Ch. 07 (A COOKIE for PUPPY GIRL) – Serendipity^[1]

As I continued to work long hours, it became clear that the commute from Marin County each day made no sense because I was only going home to sleep each night and then driving back very early again the next morning. Often, I would drive around Alameda on my lunch hour and came to realize that the island community was absolutely gorgeous, especially the older Victorian homes built in the early 1900’s. One day I met Pierce, a guy about my age who had just relocated into the area to pursue a high-tech job and had just purchased an older 2-bedroom Victorian home that needed significant renovation. Pierce was a great guy and I knew we would be excellent roommates, the only problem was that he had so many home-improvement projects going on (e.g., no working kitchen or bathroom, etc.), it would be several months before he would be ready to host a roommate. Not a problem for me though, my timetable was flexible so I was giving it strong consideration.

Meanwhile, I hadn’t been back to Oregon in nearly five months since moving to the Bay Area so when Rickand I took off for our parents’ home in southern Oregon for Thanksgiving, I was very excited that our entire family, complete with spouses and their kids was planning to attend. On the evening prior to the drive north, I was visiting with my three roommates in Corte Madera while I packed for my trip, and I happened to mention that I would be moving closer to work in the next 3-6 months because the commute was killing me, and they certainly understood. In fact, I explained that I wanted to provide them with a lengthy lead-time so they could find a suitable roommate, and also that I would remain flexible on the actual move-out date. That part of our evening’s conversation lasted less than five minutes and it barely even registered in my memory. In any case, Rick and I arrived home and Mom greeted us the next day with a fabulous home-cooked Thanksgiving Dinner with all the trimmings and we spent the next few days getting caught up on everyone’s life. The time flew by too quickly as Sunday arrived and it was time to make the 500-mile return trip, which would also include Dadbecause Rick’soffice had given him their San Francisco 49er corporate football tickets for the team’s nationally-televised Monday Night Football game against the league’s best, New York Giants. Finally, we arrived back at my place in Corte Madera around midnight, after ten hours in the car and I couldn’t get into bed fast enough. Of course, I had no idea that my world was about to change dramatically, forever.

As I walked inside, the entire living area was full of new furniture and packed boxes scattered and stacked everywhere. A young woman, who introduced herself as Ravae, was sitting on a couch with her older brother, then stood up, extended her hand and warmly said, “You must be Jim. Apparently, I’ll be moving into your room, when do you think you might be gone?” Needless to say, I was a bit confused because I had told my roommates that they could take as long as was necessary to find a suitable replacement, never expecting them to act so quickly. As it turns out, two days earlier, on the Friday following Thanksgiving, one of my roommates visited Marin Roommates, where I had answered their ‘Roommate Wanted’ ad several months earlier, and in the process of reactivating their account, happened to meet Ravae who was signing up for the service at that exact same time and in need of a place to live. They hit it off famously but Ravaeindicated that all of her belongings were in a United Van Lines truck nearby and she needed to move her stuff within 48 hours so my roommates had to decide on the spot. I had not given them my parents’ phone number so they really had no way to discuss the situation with me, but they knew they really wanted her for their ‘replacement’ roommate and I had indicated that I would be flexible.

When I caught my breath and figured out what had happened, I started laughing and replied, “I guess I had better find a place to live, but in the meantime, one of us is sleeping on the couch tonight” to which she smiled back and jokingly remarked, “I’m guessing it will be you on the couch”.

In reflection, our serendipitous meeting happened so quickly and so unexpectedly, I was a little stunned. To be totally honest, I felt an instant chemistry (ATTRACTION) with her, and in spite of being exhausted and trying to get Dad and Rick settled for the night, we sat up and visited for a while longer. And, if you haven’t guessed it, Ravaeand I fell in love, quite possibly that night (for me), were married a few years later and have spent the past 40 years of our lives together. FYI, I did end up on the couch that night but only because I gave Dad my bed as Ravae and her brother were staying at a nearby hotel.

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^[1]Disclaimer: This excerpt and corresponding writing sample display some color but the actual book is in black and white.

Ch. 38 (A TURD in THE PICKLE JAR) – A Glaze of Madness^[1]

My dad had been an English Literature instructor before he had his massive stroke years earlier (1975) and was forced to retire from teaching. To help time pass since then, Dad was always reading great literary works, and most recently he was enjoying T.S. Elliot’s, ‘Being and Nothingness’, and Ezra Pound’s poetry book, ‘The Cantos’. He was frequently using the large, school-sized chalk board hanging on the wall in my childhood bedroom to record notes and explain meaningful excerpts to me later that evening. Unfortunately, The Cantos is 800 pages long and way beyond my ability to fully comprehend so I chose one of Dad’s other favorites, ‘The Highwayman’, a gothic romantic poem written by Alfred Noyes, in 1906. It is set in 18^th century, rural England and, “Tells the story of an unnamed highwayman who is in love with Bess, a landlord’s daughter. Betrayed to the authorities by a jealous ostler (stable hand), the highwayman escapes ambush when Bess sacrifices her life to warn him. Learning of her death, he is killed in a futile attempt at revenge” (“The Highwayman”, 2025).Some literary critics claim that it may be, “The best ballad poem in existence for oral delivery. . .making use of vivid imagery to describe surroundings and repetitious phrases to emphasize action” (“The Highwayman”, 2025).Here is the first stanza of Noyes’ ‘The Highwayman’ (Noyes, 1907):

The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees.   
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas.   
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,   
And the highwayman came riding—
         Riding—riding—
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.

