Loneliness

LONELINESS                                                    Ag Herman   10/07/16

                                                                   My 71^st Wedding Anniversary! 

     Loneliness is not a disease we can medicate, nor is it a garment we can shed.  It is a disconcerting fact of life that we can fix, if we try.  It is easy to say “woe is me” and lie down, give in and give up.  On the other hand, we can examine our loneliness, try to understand it and find out how to minimize it.

     Since my husband died almost eight years ago, I have experienced that lonely feeling in a way that does not compare to anything I have ever known.  It is not the childhood complaint, “I have nothing to do, no one to play with, I’m bored!” nor is it the young adult whining, “It’s Saturday night and I don’t have a date!”  I try to manage my days. There are numerous opportunities for my involvement, satisfying ways to keep busy.  Here at Seacrest Village, the program is varied, seductive and inviting.  But my nights are lonely.  Old movies and new ones do not entice me.  Memories of sharing our loveseat, holding hands and whispered critiques continue to erode my complacency.

     I am not looking for sympathy.  I am attempting to assure those of my readers who are experiencing loneliness, that you are not alone!  A recent poll indicates that one in four Americans have no one to confide in, they are lonely.  That is bad news!  Loneliness can lead to isolation; isolation opens the door to depression!  Lonely folks are frequently more vulnerable to illness and early death.  There are ways to beat the odds.  I find that having music in my apartment helps create a happy, pleasant ambiance, it is there when I return and keeps me company as I wade through my day.

     I find that there is therapy in a walk outdoors.  When I do, I sing to myself, argue with myself and forget the latest petty irritation on the phone or in the dining room.  Lengthy phone calls with old friends and/or family members provide great satisfaction, we do not talk of visiting as much as we discuss the day’s fun, the humorous experiences we enjoy and of course, the old days when we were kids together.  Reminiscing can be fun and therapeutic.

     Reading and writing are the primary weapons in my war with loneliness.  Everyone has a talent: singing, swimming or sketching; playing with the children or walking the dog, others garden, even on our small balconies one can glory in a garden’s growth. 

     Above all there is the stream of events that take place here at Seacrest Village.  Whether one participates and enjoys a Sabbath Service is a matter of taste or desire.  Shopping is fun for some; others prefer playing “Judge Judi” and still others gain from Torah study.  There is scrabble and yoga, knitting and computers.  I could continue but I believe that everyone reading my words has his or her favorite Seacrest activity.  Here at Seacrest loneliness is a choice, not a necessity.                              

Loneliness is my very own secret

that embraces me each night.

Catching me by surprise,

then chased by the morning sun.

Each night,

as the sun begins to set,

it’s there.

Before I tire and yawn

or think of my cozy bed.

                                                                              As if to keep me company

my loneliness arrives,

it has become a friend.

It returns with memories

for me to savor,

                                                                                            it touches

my heart where my beloveds rest!

Our Love Affair

Our Love Affair, 

A Memoir………………………………………………………………..7/4/16

Ag  Herman

    

   Sixty-three and ½ years were not enough; he turned away, unwilling to say goodbye.  I stood by his bed, tearfully reluctant.  We had started our journey so many years ago.  Together we had crawled under each other’s skin.  We were in love, we were in step; we understood each other perfectly.

     I met Erv Herman when I went to Ohio for a position with Family Service of Cincinnati.  I had two phone numbers in my pocket “in case you are lonely”.  A friend of a friend knew a boy at the Hebrew Union College, training ground for want-to-be Reform (Progressive) Rabbis.  In addition I had the number of a young minister; a friend in school had a friend in Cincinnati who was an Episcopal pastor.   From my Mother I also had serious, explicit instructions: “do not bring home a clergyman”!  I never asked why.  I was busy thinking about my new job, new city and hopefully, new friends.

     Soon I was lonely: my middle-aged colleagues at Family Service went to lectures and meetings during their time off, I was looking for fun at the 22 year old level.  So I called the Hebrew Union College and brought greetings from my friend in New York.  It worked like a charm.  I had visitors the next Saturday afternoon.  One New York student and one from Baltimore, they also had a younger boy in tow: he was their driver.  I never did find out if they paid him for the 12-mile ride or whether he just liked to be part of what the big boys were doing.

     The afternoon was fun.  It was during our Jewish holiday of Passover that they visited. I apologized to the - would be - rabbis that I had nothing to serve them except Pepsi-cola which was stamped “kosher for Passover”.  “You are Jewish?”  They asked in surprise!  “Agnes Gilbert” was a name without a specific derivation or definition, very hard to identify.  I pretended I was offended so they accepted a Pepsi and decided to play another game with me.

     I was ready for them: “can you tell who is Murray, who is Erv and who is Donny?”  They were astonished that I picked each one correctly.  They were so sure-footed that they did not know they had called each other by name in whispers: my sharp ears always stood me in good stead.  When they left, promising to call, I later heard that Murray and Erv had a lengthy discussion, on the other side of my front door, about who would ask me out. Apparently at the Hebrew Union College there was a code of honor:  no two men dated the same girl at the same time.   Murray was elected!   I never found out if they tossed a coin or settled in some other way.  Yes Murray and I dated awhile, then as happens when two people are really not matched, we broke up.  The real fun began almost immediately.

