Writers of the Round TableBradley Beach New Jersey

Writers of the Round Table

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 WRITING:

A TIME TO BE THANKFUL Ruth J. Abramowitz

I remember walking into mom’s kitchen and smelling the freshly baked pumpkin, apple and blueberry pies; that had just been removed from the oven. The stuffed turkey was ready and the odor of spices, mint, garlic and ginger filled my nostrils. Mom would tell me to get the silverware and dishes and set the table for twelve people.

As the food was put onto the table, my sister would say, “Give me the leg.” My older brother wanted white meat, Marty would call “Save the wings for me,” and I would ask for the thigh. Mom would come in and set the platter of turkey in the middle of the table with the words, “Don’t worry, there’s enough for everyone.” We laughed, talked and caught up on things family members did and are doing since last Thanksgiving.

It was time spent with family and friends we hadn’t seen for months.

Being with family is what makes Thanksgiving special to me. This year I will not spend this day with loved ones, but will enjoy a meal in my building recreation room with those who no longer can travel or have family members to be with. We will share our memories and tell stories of how family gatherings used to be.

I am thankful for the years past and those to come. I lived to see farmlands turn into cities; horse and buggy days changed to cars, trains, buses, planes and flights into space. Thirty years ago, no one imagined the technical devices we would be using today. I count my blessings and thank God for the years and experiences I have seen and for allowing me the time to enjoy life as I start my ninth decade. Thanksgiving is a time to be thankful!

Bean Tree Veronica Cullinan Lake

While lying on a bench

breathing in the crisp mulched air

letting the Autumn sun

saturate my clothes

my eyes drift open.

Against a yellow neon sky

on a stark , austere tree

pendulous fingers gyrate.

Black felt bean pods are

typing out cryptic messages

spooking the Halloween air.

MY FOUR SUPER HEROES Irene Maran

It was the first week in October, and I knew it was time to start thinking about Halloween costumes for my children. Halloween candy and costumes were already inundating stores, malls, ads on television and computers. In the past, we’ve always tried to make our own costumes from old clothes and items found around the house. The costumes sold in stores were very expensive and all looked alike. Every year there’s one costume that’s a particular favorite with children, like Spider Man, Sponge Bob, The Little Mermaid and characters from The Wizard of Oz. All cute, but way over done.

“We want to be Super Heroes this year,” my four children shouted, “Super Heroes! Super Heroes!” Every little kid I know owns a Spiderman, Batman and Robin, or Superman costume. Add to that The Hulk, Green Lantern, Indiana Jones and Wonder Woman and there’s a huge variety from which to choose. My philosophy has always been to think outside the box. “If you want to be Super Heroes,” I exclaimed, “then that’s what you’ll be!”

“Do you know who the real Super Heroes in your neighborhood are?” I asked my kids one night after supper. They seemed stumped and quiet for a change. “We’re thinking,” one of my children replied. With my motherly strategy well thought out, I had devised a plan that I knew would work. “You can take as long as you want,” I said, “but, I’ll give you a little hint. Who is the strong man you see walking up and down our driveway twice a week? The burly man with all the muscles, who lifts those heavy plastic cans up as easily as tossing bed pillows off the bed, and dumps them into a big grey truck?” “The garbage man!” one of my children yelled out. “Well, I prefer the Super Hero Trash Man,” I said in my loudest outside voice. “And who wants to be the Super Hero Trash Man this year?” My youngest son blurted out, “I do!” and we had settled on one relatively easy costume to make.

The children liked this guessing game, and I had some other neighborhood Super Heroes in mind. “The next one is easy,” I said.

“Who do you know that visits you at school every year at Fire Prevention Week? He rides in a big red truck with huge ladders hanging off both sides. He wears a hat with a large number on the front and sometimes carries an ax in his hand.” “The Super Hero Fireman!” my oldest son shouted out. “I want to be that Super Hero!” And as the ax falls, the pieces began to drop into place.

“The next one is a little harder. She stands outside your school and you see her every day. She wears a bright orange vest and holds up a big STOP sign in her hand while she directs traffic and helps children cross the street safely on their way to school. She’s out there in cold and hot weather, smiling at you and blowing her whistle at cars as she moves her arms to regulate the traffic flow.” My daughter couldn’t wait to shout out, “The Super Hero Crossing Guard, Mrs. Jay. I want to be Mrs. Jay. I want to be that Super Hero!”

