The streets of Rossmoor have always confused, intrigued and enchanted the residents of the community and Mark Rafferty took that history to heart with his winning entry in the 2014 Rossmoor Homeowners Association fiction-writing contest.
The streets of Rossmoor have always confused, intrigued and enchanted the residents of the community and Mark Rafferty took that history to heart with his winning entry in the 2014 Rossmoor Homeowners Association fiction-writing contest.
The contest this year attracted the very best writing that has ever been created in the community program, leaving the judges with a truly difficult time selecting a winner.
The entries spanned the range of literature from stories about romances gone bad to the deep roots of immigration that have helped form our community.
The winning entry was a tale about a husband and wife who shared a glass of wine on their patio, as they awaited the arrival of guests at their Rossmoor home. In their conversation was buried the name of every street of Rossmoor. It was a humorous and inventive story that captured the spirit of a relaxed summer evening in the backyards of Rossmoor that so many residents no doubt enjoy.
Gustavo Diaz submitted a powerful story about the ghost of a World War II soldier who died in battle, an immigrant from Mexico whose family settled in a rancho at the turn of the 20th century. His soul inhabited the grounds of Saint Isidore Church and he wondered about his lost buddies from the war.
John Boland captured the spirit of dating in the age of the Internet with a finely written tale of two women at a local restaurant, awaiting the arrival of an Internet date. It turned out badly for all involved.
There were many other worthy stories, all of which can be found at the RHA website. The homeowners association is deeply grateful for the contributions the authors made and celebrated their work at picnic on July 12 at Rossmoor Park.
The RHA and its cosponsor the Original Fish Company handed out $300 in awards for the stories at the picnic. The contest was judged by a Los Angeles Times features editor and a Cal State Fullerton literature professor.
Lost in Conversation
By Mark Rafferty
Anxious for our two friends’ first visit to our new Rossmoor home, we take a bottle of Chianti to the backyard davenport to await their arrival.
“Christy,” I say, “the salmon and yellowtail you bought at Sprouts today looks amazing.” She hands me her glass and says,
“Well, my dad was a professional angler.” I pour her a glass of wine and say,
“That old Bostonian isn’t too shabby at silver fox hunting, either. And I remember that quail run he took me on two years ago. After seeing him use a gun, I knew I’d better treat you right.” She holds her wedding ring in the air and asks, “So that’s the real reason you married me, is it?” Before I can think of a comeback, she says, “My aunt Gertrude sent me an argyle sweater today. My grandmother Ruth Elaine hand-knitted one for me and my twin sisters, Martha Ann and Donnie Ann, before she died last month. She always called me, ‘mien Engel’. It means ‘my angel’ in German.” She makes the sign of the cross and adds, “God bless her soul.”
I pour myself a glass and say, “I remember when we visited her in Virginia. Montecito was beautiful in the fall.”
“The fall leaves we saw at your grandparent’s old mill in Harrisburg were spectacular,” she says. “There were orangewood and silverwood and bellwood all over the piedmont, and I just couldn’t stop ‘oohing’ and ‘ahhing’ at that beautiful hillrose you found me.”
I close my eyes and say, “And then we walked through the oak way into the oak grove and out onto the oak knoll, where that oak leaf floated down onto your shoe like the feather in Forrest Gump.”
“Speaking of movies,” she says, “we should rent Gravity tomorrow. I hear Jodie Foster is outstanding.” I take a sip of wine and say, “Let’s go to the theaters instead and see 22 Jump Street. I know you have a crush on Channing Tatum.” She grins and says, “No, it’s you that has a man-crush on him. I’m more of an Orlando Bloom kinda girl.” She looks off into the distance and adds, “Although I did have a crush on Dan Cortese when I was at St. Hedwig.”
I laugh and say, “The guy from Melrose Place? Wasn’t he about 30?” She smiles and says, “I was mature for my age.”
“That makes one of us,” I say. She nods and says, “I can’t wait for our family reunion trip to England in the fall. My family in Edgeley and Kensington are going to take us to the Norgrove Court estate. You’ll love their classic British car collection. They even have an AC Aceca and a Burney car.” I blow her a kiss and say, “You’re family’s great, but they can be a little much at times. What I’m looking forward to is spending alone time with you in Scotland. I booked these adorable little B&B’s in Loch Lomond and Inverness.” She smiles and says,
“Just make sure you don’t drink too much of that Ballantine’s scotch you love more than you love me.” I shrug my shoulders and say, “When we’re in England, we should see the horses at Newbury Racecourse and a soccer game at Wembley Stadium.” She points to the sports page and says, “Will we be there for Wimbledon?”
“Wimbledon?” I say. “No, that’s going on right now.”
“I bet the U.S. advances past the first round of the World Cup,” she says. “They did win the Copa de Oro in 2013.”
“Don’t hold your breath,” I say. “They’re not the San Antonio Spurs of the fútbol world.” She leans back and says, “How about Kershaw’s no-hitter?”
“Impressive.” I say. “Don Drysdale never had one.”
“And he’s a Hall of Famer,” she says. I hold up her tablet and say,
“How about we read a little Shakespeare, a bit of Coleridge, and some Chaucer before we get there?” Her eyes light up as she says, “Let’s read The Hound of the Baskervilles, too. I loved Sherlock Holmes as a kid.” I refill her glass and say,
“I just finished Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451, so I’m ready. And you’ve been reading Judy Blume and watching Dr. Seuss’ The Loring non-stop since you got hired at Hopkinson.”
She takes a sip and says, “It’s The Lorax, but you’re right. And I’ve been reading so many Archie comics lately, I’ve been dreaming about Mr. Weatherby.” I raise my eyebrows and say, “Oh, really? Should I be worried?” She giggles and continues,
“We should read about the Druid culture, too. My aunt Wendy says the Walker Lee side of my family used to practice it.” I roll my eyes and say, “I don’t think she ever left Woodstock. And isn’t she the president of the ‘Mellow Yellow’ Donovan fan club?” Before she can respond, I snap my fingers and say, “We should see the Marshall Tucker Band play this summer. Kenny Chesney, too.” I pull my road map from under the table and say, “Here’s our itinerary. First we start in London, and visit Kensington and St. Cloud. Then we drive around the English countryside, and stay with the Kerth family in Kenilworth, the Brimhall family in Pemberton, the Wallingsford family in Kempton, and the Munsfeld family in Huntley.” She stoops down to pet our two tigertail cats and says,
“What are we going to do with Kittrick and Princess Rowena when we go overseas?” I pet them and say, “The main way would be to have your brothers Keithley or Glenroy feed them.”
“Or your cousin Donnis could do it,” she says. “He’s home for the summer from St. Albans State in Minnesota.” After I read the incoming text message on my phone, I say to her, “They’re not coming after all. They got lost driving around every street in Rossmoor and went back home!”
End note: Every street in Rossmoor is hidden in the story!
