This month I will be participating in the “Blogging from A-Z Challenge”
What is it?
I will be Blogging everyday beginning on April First with a topic themed on something with the letterA, then on April second another topic with the letter B as the theme, and so on until I finish on April thirtieth with the theme based on the letter Z. The theme of the day is the letter scheduled for that day.
My theme will be short fictional (well mostly fictional) stories about women. Each woman’s name will begin with the appropriate letter of the alphabet for that day.
All of the women will have the common life experience of a loss of some type.
I invite you, Dear reader, to comment on how you interpret the loss.
Izzy“Oh my god!” “Where are they?”
Izzy was frantically rummaging through her over sized purse. She shook it, hoping to hear a jingle.
“This is ridiculous!” she said angrily.
“I can’t be late!” “Please don’t let me late.” “Not today, especially not today.”
She stopped, closed her eyes and tried to relax.
Okay, Izzy, calm down. Take a deep breath and calm down.
Izzy slowly breathed in and out.
“Why am I meditating when I should be looking for my keys? “ she moaned.
She frantically looked at her watch. If she didn’t leave within the next two minutes, well who knows what might happen.
Okay that was being a little dramatic, she realized.
She tried to recall the last time she remembered having them.
For the third time within the last 10 minutes she emptied her purse.
And for the third time within the last 10 minutes she admonished herself for having too much stuff in her purse.
The final alarm she had set on her phone went off to rudely remind her that she should have been out the door by now.
She wondered why this always seemed to happen to her.
Dizzy Izzy, that’s what everyone called her.
She had tried so many times to be more organized. She had a bunch of self help books. Where were those books? she wondered.
Anyway, she was getting sidetracked. But then she never did seem to be on the right track.
Well, on the same track as everyone else anyway.
Maybe she left her keys someplace obvious, she thought.
She checked the table by the front door entrance.
She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror above the table.
Oh, god, she thought. Look at me. My hair, she moaned.
Frizzy Izzy. That was another one of her less than endearing nicknames.
She should probably call to let them know she was running a little late.
As if anyone would be surprised.
She could hear them right now.
“Anyone want to be in the ‘How late will Izzy be?’ pool?”
She hated them. All of them.
She sat down on the floor, the contents of her purse strewn about.
With her bent head in her hands, she thought about her father.
She could almost hear his soft voice.
“My Belle," he would have said.
He was the only one who called her Belle.
“We named you Isabelle and we wanted to call you Belle.”
“In many languages Belle translates to beautiful and that’s what you are my Belle, beautiful. “ He would always tell her.
Then she had the strongest urge to go outside. It was as if someone was taking her by the hand, pulling her up, leading her to the front door.
Well, perhaps a breath of fresh air would clear her mind, she thought.
She opened the door. She heard the familiar jingle. There were her keys, still in the lock of the door.
She raised her eyes and looked up.
Thank you, Daddy. I’ll see you in a little while.