rings on Chicago’s Northside…
“Hi, Cheryl, you used to teach swimming, I’ve a question.”
“I’m all ears, Ethel. Why do you ask?”
“You know how Betty got me started being a fiction writer, my blog? Whadda call the animal strokes?”
“Oh yes, your blog. I haven’t seen much writing there lately, thought you gave that up.”
“Writer’s block. Betty sent me the latest photo prompt by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, there’s a picture of this woman swimming also. Story!”
“Not that one.”
“No, isn’t there a frog one?”
“The breast stroke is also called the frog kick, Ethel.”
“Great! Perfect title too.”
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Betty tells me that Ethel is busy writing her first Friday Fictioneers story, but she’s having trouble sticking to the 100 word limit. If you want to write a story, everything you need to know is in the photo below, I think that may have been the one Ethel saw. The official prompt photo is at the top of this page, please use that one for your story.
“Hi, Cheryl, instead of mass this week I want to go to a Jewish church, because of what happened in California.”
“I think they are called synagogues, Ethel, or temples.”
“No, temples are the Mormons, you like their singing.”
“Love the choir, Ethel, but I’m pretty sure the Jews go to temple too.”
“I guess I can look in the phone book for a Jewish church.”
“Oh for God’s sake. They are called Synagogues or Temples!!! Google it.”
“I’m going to ask Rochelle, she’s super Jewish and writes books.”
“I think it would be nice to go, let me know.”
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When I first saw the FridayFictioneers prompt photo by Roger Bultot I thought of having the girls go to church, then I saw the Star in the window. You may know Ethel’s friend Rochelle, she’s written some books.
“No, not going to Navy Pier and getting on that damn ferris wheel.”
“Come on, Cheryl, please.”
“No, take Betty, she’s the brave one.”
“Betty isn’t in town. Come on, I wanna go.”
“No amount of your begging will get me on that wheel, it scared the hell out of me last time and this one’s taller.”
“Only by forty-eight feet and you survived the last one. Don’t be a baby.”
“Don’t you ‘don’t be a baby’ me, Ethel. No.”
“Cheryl, you admitted you liked it last time. What if I treat you to Gene and Georgetti’s after?”
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I love Ferris Wheels. I missed this FridayFictioneers photo prompt by my pal Dale Rogerson somehow or I would have had the girls on it last week. I knew they would want to go, well at least Ethel, so I’m writing this now. I see Rochelle is raiding Dale’s photos again to give her writers inspiration. Here are the Ferris Wheel stories. FridayFictioneersFerrisWheelStories
“I need you to call Rick!!!”
“Ethel, what’s wrong?”
“My car broke, I’m on the expressway.”
“Oh no!” How are you calling me?”
“A man stopped and I’m using his phone. We put the hood up but can’t see anything wrong, that’s why I need Rick.”
“Of course you can’t, I’m surprised you got the hood up.”
“The man did it.”
“I told you not to drive on the expressways, now look where you are.”
“I know where I am, Smarty, on the Kennedy at Damen, now call Rick and have him come save me.”
“Okay, stay where you are.”
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Always fun to see one of my photos used for the prompt at FridayFictioneers. Be sure to check out all the stories prompted by this old Chevy, which was left derelict in the woods many years ago near my daughter’s house on San Juan Island. My story was #79. You can find all the other stories here.
Going Green… a Drabble for FriFic…A telephone rings in Chicago…
“Hi, Cheryl. Guess what, I’m going green.”
“Yep, I’m turning over a new leaf, no pun intended. I’m a recycler now.”
“Oh really? How long have you been green?”
“Three days. I’m building a compost pit too and need some help digging. I’ll need some worms.”
“Wait a minute. I’m not touching any worms, and what do they have to do with going green?”
“Less stuff in the landfill, the worms eat the stuff you put in the pit and make fertilizer or something like that.”
“Ethel, you have one planter box in your window.”
“I know, exciting huh?”
This story is dedicated to my sister Mariya…