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Winter Street Writers' New Year's 2015 Update

Happy New Year to all! We are glad to report that this January, 2015, the Winter Street Writers turns two years old!

A look back on 2014 features much productive action and reflection. Examples range from our continued practice of workshopping and critique to our new blog that posts our original work weekly and our Winter Street Writers Facebook page that keeps us connected and current regarding creative writing events and literary information.

This year, members of our group published articles in Boston Parents Papers, The Beverly Historical Society Chronicle, North Shore Children & Families, Rockport Arts Association, and online at the Peabody Institute Library's food blog, Nourish. Also, some members who write poems were selected to read original work at popular readings such as The Improbable Places Poetry Tour, staged by Montserrat College of Art in Beverly.

A common and pronounced thread tying all our time spent together is the positive, creative energy that we feel alive and at work in our meetings. Perhaps one of the best highlights of getting together is our shared laughter and jokes — they often serve as inspiration for future projects and for life in general. Furthermore, we are proud to announce our expansion to nine group members.

A most sincere thank you goes to the Beverly Public Library, as well as to our readers, of course. We at Winter Street Writers wish everyone a happy, healthy, and creative New Year!

All our best,

Liz

Gail

Beth

Law

Lauraine

Mary

Ken

Elizabeth

Charlotte

A Writer's Night Before Christmas

by Mary Higgins

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house

not a writer was writing; oh where was the mouse?

Wreaths decorated the mantels with care

but the writing muse simply was not in the air

The words and sentences were not in my head

as I slid on my hose that lay on the bed.

And I in my bathrobe and pink shower cap

Got ready to party- no book on my lap.

I slipped off my robe and chose the red dress

curling iron in hand, to tame a lone tress.

In front of the mirror, there arose so much chatter

All the cookies I’d eaten had made me much fatter.

The belt would not buckle; the zipper was stuck

and I bulged in the middle. It was just my bad luck.

Away to the closet, I flew like a flash

for something to wear, I knew I must dash.

The light in my room on my jewelry case

gave a luster to pearls sitting there at the base

Pushing hangers with pants and stepping on shoes

I grabbed at my dresses in threes then in two’s

I tried on clothing that clung to my skin

too sexy, too primal; too loud or too prim.

Then onto the blouses and skirts that hung near

Wear that to a party? Wouldn’t everyone stare?

A green nylon dress still hung on the rack

It was too big, fitting just like a sack.

The blouse with the jacket fit nicely together

the shoes that matched it, had worn leather

It was onto the porch, I had to be quick

I rummaged through boxes of boots there to pick

Flat heels, chunk heels, stack heels, galore

Finally I found a pair near the door.

The dog started whining, she needed a walk

It was down to the bay and out onto the dock.

In the twinkling lights of the boat at the pier

was the man of my dreams - ever so near

With a smile on his face and a glint in his eye

he held my book manuscript and did not lie

“We wish to publish your book my dear

With advance of a million and nothing to fear.

He gave me a letter to confirm all he said

and told me he had to return to his sled

And his reindeer took over; he flew out of sight

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

When Santa Comes To Visit

by Charlotte Savage

It is the day before Christmas. On the first floor of this three story home there lives a family with two children, a blond curly haired three year old boy named Noah and his two week old baby sister. On the third floor lives a young couple with their newly born daughter.

“Mama, can I go upstairs and see Gina’s baby?” asked Noah.

“Let’s call her and ask.” said Noah’s mom Sarah.

Gina‘s response was not what Sarah expected. “Sarah, you have a baby in your own crib, why does Noah want to see my baby?”

“Because Noah is bored watching her sleep. Deborah sleeps all day and is colicky most of the night.”

“Send him up and you try to get some rest. Meanwhile, Noah can help me trim my Christmas tree.”

Sarah listened for Noah to reach Gina’s door on the third floor and heard her welcome him before closing her own door.

It didn’t take long for Sarah’s phone to ring. It was Gina. “Is something wrong?” asked Sarah, “I hope Noah didn’t break anything.”

“No, everything is fine” said Gina, “but I have a little boy here who is trimming his first Christmas tree. I told him the story of Santa Claus coming down the chimney and bringing presents for everyone. Now Noah wants to know why Santa Claus doesn’t visit his house. He wants to leave some of your cookies and milk out for Santa tonight. He thinks Santa will visit him too.”

Sarah laughingly replied, “What would Noah know about Christmas? In our house we celebrate Chanukah.”

“Sarah, is there any reason why Santa Claus can’t fill Noah’s stocking if he hung it on my tree?”

“None whatsoever, Gina, thank you for asking. Tell Noah he can come down now and get his stocking.” Just then the baby woke up crying and Sarah warmed a bottle for her.

