The Whole Picture

by Charlotte Savage

      I once read, “A picture is worth a thousand words,” and I heartily believe that to be true as seen in the picture above.

               
     It was in November of 2015 that I flew into Texas to visit my son Barry, his wife Gail, my granddaughter Jamie, and her two children Hailey age nine and William who was seven.   

              
     Arriving at the airport I wondered if my great-grandchildren would remember me.  I hadn’t seen them for two years.    Perhaps Hailey might—but I questioned if William would.

             
     Gail, accompanied by Hailey and William met me inside the airport.   I was amazed at how much Hailey and William had grown.   Hailey, tall for her age, was very slim with long flowing blond hair while William had brown hair and long lashes covering large expressive eyes.  I asked if they remembered me.

                 
    “I remember you,” said William, “we played games the last time you visited us and we had lots of fun.”    Hailey nodded in agreement.

               
     On the drive home the children sang a song for me naming all of the United States.  William proudly announced he could even do them backwards-- which he did-- with a little help from his sister.  I learned that they had a sleep--over at their Grammy’s house every Thursday night, the night their mom worked late. Since it was Thursday we would all be together until Grammy drove them to school the next morning. 

               
     When we arrived at their home, my daughter–in-law Gail reminded the children they needed  to do their next day’s homework before dinner.  Since it was close to the dinner hour Gail worked with Hailey on her English homework while I helped William with his arithmetic.  Because William was taught math by a different method than I, he showed me his method.  It didn’t take me long to realize William was using neither method.   He mostly did the addition and subtraction in his head--probably because he has so much energy to expend that anything that was time consuming would not hold his attention for very long.   He explained that his teacher required him to show how he got the answer; so first he figured the answer in his head and then he went back and made little circles to represent each number and then counted the circles to prove his answer.

               
     Hailey on the other hand had a lot more patience and completed her work in a timely manner. Grammy allowed them free time to draw or paint once their homework was completed. Something they both enjoyed doing.

              
     After dinner Hailey told me she had a surprise for me.  It was a picture she had drawn of the two of us.  It showed a young child with straight hair wearing a dress and that of an adult with very short curly hair wearing earrings and we were holding hands and smiling.   It was the nicest welcome I had ever received and it was so appreciated.  I looked at my nine year old great--granddaughter in awe; though I am an artist I tend to paint pictures of flowers and landscapes.   Hailey had actually captured us in a simple pencil drawing.

               
     I told Hailey that I would treasure her gift forever and it would be framed and hung when I returned home.  I suggested that she sign her art because that is what true artists do.   Her little pixie face showed delight as she carefully printed her name.

               
     In the weeks that followed I had the opportunity to spend quality time with these two great--grandchildren.  On the weekend the children asked my son Barry to take them to the bug park.  I wondered what a bug park was.  Arriving at a children’s playground a mile from his home the answer was obvious.  There was a miniature car with room for two children to sit inside it.  The car was built in the replica of a lady bug.  It moved from side to side and circled around as they shifted their weight.  They never got tired of riding on it. When it was time to leave they would ask if they could have a turn on the swings.  They would call out to Barry—“Push harder, Papa Bear”-- as he pushed them higher and higher.  Barry like his dad is a Pied Piper that all children love to be with.

               
     I truly enjoyed William’s happy, energetic demeanor, the way he was at ease with both friends and strangers alike whom he chatted with constantly no matter where we went.   Even more so, I enjoyed watching the interplay between Hailey and her little brother.   I saw how Hailey often played the big sister and was very kind and patient to her younger brother.  I also saw the respect that William showed for Hailey.   Whenever he didn’t understand something he went to her for the answer and if her answer was too brief they would sit side by side and discuss the subject further.  Sometimes they searched the internet together if William had more questions.

               
     Before I returned home, some five weeks later, I asked William how it felt to have an older sister looking out for him.   He didn’t answer me right away; he thought about it for a couple of minutes.   Finally he responded, “It’s nice to have an older sister most of the time; the only time it isn’t fun is when Hailey gets too bossy-- and she tends to be bossy a lot.”   Then he gave me one of his innocent disarming smiles that he uses whenever he is teasing his sister.     I chuckled and told my adorable great-grandson that I had heard similar complaints from my own little brother when I was younger.   The incredulous look William gave me was---you mean you were once as young as me!

