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The Harriet May Savitz Writers of the Round Table
Our History
In February of 2001, author Harriet May Savitz, at a Senior Citizens meeting, extended an invitation to any interested persons to come together and form a creative writing group. That was all that was necessary. The rest is history.
On February 14, 2001 a group of eight Senior Citizens, namely Rose Cirelli, Milton Edelman, Mildred Koweek, Ann Marzano, George H. Moffett, Elia Reyes, Harriet May Savitz, and Edna Wilkins met for the first time under the enthusiastic leadership of Mrs. Savitz. They decided to name the group, The Writers of the Round Table of Bradley Beach.
Present Information
As the writer’s group continued to meet weekly, a bond formed amongst the members and we knew we were here to stay. So many exciting articles and essays are being written by our group, that we decided to go out on the internet and share them with you.
We are not professionals and we do not pretend to be. We are a group of creative Senior Citizens who are promoting the motto of our organization: “Let’s not look back! Let’s give back!”
We welcome new members at our weekly meetings on Wednesday at 10:00 A.M. at the Carmen A. Biase Community Center in the Municipal Complex, 719 Main Street, Bradley Beach, N.J. 07720.
Our Writings
Autumn Veronica Cullinan Lake
People travel for miles out of state even from other continents
to view the New England foliage or so I read in the newspaper.
Yellow ochre, vermilion, burnt umber, alizarin crimson
canopies of color ribbon their way up and down hills
curling past churches, playgrounds, and lonely county roads.
People exclaim what brilliant colors!
I never thought brilliant but settling.
Color comes after tremendous change with the passage of time
after loss of flower loss of fruit.
Irrevocably the leaves will fall – crunching, crumbling pouches of life.
Debris that will flame warm fires not light up outward journeys
those are for others to take.
Mine will be around hearth with family and friends.
For I want to stay here as long as I can in this mellow space called autumn both an end and a beginning.
On the road ahead I behold beautiful black bark outlining the trees.
Trees that act as sentinels sentinels that watch
watch for what’s coming ahead as I walk toward winter.
SECOND CHANCE FOR JACKSON Irene Maran
It was a record breaking 72 degrees on this sunny, mild, November day. Living at the shore, and not anticipating many more picture perfect days like this, I decided to take advantage of the warm weather by going to the beach.
The boardwalk was crowded for this time of year. Given the balmy weather conditions, like me, everyone was out to savor the beautiful day. People sat catching sunrays, walking, jogging, riding bicycles, pushing strollers and walking dogs. We were all hoping to hold onto this summer like day, just a little bit longer.
As I walked along the beach, I noticed a large number of dogs running and playing on the sand. Each year as summer draws to a close, the boardwalk at Bradley Beach is open to cyclists and dog walkers, and dogs are permitted on the beach. Some dogs were running along the beach unrestrained, while others pulled intently on their leashes. A pair of dogs caught Frisbees tossed in the air by their owners, and a few brave pets ventured into the ocean. I was happy to see the canine population enjoying the day as it was truly a day fit for both man and beast.
One couple, in particular, walking their dog by the water’s edge caught my eye. I think it was because the dog looked like he was having an excessive amount of fun. It wasn’t long before I was standing beside the couple and bonding with Jackson. Jackson was a pure bred Dalmatian show dog. He is four years old and had been adopted 3 months ago. Jackson is a rescue dog and this was his first visit to the Jersey shore. I watched Jackson playing tag with the waves, cautiously taking a few steps towards the ocean and then running back when the waves broke on the shore. Jackson sniffed the seashells, pawed at them and carried them off in his mouth. He became excited when he saw the seagulls landing nearby and began chasing them. Jackson tugged at his leash as the birds flew away, wagging his tail, but never barking.
I was informed that Jackson was a timid, well disciplined dog, who was accustomed to spending a great amount of time in his crate. He was expected to be perfectly groomed and obedient at all the dog shows with his previous owner. There was not much time for fun in that other life. It was no wonder that he became excited with the exploding taste of freedom now at his disposal. After being cooped up for so long, Jackson was finally stretching his legs and wagging his tail in an energetic rotation, and, so deservedly. From a city apartment to a house with a backyard, from sleeping in a crate, to the comfort of a couch, from a cold tiny room to an expansive warm sandy beach, Jackson was experiencing life to the fullest.
Some of us are fortunate enough to get a second chance in life – to start over. Jackson, a young canine, received that second chance. In just three months, he has digested every new sight, sound and scent he could absorb from his new surroundings. Coming out of his shell, and breaking out on his own must have been a difficult task. On that 72 degree November day on the beach, Jackson was exceedingly happy enjoying his new life… and I was happy for him.
SISTERS AND BROTHERS Ruth J. Abramowtiz
It is 3:20 a.m. Friday morning, November 20, 2009. I awoke to the sound of rain splattering my windowpanes. My mind seemed to be telling me the heavens are showering the earth with the tears of millions lost over decades by war, floods, hurricanes, tornadoes and earthquakes. I feel as though God is shedding tears to let us know it is time to change our lives. We need to stop the hatred, violence, and intolerance.