     The wife of another student invited me to play bridge on a quiet Sunday evening.  I asked who the fourth player was, she replied “Erv Herman”.  In the intervening time, I had heard a lot about this would-be rabbi.  He was irrepressible and frequently walking the fine line on the edge of danger. So, I answered my friend that I did not think he and I were in the same league; unbelievably he gave her the same answer when she asked him to join us.  In as much as our friend complained that she was only asking us to play bridge, not marry, we both relented and so began the saga of Erv and Ag Herman.

     From that day until I had to return to New York to grad school, we saw each other every day. And when he visited me in New York in June, he jumped off the train and said for the world to hear, “as of this moment we are engaged”!   We were married in October; more than 63 years later cancer took my love…he always said, “I want to go first so that you can have a couple of years of freedom”.  Silly man, did he not understand that I always preferred to go along!!!

                                                                                        Agnes G. Herman

                                                                                                     211 Saxony Rd.  Apt# 231

                                                                                              Encinitas, CA 92024

                                                                                                 

MY GRANDSON CONVERTS…..9/9/15        AGH

   I was born a Jew, I have members of my family who were not. Religious choice is a given for the adult members of the family. Jews and non-Jews are part of my family, welcomed, embraced and included.  Frequently we celebrate New Year’s Day and Rosh Hashanah, Christmas and Chanukah, Easter and Passover. 

   Despite that truth, my reaction to Matt’s announcement that he was baptized last Sunday was one of sadness and loss.  I am sad and disappointed because I feel that somewhere, somehow I have failed, I failed Matthew and also have failed Judaism.  Apparently, he needs more or something different from what Judaism and I have to offer.

   For me Judaism is a comfort, a way of life, it is the source of love.  I was not able, over the years to translate that concept for Matt though it is the essence of my belief.    He now believes that Christianity answers his needs. I can only continue to love him and encourage his search. I have tried to act out my Judaism for my grandson.  My Judaism tells me to be honest and honorable and humble; tells me to care for others, to worry about others; my Judaism has taught me to love; my Judaism has told me the story of who I am and who I can be.  I must strive to be better, to surpass myself…to do better, to care more, to reach out to help.  My Judaism has taught me about equality that no one person can be better than another as long as that one person keeps striving to do his/her best, to grow, to learn, to love.  In Judaism we strive for perfection, understanding full well that humanity is imperfect, as Robert Browning said,  “man’s (or woman’s) reach should exceed his (her) grasp or what’s a Heaven for?”  All this, over the years, I have shared with Matt. He obviously feels he has found it and more in Christianity.

   My disappointment reflects my concern that Matt has stepped out of the fold.  He promises that he has not abandoned me.  I take heart in the thought.  Our God may be the same God, but our succor is different, our references are different.  I must remember that nothing can destroy our love or our family even though our beliefs may have different names and diverse paths.  Our Holydays and celebrations will be different. I hope and pray that the roots of our love and loyalty will not change, but will have the energy to remain strong as always, Judaism and Christianity teach honor and respect.  I respect my grandson’s choice, I will not join him but I will always accompany him.  May we never stop loving or searching for better as we move side by side to a different drummer.   We must never forget that God is the source of love and faith, no matter what we call Him.

   I spoke with Matt two days before his conversion. It was clear that he was 

excited, that he felt that he finally knows who he is and why he is here.  I pray 

that he and I will always be able to talk to each other honestly, I thank God 

for my grandson and bless him with my love.

CONTENTMENT –   (a memoir)

   During the week before we were married Erv and I were surrounded and embraced by many people.  I do believe that my most contented moment was when they finally delivered us to the train that would take us to Petoskey Michigan, our honeymoon destination.   There were 18 people at our wedding, all 18 came to Grand Central Station to see us off.  I recall one friend who had not been invited to the wedding, was waiting for us at the gate.  When the train whistle blew and our friends and family were ordered off the train, we looked at each other with joy.  Erv turned to the porter and asked him to make up the lower berth.  My contentment was reflected in Erv’s eyes.  Everyone was gone; we were together forever, hand in hand, hopeful, happy, thoroughly contented.  We had no idea that we had more than 63 years ahead of us.  I look back on those years remembering that joyous contentment pervaded our lives, enabling us to ride the roller coast of life with confidence.

   Our honeymoon in Petoskey was close to perfect until Erv’s stomach ulcer misbehaved and I inadvertently stumbled into a problem with my new in-laws.  In our attempt to hide my sweetheart’s tummy problem from his Mother, we decided to send a wire to let them know that we were fine, enjoying ourselves and, at the same time, we wished them a Happy Anniversary.  appy AnniversaryI ran out to send the telegram while Erv and his tummy went to bed.  He asked me to bring him a copy of the note I sent: “Happy Anniversary Mom and Dad…have fun etc….”  “Omigosh”, he said, “My Mother hates to be called Mom!”  With the best of intentions I hammered the wedge between us deeper into the unknown. 