“Only one more to go,” I thought, “Only one more. This Super Hero wears a blue uniform and rides in a black and white car. He’s there at the blink of an eye when anyone needs help. He carries a radio so he can call for back-up in case of real trouble or if somebody gets sick. He’s a friendly man who you can always count on to help fix any problem you may have.” “Super Hero Cop! Super Hero Cop!” my last child yelled out. “I want to be the Super Hero Cop!”

I went through a few more neighborhood Super Heroes for the kids, like the mailman, The First Aid Squad Volunteers, our pharmacist and UPS workers. I wanted to instill the importance of neighborhood heroes and how nice it is to bond with people who work hard to make our daily life easier and safer. These are the real Super Heroes because they help us every day in every way.

The next two weeks were devoted to finding the right clothes and accessories to make our Super Hero costumes look authentic. With a few trips to the Dollar Store and some make-up and signs, we had a group of Super Heroes to which everyone could relate, that opened their door. My little Super Heroes filled up all their goodie bags faster and fuller than ever before. By following in the Super Hero tradition, they donated three quarters of their candy to children in the hospital who couldn’t go out trick or treating. It was a lesson well taught and well learned. I’ll never forget that memorable Halloween when my four children represented the neighborhood Super Heroes.

Day By Day Ruth J. Abramowitz

In today’s world, technology and medical breakthroughs are allowing us to live longer, healthier, and more productive lives. The age span has grown and many live into their eighties. Getting up each morning I know the day ahead can bring challenges I may not want to cope with. I feel it is necessary to make this day count. Should I meet a friend for lunch, visit someone in the hospital, help a neighbor who is ill or just read a book. What I decide to do will help make this a good day.

During my seventies, I learned about a working program for the elderly, known as the Senior Community Service Employment Program. After my interview and acceptance, I was trained as a data-entry clerk for a State Agency. The computer basics were familiar to me and I still typed over thirty-five words per minute. Working three days a week made me feel productive and kept my mental juices flowing. Being able to go to work gave me a reason to get up on those mornings I wanted to stay in bed. I was the oldest employee in my department. My co-workers appreciated what I did and my supervisor told me I am a role model for both the old and the young. At age eighty-seven I was told due to reduced funding all employees over seventy-five had to leave.

I experienced and witnessed changes that changed our lives using technical, medical and scientific improvements. In my ninth decade, I no longer drive a car and need other means of transportation. Living in Senior Housing has helped solve part of that problem. Our building provides bus service and takes me shopping and to doctor’s appointments. For social or other events I phone a friend or take a taxi. Walking has become part of my daily routine and is a healthy exercise. There are times, I wish for my car. I am saving money on gas and insurance that I use for other things, and no longer need worry about the careless driver.

Spacing myself is important, I don’t try to do everything in one day, as I once did. My washday is on a Sunday morning or Tuesday evening. Three or four meals are prepared at one time and put in the refrigerator or freezer. I clean one room at a time and have someone come in to do the heavy cleaning. Using the vacuum, cleaning widows, taking down or hanging curtains is definitely some of the things I no longer do. I realize standing on a ladder can be dangerous at my age. Knitting lap robes for veterans or other hospital patients and crocheting hats and booties for preemie babies is a good way to keep my fingers agile. What I don’t do is spend hours sitting in front of the television, which may be entertaining, but surely does not help to circulate my body’s needs.

Growing old is necessary if we want life to continue. I may look older, not walk as fast, not hear your words the first time they are spoken and predict the weather due to a bunion or pain joint. I feel blessed as I can do my daily activities without assistance. Yesterday is gone and tomorrow in unknown; so I live one day at a times, as I start my ninth decade. .

Our Cat Pookie Kalinka Shumanov

Our 17 year old cat Pookie deserves to be called princess. She did not win a prize in some beauty contest, but she should have. She is really extremely smart, a natural acrobat and a perfectly self groomed beauty.

Pookie came from the Animal Shelter as a kitten some 17 years ago, black in color with a splash of white. When we visited the shelter most of the cats were quiet or sad not hoping to be free again. Looking at all those abandoned cats made me feel guilty not to be taking them all home. Suddenly while I was reading the information on the cages a little paw came through the bars of a cage and tried to touch my hand. That was it; the little “orphan” was trying to say, “Please save me”. I instantly felt she was the one to take home.