Noah returned all excited. "Mom, Santa Claus is coming to visit tonight and Gina and I are going to put out cookies and milk for him. I'm going to hang my stocking on her tree."

While Sarah fed Deborah her bottle she listened as Noah went into his bedroom and then into hers. She was about to ask Noah what he was doing in her bedroom when he called out that he was going back upstairs to hang his stocking.

With Noah out of the apartment Sarah called her husband and asked him to buy a few toys to put under Gina’s tree and candy to fill his stocking.

Just as she hung up the phone, it rang again. On the other end of the line she heard laughter, “Hello,” said Sarah, “who is this?” More chuckling was heard and then Gina said, “Sorry, but this is so funny that I can’t stop laughing.” Sarah heard Gina take a deep breath and then she came back on the phone.

 “Sarah, you have to tell me the truth, did you give Noah the stocking he just hung on my Christmas tree or did he pick it out all by himself?”

“He took it by himself while I was feeding the baby,” Sarah said, “why do you ask?”

“Well, Noah came back upstairs with this huge ski stocking, the kind that comes up over your pants to keep the snow out. When I asked him why his stocking was so big he said he brought his daddy’s stocking because it would hold more!"

“Listen, Sarah, this is one smart kid you have here."

"I'm sorry, but I'm going to hang up now. I want to call my family and tell them about this little Jewish boy who has Christmas all figured out. It's going to be a very Merry Christmas!"

copyright 2014 Charlotte Savage all rights reserved.

Memories of a Christmas Past

by Lauraine Alberetti Lombara

     The Christmas tree was a quintessential Charlie Brown twig tree. My Papa tried hard to find one big enough to fit in the corner of our small living room, but not so full or nicely shaped that it would command a high price. At the time, I’m sure I was upset, but with all the good-natured joking by my older brothers and their heroic attempts to glorify the tree; trimming scraggly ends, drilling holes in the stem to add extra branches and finally setting the stand so the bare back was facing the corner walls, I was soon laughing along with them.

     I was very impressed with “the miracle”--turning the small bare tree into a glowing beacon, festooned with lights, ornaments, tinsel and a beatific angel perched on the spindly top. The magic of this transformation filled me with warmth and joy as I helped set up the Creche with all the figures, save the Baby Jesus-only placed after midnight Christmas Eve- and put out our few other simple decorations-lights in the windows and a few past year Christmas cards sent from Italy.

     Mama took me to downtown Boston to visit Santa, at Jordan Marsh, for my yearly photo sitting on his lap as I shyly told him my gift wishes. I wore my “best’ tan coat with a brown velvet collar and cuffs and matching jodhpurs, a brown felt, brimmed hat which tied under my chin with earmuffs, to protect my ears from bitter cold or leave folded under the hat if not necessary and good brown shoes or boots, if it was wet or snowy. An added treat was the spectacular Christmas displays in the store windows, especially Jordan Marsh’s Enchanted Village. The diorama of adults and children dressed in the fashion of the late 1800’s-early 1900’s in various home, store, and outdoor venues in winter and Christmastime was a delight for all ages. Not yet tired, we walked to R.H.White’s, Kennedy’s, Gilchrist’s and Filene’s to see their beautifully decorated windows 

    Chilled, hungry and a bit weary, but still excited, we walked around the corner to Coldstone’s, across the street from the rear of Filene’s. This was originally an automat which eventually became a cafeteria-type eatery. It was handy, inexpensive and always filled with shoppers, entering with their Filene’s Basement bags, bulging with bargains. We enjoyed a delicious lunch, got warm and rested and then we were off to see the historic Boston Common in its winter finery.

     We walked up Winter Street-so apropos of the season, looking toward the golden dome of the State House sitting majestically on Beacon Hill, surrounded by the stately, famous Boston brownstones. Many of the trees in the Common were covered with Christmas lights, as were a few small holiday displays and a Nativity Scene, all glowing in the early-arriving twilight. The masterpiece, the center of our attention now, was the enormous, towering Christmas tree; an annual gift of a grateful Nova Scotia to the City of Boston, in appreciation of their help during the Halifax Explosion and fire on December 6, 1917. The lights were blazing on the branches as if to say thank you, as a crowd of shoppers, workers on their way home and others stopped and stared-all eager to look with pride and joy at this glorious scene-it could have been a canvas painted by our own Boston artist, Childe Hassam.

     As we stood in front of the Park Street Station entrance, before heading home on the MTA, we would put all our change in the Salvation Army pot, all the while being serenaded by the uniformed Army chorus singing lovely carols. As I sat next to my dear Mama, a box of the eponymous Jordan Marsh Blueberry Muffins on my lap, I was one tired, but very happy child, even before Christmas Eve, Christmas Day and the Feast of the Epiphany had arrived.