               
     However, it was followed by a quick wink from William--which told me that he knew I understood him –and that, in fact, I got the whole picture! 

2016 Charlotte Savage all rights reserved

               

September

by Beth Alexander Walsh

September is industrious.

It is harvests and stacks of firewood.

It is work and school.

It is new notebooks and backpacks and boxes of crayons.

It is dodgeball and hopscotch and jump rope.

It is Girl Scouts and Cub Scouts and soccer.

It is reading and writing and arithmetic.

It is afternoons in the library and Scholastic book orders.

It is marching band and football games.

It is shoes and socks and sweaters.

It is deciding how long you can last without turning the heat on.

It is apples and pumpkins and stew simmering on the stove.

It is structure and purpose.

It is learning and reinvention.

Industrious is September.

Kenneth J. Roy

November 1, 1935 - July 19, 2016

Remembering Ken

When I want to describe someone I’ve met, there are many words I can select but one that I rarely use is charming. Yet that’s the first word that comes to mind when I think of Ken - an exceptional word for an exceptional man.

It was about three years ago when I saw a notice in the Beverly Public Library’s newsletter about a writing group that Liz Ciampa was forming. I immediately marked the date on my calendar, arrived early when the time came, and that first day is when I met Ken. Over the three years since, it’s been a pleasure to learn about writing with him and to share some of the details of our lives through our writing. His was a full, interesting life and flashes of the fun-loving, devil-may-care young man that he was at one time came through in his work. In our group he laughed easily, especially at himself; he had the confidence to say when he knew something and admit when he didn’t; and although he didn’t always understand what one of us was trying to say in a piece we wrote, he never put us or the work down. When you are a writing group member, an important and helpful activity is critiquing each other’s work by offering constructive suggestions for improvement. Ken, however, was not a man to delve into sentence structure, punctuation, or any of the other details involved in writing. Nope. He either told you he didn’t understand the work or gave you a thumbs up. I swear I walked on air the day he gave me two thumbs up for one of my stories.

The second year our group was together, we had a party at Beth’s house during our summer break. All the women brought food. Ken, our token male, brought small boxes of Godiva chocolates for his ‘girls’. I was so touched that I took the small silver heart that was part of the wrapping and slipped in onto my key ring; there it still is and there it will stay, because I smile and think of him each time I look at it.

I miss Ken. The world is a sadder place without that twinkle, that wit, that generosity of spirit that was part of my friend, Ken Roy. 

Gail Balentine

     I always looked forward to the days when Ken would read his stories. It was easy to see the rambunctious young man he once was in his Cuban and Californian escapades. When he finished reading his work, we always had questions for him and he would happily expound on his shenanigans leaving out the risque details. He would say he didn’t want to go “too blue” around us ladies.  Ken was always eager to participate in our group and his self- deprecating humor brought joy to our meetings. We always appreciated his male viewpoint and I think he quite enjoyed his status of being “the thorn among all us roses.”  I am certain that Ken had many more stories to write, I only wish he were still here to share them. 

Beth Alexander Walsh

Ken was an original member of the Winter Street Writers and sole male.  He was a treasured addition to our writing group and not the least bit intimidated by all the females.   Ken lived the life of a scientist with the talent of a crackerjack “teller of tales—stories to leave my family.”  Those stories, many of which are in the archives of the WSW Blog are eclectic and intriguing, filled with off-beat characters, humor and exciting real events in his life.  He was a renaissance gentleman, caring, respectful and humble.  He shall be missed!    Rest in peace Ken, dear friend. Condolences to his family and friends,

Lauraine Alberetti Lombara

Winter Street Writers

Creative Writing Workshop

Saturday, October 15th 

10a.m. to 2 p.m.

Beverly Public Library/Sohier Room

This workshop is free, 

limited to 12 participants and registration is required. 

To register, please email Liz Ciampa at erc7@comcast.net.

Are you looking for a place and time for creative writing practice? In this free workshop, participants will explore the art and craft of writing. We will use unique creative writing prompts to keep that pen moving. Writers are encouraged (but not required) to collaborate and to share their work, and there is no critique. Participants will leave this workshop with short pieces that may be expanded upon and utilized within current projects, as well a inspiration for future writing.

Bring own bag lunch. Water and light snacks provided.