I haven’t left Long Island in nearly a year and a half, yet the anticipation of the change of seasons feels like an outing,
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Cotton Candy, Candied Apple, Hot Dog! The carnival is coming to town!
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Now the commander of the club, my father, had full say over the rules and regulations of the ‘clean-plate club’-you had to eat everything on your plate no matter what-head cheese, tripe, borscht-the only one that had any power over the commander was my mother.
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For the past year and a half our smiles were often hidden behind our masks. We had to learn how to smile with our eyes-and nod a little I guess, to let people know that we saw them, acknowledged them, that we were friend not foe.
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We know a great deal about the history of Sag Harbor from reading the words that people left behind-letters, diaries, archived newspaper articles.
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This morning I was walking on the beach where my Uncle Jimmy once rented his fishing boats. I still feel our childhood footprints there and conjure up a vision of Old Sag Harbor.
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Growing up in Sag Harbor we all seemed about equal and ‘more’ or ‘less’ wasn’t something we even thought about.
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Those were simpler times-I’m not sure there was a Michelin star rating that could have captured the simplistic beauty of the Whalers Motel, right on Long Island Avenue in Sag Harbor. For many years the sign read, “Whalers Motel-TV-Heated.”
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