Who am I? Before I continue to write about folks who
have recently come to Seacrest, perhaps you would like to learn a bit about me,
Ag Herman. I came to Seacrest in early
January. A year ago I would have been
kicking and screaming over my perceived loss of independence This year I made the big decision based on
two important facts of life. I was
tired of cooking for myself. The second
reason was boredom. I knew I needed new
challenges. I filled out the papers for
Seacrest, when rooms became available I
was ready. I have a living room, a
bedroom and bath, a huge closet and NO kitchen. I could not have planned it better. NO kitchen for the first time in my adult life! A gift!
I cooked for
my family for close to seventy years: “enough already” I mused. My microwave heats up yesterday’s dinner
rolls just fine; my toaster oven toasts my muffins for breakfast perfectly and
both appliances heat up any leftovers that I scrounge from the table. I have told anyone willing to listen: this
is the last stop. If for some
reason Seacrest does not work for me, that is okay I am determined to hang
in there.
People are
friendly, interested in newcomers and willing to listen. Everyone I have encountered has patience
with my stories that I try to preface with: “have I mentioned this
before”. I really do not want to become
repetitious and boring.
I was born and
raised in New York City, on Riverside Drive. The silver spoon that came with me
disappeared quickly in the wake of the Great Depression. My Dad, an electrical engineer with the New
York Central Railroad was my shining star.
He took me to movies on a Sunday afternoon, he walked me to Sunday
School, he tried to make a “lady” out of me: “when it is cold, wear gloves, a
lady must have nice hands”! He never
allowed me to stay home alone – always a source of argument. He also taught me how to drink. When I was 18, he cautioned “always have a
little food when you take a drink, never drink on an empty stomach”! He never got drunk (to my knowledge) and
neither did I.
Mother and Dad
were not a matched pair, he at six foot two, and she, at 5 foot, were as
different as two people can be. She had
the sharpest eyes that could find a needle in a haystack. Once she found a
diamond in the gutter. He loved a good
joke and had the patience required of a Dad who practiced spelling words, over
and over again and drew a straight line in the dark. If you asked them separately “who is your first concern, he would
have answered “your Mother” and she would have said, “the children”. Yes they were different, but when it came to
love, they were on the same page.
When I was
growing up, I was sure that my big brother was Mom’s favorite child; he, on the
other hand was certain that I was Dad’s favorite. From my adult perspective today, I am sure that we were both
right. That smattering of favoritism
did us both good. We grew up to be
secure, motivated individuals. We made happy marriages and between us had four
children; two are still making their way in the world. Sadly, two have died.
When we gave my
parents grief by fighting with each other they threatened to leave us and go
off together. They almost managed to do
that: Dad died at 75 in 1957. Mother
followed him two months later at 67.
She apologized to us saying, “You two are doing fine with good marriages
and kids. Dad needs me”! I still cannot imagine either one of my
parents without the other.
