Rediscovering Ramona

Book summary

Witty writer Ramona Wilder, reeling from a personal tragedy, isolates herself during the pandemic, only to be drawn into an unexpected friendship with her lively neighbor Fred. As Fred faces a terminal illness, Ro embarks on a journey to Marrakesh, fulfilling his last wish and rediscovering her sense of self along the way.

Excerpt from Rediscovering Ramona

Chapter 1

Los Angeles, CA, 2020

Quarantine

Ro peeked out from behind the curtain of her bedroom window, careful not to be seen by her annoying neighbor. It was only seven o’clock in the morning, and as usual, Fred Dunston was blowing the debris off his driveway with a leaf blower that made more noise than a John Deere tractor.

Fred's noisy morning ritual involved fending off every hapless leaf that fell to the ground. His method of lovingly brushing the dust off his mechanical companion and gently lifting the cord as if it were the hemmed kimono of a geisha suggested that his daily ritual satisfied more than a cleanliness obsession. I’m sending you a blowup doll for Christmas, pal.

Ro shook her head as she turned away from the window. She wanted to strangle Fred Dunston with his blower cord. The noise from his multiple power tools interrupted her sleep and, in Ro’s opinion, robbed all life forms of a peaceful existence. Unfortunately, there was no escape from Fred due to the current quarantine in Los Angeles (and most major cities) as the world attempted to control the virulent COVID-19 virus.

Despite her inability to escape from Fred, Ramona ‘Ro’ Wilder was secretly grateful for the recently imposed lockdown. In the months leading up to the pandemic, she had already disengaged from life, and there was no better place to hide out than in Laurel Canyon, a haven of music and wildlife nestled in the Hollywood Hills above the busy streets of Los Angeles.

Every day, the gruesome reports about the mounting number of deaths filled Ro with grief for the countless victims of the deadly virus. In light of the widespread suffering, the imposed quarantine seemed like a tolerable hardship if it could prevent the virus from spreading. What she refused to admit to herself, however, was that the virus also provided the logical excuse she needed to justify her withdrawal.

Quarantine, while causing devastating mental and economic challenges for countless people, also created major daily obstacles. Fortunately for the world, Amazon had spread almost as quickly as the virus, so every day, Amazon's valiant delivery drivers braved the threat of germs to accommodate the shut-ins. As a result, the masses had little need to leave their homes for anything other than exercise, doctor visits, and maybe a furtive attempt to engage in some form of communal normality.

As someone who complied with the lockdown restrictions without complaint, Ro had no patience for folks who created more hardship for others. Rather than grumbling about the ongoing toilet paper shortage caused by frenzied herds of hoarders who panicked at the idea of having to drip dry, Ro ordered a bidet attachment for the toilet and resolved to just “swoosh the tush.” When it finally arrived, she gratefully welcomed the delivery man in the black mask who looked like an actor in a porn film. Otherwise, Ro kept interaction at a minimum, avoiding most people.

It could be argued that Los Angeles, like many cities, had committed overkill with its restrictions, but Ro's house was her sanctum in the middle of chaos. Her favorite distraction was a mutt-doodle rescue named Buddy, her constant companion. (Despite Amazon’s ubiquitous reach, Buddy had not arrived via delivery, although Ro suspected that a critter convoy was undoubtedly in its nascent planning stages in a back room somewhere in Seattle.)

During quarantine, Ro cleaned and repaired everything in the house because a spotless environment gave her a sense of control. She was like the captain of the Titanic who ordered the band to play after his ship hit the iceberg. Even when sharks are circling, denial can be a beautiful thing.

Though her activities were mainly reduced to her bedroom, she never felt lonely, and the television provided her with the company of chattering friends. When not watching television or working, she entertained herself with her collection of interesting books.

Among Ro’s favorite books was author Lisa See's oeuvre of historical fiction. See’s stories were set in China in the late Middle Ages and offered such precise detail that Ro was sure she could expertly bind someone's ham-size feet should she ever be called upon to perform a great party trick.

After indulging in books like Gregory David Roberts's "Shantaram" and James Clavell's "Shogun," each for the third time, Ro knew enough about India and ancient Japan that she was confident she could survive cholera in Mumbai or expertly commit seppuku with one of her Miyabi kitchen knives if a loss of honor (most likely involving an excessive amount of vodka) ever demanded it.

While pouring over her long-ignored art books, she came across a work of art by Azumi Uchitani that described "yasuragi" as peace of mind. Ro felt validated that the artist valued quiet calmness, just as she did. However, she was sure that neither Uchitani nor anyone in Japan had ever experienced a neighbor like Fred Dunston, or the entire nation would have committed mass seppuku, leaving only the cutlery companies to reap the rewards.

Fred was an obsessive-compulsive automobile enthusiast who was intent on keeping his driveway clean enough to serve as an altar for his two trucks and seven motorcycles--one bike to cradle his hairy haunches every day of the week.

While working on his motorized toys, Fred kept the garage door up and blasted his stereo. Ro begrudgingly admitted to herself that his taste in music was excellent. His enviable T-shirt collection of great ‘60s bands suggested he was a music savant. (However, in Ro’s opinion, the suspicious freezer in his garage also allowed for the possibility that her neighbor creep might be a deranged, ax-wielding rock star stalker who collected body parts.)