In our bibles we read how the world was created. Whether, we believe in the story of Adam and Eve or Abraham as the father of humanity; or evolution by animal life; or that we came from the dust of the earth; we were born from one couple. That couple started our lives and the same ancestry connects us all. We are brothers and sisters who separated into a family of nations. Moving around the earth, we built homes in other areas and turned the world into what it is today. As brothers and sisters, we fought and disagreed about how to live. The laws of how to worship, use the land, work and enjoy, were subject to dispute and often lead to fighting, which sometimes ended in death.
It may have started with Cane and Abel; or when Eve gave Adam the forbidden fruit as the story is told. The facts are hatred and jealousy became a reason to fight and kill long before we began to believe in one God and his commandments. Religious beliefs started to change our lives and further separate the way we lived and worshipped. Temples, Churches, Mosques and other houses of worship were built. God had many names and some people have always been non-believers. One fact we know is the Creator gave the human species intelligent minds to rule over earthly living things. However, with all our knowledge and accomplishments we can’t find a solution on how to live together in a peaceful world.
During my eighty-nine years of life, I have witnessed changes in the world of medicine, science, transportation and technology. These have brought unbelievable advancements in equipment that improve and assist our work, health, entertainment and learning ability. In the 21st century, we communicate in seconds with anyone, anywhere in the world. Yet, with all of these advancements, we have been unable to connect and reason intelligently with people and nations seeking power. Problems continue to plague our lives with violent acts of terror, religious hatred and intolerance; causing people to live in fear. The generations to come will have to carry the burden of these actions.
The rain continues and I can hear God’s voice telling his children to stop fighting and remember we were created by love. We need to believe and follow His commandments. We are different in mind and body, but we can live in peace. We continue to be sisters and brothers even though we deny our ancestry of creation. The words of the Constitution of the United States of America states, “All men are created equal.” It should read all people are created equal.
FLAPPER Amanda Porter
She never saw a real flapper (easily recognizable in short sheaths like me–yes, I am a dress) because she was born near the end of the “Roaring Twenties;” her mother could do the Charleston while her father played ragtime tunes on his piano. However, the wanton lifestyle that made the twenties “roar” was so abhorrent to him that he vowed that his daughters would not learn to dance. He relented eventually, they never became proficient. Still the flapper glamour must have had some appeal as she took me from the rack of unsold dressy garments in the basement of Grant’s in the Levittown, Pa. Shopping Center. My two dollar price, even then, was a bargain for a pink sheath with a fake jeweled buckle and pink boa fur around the bottom hem. She realized that she was too fat for me–didn’t even try me on–but a potential Halloween costume might be an incentive to lose weight.
Not a multi-year task, more like a multi-decade effort ensued, so I spent a lot of time hanging in the closet.
On the bright side, this lack of usage enabled me to stay “in the pink” condition and provided time to acquire appropriate accessories, mostly as other folks’ castoffs: a pink cloche style hat with fur trim, long blue beads, black fishnet pantyhose, pink ruffled bloomers and black pumps. She waited three weeks for a pastel Paisley print shawl with fringe to go on sale at the nearby Salvation Army store to complete “the look.”
The only use that I got in this period was being lent to a roller skating friend who had developed a slinky routine to “The Stripper”–no, she did not strip me, just skated suggestively. Decades of watching more prosaic garb come and go in the closet made me think that I would go to the ragbag without ever knowing what flappers did that fathers forbade. In those long years she raised five children to adulthood, barely aware of my presence. Halloweens were for them to be outfitted to beg for candy while she stayed home to give Cracker Jacks to similar beggars.
Finally the circumstances combined to allow me to attend a real party after years of expectation. Her younger son, Richard, a graduate student at Rutgers, invited his nephew, Corey, to one of his Halloween galas in his basement rec room and her husband was designated driver. By dint of skipping breakfast to exercise, she had lost some weight and could wear me so she decided to go with them, pretending to be Corey’s “friend” and using his pig mask to disguise her identity.
This event took place the year that Clarence Thomas was confirmed to be a Supreme Court Justice, despite allegations of his womanizing. Richard had chosen to use his graduation gown and blacken his face to enable him to complete his role by flirting with the female guests. Corey played pool and ignored her, but as host, Richard offered her refreshments a couple of times. She had to decline by shaking her head lest he recognize her voice.
In our old age, we were content to observe the youthful scene, watching a video of “Rocky Horror Show, even somewhat relieved that our mysterious presence did not cause us to be asked to dance the Charleston.
And we hugged our secret delight in fooling her son and his friends.
Later, when we were leaving, we went upstairs with gracious host/son escorting us to the door. There she removed the pig mask–and flabbergasted him! We could see his thoughts–trying to assess his actions in his head to determine if he had been a “bad boy” while under his mother’s eyes, a good laugh for all.
Since that outing, the few other times that I have come under public scrutiny have mainly been ordinary, even anti-climactic, Halloweens. The children at the door are more intrigued by her husband’s fake nail-in-the-head. After she donned a curly, blonde wig, we did get our picture taken at the Halloween Senior Club luncheon–blondes tend to be attention grabbers. But, of course, I am the main basis for the flapper illusion and can best be appreciated by those who remember the era from their own youthful escapades.
We can no longer flip, more often flop, but in our hearts are still flappers.
Zoning Board - Zoning Board Meeting - Thursday, March 18, 2010 @ 6:30 PM
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