The workers at the shelter were kind and very happy to see the one “prisoner” leaving. While we were signing the adoption papers, they gave us instructions on how to care for the new addition to our family and recommended in very strong language to keep our new kitten in the house.

I had cats all my life, and never kept them indoors. We were lucky to own our own home down at the Jersey Shore with a little yard in a friendly neighborhood. We brought a new pet home, wondering how she would adapt to our busy family life. We had seven grandchildren and a young Dalmatian puppy named Duke. The dog was calm and friendly and accepted the new kitten without reservations. They eventually became good friends and enjoyed each other’s companionship. Duke even permitted the kitten to sleep in his bed and play with his toys.

We tried for a while to keep the kitten in the house but it proved to be impossible. Finally one day when letting the dog in the yard, Pookie ran out with him. We realized she was born to be free and let her enjoy a normal cat’s life. She was clean and the most playful cat I had ever had. Pookie slept indoors but enjoyed the freedom of a normal cat’s life. She climbed trees and jumped on low roofs watching the outside world. My husband & I grew older and changed as normally predicted, but Pookie seemed to be frozen in time. She still climbs trees effortlessly, catches bugs and other invaders. She also grooms herself to perfection. There is a saying, “cats have nine lives, and I can see why”.

THE POSSE” Irene Maran

On our last trip to the summer cabin at Lake George, my fiancé and I decided to take in a dinner theater which we saw advertised in a local newspaper. I’ve been to a few of these double attractions before and found the dinner to be terrible, and the play good, or vice-versa. Two great things happening in one night would be an unexpected bonus. So, taking a gamble we attended with great trepidation.

Arriving a few minutes late, we walked into a room already crowded with vacationers seated at tables of ten. Walking over to our assigned table of seven women and one man, I wondered what kind of group with whom we would be sharing our evening. The women were all in their mid 60’s and the man a bit older. Were the ladies part of a knitting group, or was this a new and improved Hugh Hefner, finally accompanied by women in his age category? The friendly smiles and dialogue that followed put us both at ease.

This modern day singles group was founded by the gentleman at our table who was dating one of the women. That meant the others were unattached and still looking. I laughed when the lady sitting next to me said they called themselves the Posse. To me, that meant the Posse was searching for someone…possibly a man. And, because there were so many of them…lots of men. I immediately categorized the founder and gentleman at our table, the Sheriff.

During my dinner talk with the ladies, I discovered that these women were all single for one reason or other, hooking up every weekend for fun activities. This young-at- heart group took many trips together, following their dreams and attempting events they never had time to pursue in their youth. Now, they weren’t just thinking about it, but actually following through. They’ve experienced water tubing, zip-lining, hot air ballooning, horseback riding, taken cruises, gone to dinner theaters, the race track and concerts. I was in awe and a little disappointed I didn’t live closer to them. They are more adventurous than a lot of my friends who prefer to watch television or stay at home reading books. “We’re singles, not necessarily looking for a man, but if one comes along that can keep up with us, he’s more than welcome to join,” one of them remarked.

Looking at their happy faces, I knew that this group was not holding back. They were risk takers and embracing life. What a wonderful example the Posse is for anyone entering their golden years alone. Find a group, or start one for singles. Being single may turn out to be the next best thing to baseball, apple pie and a diet Coke. “Roll the dice! If you don’t give it a go, you’ll have nothing to show.”

That evening proved my original premise wrong. The dinner was four stars, the theater was a first rate comedy, and last but not least, the amusing company of the Posse, pleasant entertainment. I felt as though I had just won the “trifecta!”

The Magic Power of Music Kalinka Shumanov

Last Monday night my husband and I went for a walk on our beach. We were pleasantly surprised with the sound of music coming from the gazebo on the Bradley Beach boardwalk. Several evenings a week our small town of Bradley Beach has again invited different types of musicians to perform for the summer, so everybody can enjoy the music of their choice or learn there is no limit to listen to old, new and nostalgic sounds.

This Monday opera was on the schedule again. I grew up appreciating all types of music each with their own types of sounds which created totally unique feelings. Some of the opera music, deep and penetrating would make me cry. Other music would revive memories of my youth and desire to dance and be young again. The music on the ocean with refreshing smells and sounds was a rare “gift”. I hope it will continue in the future.