Among Fred’s many offenses were his constant assaults on Ro's night-blooming jasmine plant that covered their shared fence. The delicate vines evoked memories of the song "Summer Breeze” by Seals and Crofts, a melodic tune that perfectly described the powerful fragrance. When in bloom, the scent was so intoxicating that it wafted through the canyon faster than the familiar aroma of pot and incense.

Unfortunately, each time Fred did his Edward Scissorhands hack job on her greenery, the vines died on Ro's side of the fence, not only leaving a trail of leaves to be disposed of postmortem but also creating holes in the foliage barrier between their two houses.

Even with the peace-and-love mindset of Laurel Canyon, houses needed barriers because they were so close to each other. On the uphill side of the Canyon, homes like Ro's were built vertically into the hillside with barely more than a setback and a staircase to separate them.

Ro's house was a charming two-story 1950s Cape Cod with a garage on the bottom level. A wood staircase led up to the entry-level brick patio located off the main living area and featuring walls of French doors.

On the hillside beyond the entry level, a meandering split rail fence drew the eye upward toward a viewing deck set high on the wooded crest that overlooked the spectacular canyon. Even though the houses were close together, thick groves and verdant terrain sheltered them with privacy.

One challenge of living in the hills was that the staircases were more suitable for Sherpas than well-fed Americans. Ro's staircase consisted of twenty-two stairs, next to which was a fence and a cement swale to reroute rainwater. (The swales prevented houses from washing off the hillside--not an uncommon occurrence in Los Angeles.)

Because the houses were close enough to impregnate each other if so inclined, Ro could scrub Fred’s back through his bathroom window if she ever lapsed into temporary insanity. Once, while tending to her vines, she heard him having sex with someone in the shower. The experience was cringe-worthy and made Ro want to gargle with gasoline and then smoke a cigarette. It was hard to conceive of any woman volunteering for a job where the foreplay would likely involve blowing off her panties with an industrial-strength leaf blower.

If hard-pressed, Ro would admit that Fred wasn't totally hideous for someone whose pale skin and prominent canine teeth reminded her of an albino ferret. After a friend once commented on Fred's attractive appearance, Ro briefly considered that her personal judgment might be colored by animosity. Nevertheless, she was sticking with her weasel assessment despite outside influences.

Fred, who appeared to be in his early 50s, was in good shape because he was a jogger. Ro often saw him running up and down the hills at odd hours, sometimes yelling at cars as they sped up the narrow, winding streets as though hell-bent on escaping from L.A.'s most evil and unforgiving demon--aging naturally.

One morning, while Ro was viewing life from her bedroom window, a yellow Ferrari driven by someone who appeared to be about twelve years old almost clipped Fred in front of his house. He deftly sidestepped the Ferrari while yelling a string of expletives. The episode was an entertaining interlude in the middle of quarantine boredom. It wasn’t as though Ro wished Fred actual harm, but a little nudge from a bumper would have satisfied her immensely.

Fred, like Ro, often worked from home. According to Benny, the UPS man who was a reliable source of dog treats and random neighborhood information, Fred was employed by an international company that distributed motorcycle parts, so he alternated between working remotely and traveling.

Ro, a weekly contributor to a popular local magazine, "Wander West Hollywood," also spent most of her time working from home. Shortly before COVID-19 altered everyone’s life, her first novel was purchased by a small publishing house and was well received.

Recently, she had started outlining a new novel, but she was struggling to develop the storyline. Ro simply couldn’t concentrate. Getting into a creative headspace was a process that Fred constantly disrupted. To her endless frustration, as the noise next door increased, her ability to think and create plummeted.

Fred and Ro had been living next to each other since he relocated to the canyon fifteen years prior, and they had engaged in contretemps since his arrival. Their last disagreement resulted in an ugly text exchange following Fred's assault on Ro's jasmine, which she had named Grace Kelly because of its delicate blossoms. After one chop session that left Grace Kelly topless, Ro indignantly threatened to contact Fred's landlord to report the damage.

“After all,” she wrote Fred with the greatest amount of superciliousness she could muster up via text, “you may not be as mindful of neighborly practices as others are because you are a renter and not an owner.” She stated it with the amount of disdain usually reserved for puppy killers. Arrogance was out of character for Ro, who was humble by nature. But after being pushed to her limit, she had grasped whatever weapon she could find.

Afterward, she regretted her snide remark, although her text did nothing to dissuade Fred from his homicidal tendencies toward her greenery. His mumbled response about her "crankiness" made her wish she had suffered in silence rather than risking permanent incarceration in his garage freezer.

All she wanted was to enjoy her flowers and her tranquility without nerve-racking outdoor activities at ungodly hours of the day. A kind and compassionate person, Ro’s instinct was to avoid conflict at all costs—except with Fred, who could rouse the ire of the dead guy in "The Sixth Sense."

Fred was not pet-friendly either--an unforgivable trait for canyon dwellers. Mounted in the ivy that edged his driveway was a ‘Not a Toilet for Pets’ sign large enough to be seen by blind people in Iowa. All that was needed to make it more obvious was piped-in music and a neon light show.

The sign was also a urine magnet. Buddy loved to baptize the signpost, as did every other dog in the neighborhood. Even a blockhead like Fred should have deduced that most dogs had not yet learned to read pee advisories. The sign might as well have said, "Aim Here."

Ro did not venture out for her morning walk with Buddy until Fred was out of sight. Each evening, before the coyotes came out to scout for their dinner, they walked again. Early evening was one of her favorite times of day when the moon backlit the rolling hills, and a multitude of bright stars slowly emerged in the western sky like awakening fireflies.