It's a 3-day weekend. My wife and I agreed to split the day up so that she could have the morning to herself and be kid-free, and I got the same opportunity for my afternoon. I thought I'd dust off the digital SLR and go hike around a nearby open space/estate named Villa Montalvo. I used to go walking there with a camera over 25 years ago and doing so again holds found memories.
But as I walked about, I found myself wanting to be somewhere else, doing something else. I wanted to be writing, and I wanted to be somewhere there were people, somewhere there was "life". I guess I'm getting old, because as much as I love nature and solitude, I'm finding myself wanting to be around and just observing "life" in motion. I'm increasingly intrigued in what each personal story might be, and I want to return to writing my own thought and observations on life, while I still can, and while I still remember them all.
I also found myself missing the family this very time was meant to give me a break from, but that's another story.
My plan was to drive home, grab my laptop (or maybe even the iPad if I could stand the keyboard), get a cup of coffee in downtown Los Gatos and start writing. But the path home, down Saratoga/Sunnyvale road (or as us long-timers call it, Highway 9), lead me past a right hand turn, the last before town, on which resides a street wherein there lives a retired doctor who, through several years, I've built up a friendship with as I've helped him come to terms with the technology of modern day computers.
So on a whim, having the time and inclination, I thought i'd stop by and say hello.
It was in the year 2000 than a co-founder of my startup business contacted me with a simple request. His friend's father, a retired physician living in Monte Sereno (a small stretch of elegant homes located between saratoga and Los Gatos) had a Macintosh, and was having difficulties with it. Could I help? I agreed to, and he gave me the name and phone number of Dr. Roger Goodfriend. As I wrote it down, I remember feeling oddly like I recognized the name, and as I later discovered, I did.
I called and arranged to help him out, and over the course of several initial visits, not only did I work to setup his system in such a way as to ensure the smoothest user experience accessing the Internet and getting online, but I also got to know the man, listen to his stories, and develop a strong respect and appreciation for his character.
I would hear from him every year or two, and i'd stop by for a few hours when I did, to remedy the computer issues and enjoy a visit with somebody I had developed a sort of friendship with. His wife, Sally, would always be the kind and gentle host, insisting on bringing me a drink or food, always pleasantly conveying her appreciation for my help and how they a both enjoyed my visits. When I'd flat out refuse the repeated offer of cash for the work, she'd do something like force a bottle of wine on me, only for me to later find that she'd slipped cash into the bag with the wine. On one occasion I took her up on the invitation to bring my kids by to see the bunnies that inhabited their garden. Although no bunnies were sighted, we observed the rabbit-fur lined openings to their burrows, they enjoyed a walk amongst their garden and the kind gesture of some light sandwiches and juice as they sat in the backyard and dangled their feet in their pool, giggling every once in a while as the automatic pool cleaner came up along the side of the pool and gently sprayed them. To this day, when we drive past that street, they recall that visit and the lady with the bunnies.
Roger clung to dialup for his Internet connection, as his needs were minor, although it was the primary cause for his occasional struggles. He covered his monitor with stickies and post-it-notes as reminders of things we discussed, and would laugh when I would convey to him that the illegible scribble on them, the same cryptic scrawl that only another dr. or a pharmacist would decipher, was clear proof that he was indeed a physician.
But he was no ordinary physician. He was an innovator in his field, and as he related the path and success of his discovery and showed me the numerous newspaper and medical journal articles regarding his achievement, it left me with an even greater appreciation for the man. I've never needed this particular area of medical expertise, but if or when I find myself suffering with a kidney stone and the process to eradicate it involves using ultrasound to break it up, well, I'm going to thank this guy. Back in the early 70's he discovered and pioneered the use of sound waves to break up and thereby remove a calcification (kidney stone) in the urinary tract that would otherwise require (gulp) surgery to remove. He is every mans hero.
As the sporadic visits have occurred over the years, the number of stickies on his screen increased, as did the number of times I would need to repeat the steps and instructions while we would write them down again and again. On one of my last visits Sally gently pointed out the obvious fact that his memory was fading. I remember conveying this to my wife and that both of us felt sad for the situation, recognizing in that moment and that situation how fragile life, and even the memories of a life, can be.
I hesitated to stop today. It's been at least a year, possibly two since I last saw him or Sally, and I've often wondered if and when I might read something in the paper about the passing of local pioneer in the medical field. Even as I drove down the street, I hesitated stopping, and opted at the last moment to not, but instead, to turn around and continue on my way home.
As I sat in my car at the stop sign heading away, the song shuffling on my iphone through the car speakers was all it took for me to realize that I indeed had to stop. The song has long been a personal favorite, a story of a old soldier taking time in a small bar to reach out to another old solider. They engage in a conversation that captures the same things I feel about the exchanges I have had with this man over the years: that the pace of life does not always honor or respect the value of human connection. So as I recognized the song, I turned the car around, parked and started towards the driveway. Just as the garage door began to roll upwards and a man I did not know began walking out.
This gentleman greeted me and I asked if Roger was home. "Yes," he replied, putting to rest the lingering subconscious fear that he'd have passed away and I'd have been too late. "....but he has Alzheimer's" he continued, confirming for me that other lingering fear, and taking away the wind that had only a moment before billowed my sail.
I gave my name, he walked in, and a moment later Sally emerged, a warm and inviting smile of recognition on her face, beckoning me to the house. As I approached she said that Roger had just returned home a few minutes prior and quietly repeated the news of the condition he was in.
I entered the house and was met by a friend of his that had been with him that day, and has been a friend for decades. Roger was seated in a chair, and when Sally introduced me to him and asked if he remembered me, he said "of course I do", which lifted my spirits as I shook his hand and sat with the three of them in the family room. True to form, I was offered a choice of numerous beverages which I in turn, true to form, declined. As I talked to this kind man that I had established a friendship with over the years, it was evident that his recollection of me was indeed minimal and limited at best. He asked my name, who I was, and politely listened to my replies and the conversation between myself, Sally and his friend. As I left, I spoke privately with Sally about his condition, gave her a hug and told here to contact me if there is ever anything I can do to help.
As I sit here in downtown Los Gatos, drinking coffee at a seat by the window while surrounded by "life", I realize that, when it comes to my old good friend, I was indeed too late. Yet at the same time, having the opportunity to say hello and chat awhile, even as a stranger being met for the first time, was a rewarding moment.
Once back in the car, I had stared that song again, got my iPad and drove here, immersed in the bittersweet feelings that come with recognizing the delicate nature of our own existence and the opportunities we all have, without fully knowing the details of the limitations and timelines they come bundled with.
"Well it's time I moved off, but it's been great just listening to you.
And I might even see you next time I'm passing through.
You're right, there's so much going on.
No one seems to want to know.
So keep well, keep well old friend, and have another drink on me.
Just ignore all the others... you've got your memories."
- Bernie Taupin