The weather was hot and humid but was very pleasant on the boardwalk. What a surprise, the group of singers was already penetrating the ocean air with their powerful voices with stories of love, disillusions and the pains of life. The wonderful program included about 10 young musicians ranging in ages from 16 to 20yrs already excellent singers and actors.

Another surprise was an 81 year old opera singer, Howard Dean, whose voice could be heard in the neighboring towns. There were many senior citizens present listening and enjoying someone their age still showing it is never too late to pursue your dreams.

As a bonus the night ended with a well known group, “The Barber Shop Quartet”. It was an unforgettable summer night at the ocean.

The Answers to My Questions Veronica Cullinan Lake

I came home from school agitated. “Louise Kenny told me there is no Santa Claus.”

“I never liked that girl,” answered my mother. “She’s too smart for her own good.”

“Is it true,” I inquired desperately.

“No, it’s not true. Now, go out side and play,” my mother replied. I knew it was a better bet to ask my father. He always told the truth. “Well, many people believe in Santa Claus. He’s the spirit of Christmas.” That was his evasive answer. “Dad”, I pleaded,” I don’t know what that means. Is it a yes or a no?” I thought I’d try another tactic. “Do you believe in Santa Claus?”

“Go to the Book of Knowledge and read what they say,” he suggested. So I did. In the S volume under Santa Claus was a letter from a Virginia who had asked the same question a long time ago. The answer ended with this statement, Yes, Virginia there is a Santa Claus. I felt redeemed. Why would this book, the whole town, and all my aunts and uncles go along with a lie?

I knew those Santas on the street corners asking for money were stand-ins, and I seriously doubted Santa rode in a sleigh through the sky and slid down chimneys. But I also knew the man next door use to bring out his rifle and threatened to shoot Santa in the rump if he ever caught him trespassing. I’d run inside gasping to tell my mother what he said. She’d claim the man next door had too much to drink and would soon fall asleep. Santa Claus was safe!

The next question came because there was the custom our family had of following the same menu every day of the week. Monday we ate ham or roast beef, left over from Sunday, but with mashed potatoes and peas. Tuesday we ate macaroni and cheese with spinach, on up to Friday and Saturday with file of sole, stewed tomatoes and bread, then hamburger with creamed corn and Jell-O for dessert. Bored to tears I shouted, “Do other families do this”

“Yes,” said my mother,” They do.”

“Everyone in the whole world!” I screamed.

“Everyone you’ll ever meet.” said my mother exasperated. I was suspicious and threatened to ask my third grade teacher. “Go ahead Miss Smarty Pants,” my mother taunted. “You might be in for a big surprise.” I never asked my teacher. Either way, yes or no, our menu wasn’t going to change.

Then there was the mystery of why some of my aunts and uncles didn’t celebrate their wedding anniversary. Mom and Dad were married Aug 22^nd, 1940. My sisters and I made cards and dessert for them every year. But my cousins didn’t even know when their parents were married. My mother claimed you only celebrated your anniversary if you married in a church, and some of my aunts and uncles were married in a civil ceremony. At our next family gathering l stood up and to my mother’s horror asked Aunt Dot, “When did you get married?” Aunt Dot with a smile on her face told me it was so long ago that nobody remembered the date. Everyone seemed to like that answer, but I pondered how they all could have forgotten.

Aunt Bet and Uncle Donny’s wedding was the first I ever attended. As a bride she was beautiful. Two months later at a family gathering Aunt Bet was very pregnant, and had a baby boy soon after that. When I heard the good news, I questioned, “But I thought it took nine months to grow a baby.” My Aunt Helen pulled me over for a hug and stated emphatically. “All babies take 9 months, except the first one, that one could come at any time.” I thought that a reasonable answer. You probably needed practice to hold that baby inside.

It was Easter time, the last opportunity for lapsed Catholics to go to confession. My grandmother tore open the curtain on the confessional, crossed the aisle, and whispered, “Meet me outside the church when you’re finished”. On the walk home I asked grandma why she was angry. “That priest said at my age it was very unbecoming of me to curse and swear. I told him to mind his own damn business. I didn’t come for a lecture but for forgiveness.” Grandma said the priest got it all wrong and then gave me very good advice. She said you had to be careful what you asked for from people in authority and you had to be even more careful of what they give you for an answer. I was determined to remember this good advice and follow it when I got older.