   The angst between Erv’s Mother and me lasted about 28 years.  Before she died, we talked and made peace.  It was too late for us to build a relationship, but it did mitigate some of her anger and my hurt.  She told me once, “I have to give you credit, you have been a good mother!”  My husband stuck by me through all the good and bad times, he provided all the kudos I needed. Our marriage was spelled c-o-n-t-e-n-t-m-e-n-t.

   When Erv was able to earn $65 a week without my help, we began to think “baby”. With great ceremony and glee we tossed the diaphragm to the farthest most shelf in the closet and went about the business of making a baby.   After several frustrating months we enlisted medical help. Our doctor expounded the obvious: “Ag why don’t you stop working, relax and enjoy these carefree times!” His prescription was fun but it did not work. As a matter of fact nothing seemed to be working and our confidence and enthusiasm were falling fast.

   Neither of us could imagine life without children.  When we started talking “adoption” the wedge between my mother-in-law and me simply deepened. She was certain that I was the one at “fault” creating our inability to produce children. But I had a great partner, together, we moved full speed ahead and by January of 1950 we brought Jeffrey home, eight month old Jeff was a husky heavyweight, full of giggles.  Eighteen months later we brought Judi home.  She was a lightweight, an emotional baby who laughed out loud at the antics of her brother and cried at bedtime when the fun came to an end.   We had a matched pair who challenged us to be the best that we could be as parents.  We were a contented trio.

  

Our Love Affair………………………………………………………………..6/18/16

    

   Sixty-three and ½ years were not enough; he turned away, unwilling to say goodbye.  I stood by his bed, tearfully reluctant.  We had started our journey so many years ago.  Together we had crawled under each other’s skin.  We were in love, we were in step; we understood each other perfectly.

     I met Erv Herman when I went to Ohio for a position with Family Service of Cincinnati.  I had two phone numbers in my pocket “in case you become lonely”.  A friend of a friend knew a boy at the Hebrew Union College, training ground for want-to-be Reform (Progressive) Rabbis.  In addition, I had the number of a young minister; a friend in school had a friend in Cincinnati who was an Episcopal pastor.   From my Mother I also had serious, explicit instructions: “do not bring home a clergyman”!  I never asked why.  I was busy thinking about my new job, new city and hopefully, new friends.

     Soon I was lonely: the middle-aged colleagues at Family Service went to lectures and meetings during their time off, I was looking for fun at the 22 year old level.  So I called the Hebrew Union College and brought greetings from my friend in New York.  It worked like a charm.  I had visitors the next Saturday afternoon.  One New York student and one from Baltimore, they also had a younger boy in tow: he was their driver.  I never did find out if they paid him for the 12-mile ride or whether he just liked to be part of what the big boys were doing.

     The afternoon was fun.  It was during our Jewish holiday of Passover that they visited. I apologized to the would be rabbis that I had nothing to serve them except Pepsi-Cola which was stamped “kosher for Passover”.  “You are Jewish?”  They asked in surprise!  “Agnes Gilbert” was a name without a specific derivation or definition, very hard to identify.  I pretended I was offended so they accepted a Pepsi and decided to play another game with me.

     I was ready for them: “Can you tell who is Murray, who is Erv and who is Donny?”  They were astonished that I picked each one correctly.  They were so sure-footed that they did not know they had called each other by name in whispers: sharp ears and a quick understanding always stood me in good stead.  When they left, promising to call, I later heard that Murray and Erv had a lengthy discussion, on the other side of my front door, about who would ask me out. Apparently at the Hebrew Union College there was a code of honor:  no two men dated the same girl at the same time.   Murray was elected!   I never found out if they tossed a coin or settled in some other way.  Yes Murray and I dated awhile, then as happens when two people are really not matched, we broke up.  Then the real fun began.

     The wife of another student invited me to play bridge on a quiet Sunday evening.  I asked who the fourth player was, she replied “Erv Herman”.  In the intervening time, I had heard a lot about this would-be rabbi.  He was irrepressible and constantly walking the fine line on the edge of danger. So, I answered my friend that I did not think he and I were in the same league; unbelievably he gave her the same answer when she asked him to join us.  In as much as our friend complained that she was only asking us to play bridge, not marry!  We both relented and so began the saga of Erv and Ag Herman.

     From that day until I had to return to New York to grad school, we saw each other every day. And when he visited me in New York in June, he jumped off the train and said for the world to hear, “as of this moment we are engaged”!   We were married in October; more than 63 years later, cancer took my love…he always said, “I want to go first so that you can have a couple of years of freedom”.  Silly man, did he not understand that I always preferred to go along!!!

                                                                                        Agnes G. Herman

                                                                                                  

                                                                                                 

WHO AM I?

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.