Note how the rhythm is suggestive of the footfalls of a galloping horse and the author’s use of alliteration, such as the phrase ‘ghostly galleon’. The entire poem can be found in the Appendix.

            In my rendition, which is entitled ‘The Intruder’, I tried to capture this same rhythm and alliteration in a story that, at first glance, appears to be of a stranger to a new area who stumbles onto ‘an enchanted princess resting’ and unwittingly becomes an ‘Intruder’ into her life. Read on and you may be surprised by the twist that follows:

Beware of the pallid figure, planted among the trees
Beware of the muffled chatter, whispering with the breeze
Beware of the icy moonlight, shadowing across the floor
For a stranger may be watching
                  Watching, WATCHING
For a stranger may be watching, as you bar the door!

Inside held her captive laughter, echoing into the night
The walls kissed her radiant spirit, dancing about the light
Her heart sang a jubilant splendor, chasing the stillness away
Unaware of a stranger listening
                  Listening, LISTENING
Unaware of a stranger listening, to all she would do and say!

His eyes dripped a glaze of madness, feasting upon her room
His beard masked a frozen smile, scarred with a blackened doom
His veins pulsed a tortured fervor, his soul condemned to burn
The stranger stood outside waiting,
                  Waiting, WAITING
The stranger stood outside waiting, for that stillness to return.

Alas, the night had deepened, descending on toward dawn
It seeped into her bedroom, through curtains laced and drawn
As sleep caressed her pillow, and love entranced her dreams
The stranger was outside stalking,
Stalking, STALKING
The stranger was outside staling, the wind disguised his screams.

Up the stairs he bounded, out of the moonlit yard
He wrestled the doors and shutters, but all were locked and barred
He dove through a plated window, and who should be lying there
An enchanted princess resting,
                  Resting, RESTING
An enchanted princess resting, divined with a spellbound prayer.

Her eyes unmasked his sorrow, her tears dissolved his pain
Her heart engaged his spirit, and gave it life again
He leaned and kissed her gently, and though he did not stay
The Intruder may come calling
                  Calling, CALLING
The Intruder will come calling, for he has found his way.

In reflection, this poem depicts a love story but not in the traditional sense, rather it is a representation of me addressing my profound feelings of ‘self-loathing’ and eventually learning to love myself again. Recall from my earlier poem, ‘The Night Before the Exam’ (Chapter 33), I was able to capture the essence of my tortured soul as I faced my worst fears and ultimately came out the other side, and as uplifting as it was to ‘Set my soul free’, I was not totally back to my original self. Yes, I reconciled my feelings of sorrow and embarrassment from failing in school, but sadly, I was still unable to embrace romantic intimacy in those two years following medical school. I was paralyzed to enter into a meaningful romantic relationship, likely because my self-esteem and confidence were shattered! As I began relating to the poet’s (Alfred Noyes) ability to capture the raw visceral power of true love, amidst the backdrop of betrayal and revenge, I realized that I was unable to feel those emotions for another because I didn’t love myself. Some may be skeptical or think I am being overdramatic, but I embodied ‘The Intruder’ who was confused because he wanted to find intimacy but instead, merely presented himself as a stranger, even, perhaps, a stalker, who was ‘watching, Watching, WATCHING’, as he stood locked away on the outside because he didn’t know how to express himself any longer.

Notice how the Intruder evolves from ‘watching’ to ‘listening’, to ‘waiting’ until finally ‘the wind disguised his screams’ at which point ‘he dove through a plated window’ which was a metaphor for me finally unlocking my emotions and finding a window into my soul. I was finally ready to forgive myself for failing (in medical school) years earlier and embrace life again. In other words, the enchanted princess,

Her eyes unmasked his sorrow, her tears dissolved his pain
Her heart engaged his spirit, and gave it life again.

was, in fact, MY inner spirit finding joy and announcing that I was finally able to love myself again and I was ready to seek love and intimacy (ATTRACTION) with another. I had finally driven the demons from my head and fully reclaim my life back!

I do want to offer a special thanks to one particular friend who helped me dig out of the proverbial ‘rabbit hole’. The essence of the poem just appeared to me one evening, much like an epiphany as I wrote the entire poem in one sitting and, suddenly I had regained my joy of life. I am eternally grateful to her for being such a good (platonic) friend and certainly, she embodies the Cookie for Puppy Girl Award^[2], reserved for all who are good and kind in this world.

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“The Highwayman (poem)” (2025, May 12). In Wikipedia. Retrieved from The Highwayman (poem) [URL].

Noyes, A. (1907). “The Highwayman” [Poem]. Forty Singing Seamen and Other Poems. University of California Libraries Publishing.

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^[1]Disclaimer: This excerpt and corresponding writing sample display some color but the actual book is in black and white.

^[2] Inspired by and awarded to those special individuals who show kindness toward others without expecting anything in return. Note that this image and uses color whereas the actual memoir is in black and white.