Tag Archives: rob

Dad’s Day

On Saturday, Rob asked me not to make a big deal out of Father’s Day. I didn’t totally understand what this meant—no billboards?—but I tried to keep things chill yesterday by having a slight relapse in my pneumonia symptoms and sleeping all afternoon. Rob took Scarlett and some other visiting family members to the beach, while I stayed home with my own Dad.

So I think I can safely say that not only did I NOT make a big deal out of Father’s Day, I barely acknowledged the fact that it was a day at all. We did give him gifts, does that make things a little better?

I think that maybe one of the things my very private husband meant when he made his Father’s Day decree was that I shouldn’t feel it necessary to blog about him and his Dadness this week. But that is just too bad. This is a guy who works all day at a very demanding job, comes home, serves dinner, cleans it all up, bathes Scarlett, gets her ready for bed, and then when he is finally ready to relax for the night, has to help me with…everything.

Rob is a great Dad. A few months ago, I asked Scarlett to give me one word to describe him, and the word she chose was “Batman.” Read More>

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Throwback Thursday

Scarlett went to school on Tuesday and Wednesday, but she’s home sick again today and currently lying in bed, naked and requesting stories about herself as a baby. So here’s what we’ll do. I’m going to take advantage of Throwback Thursday to share a blog post I wrote after Rob and I honeymooned in Italy way back in 2008. Scarlett was a glimmer in our mind, and ALS wasn’t even a consideration. We walked and sailed across every inch of Venice, shopped and dined in Florence, drank our way through Tuscany, and then arrived on the Amalfi Coast:

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October 14, 2008

When we arrived in Naples from Florence, Rob wanted to call the hotel to get information on the quickest way to get to Positano from the train station. I wanted to use my “Italian” vocab to take a cab to a marina, a ferry to Sorrento and then a ferry to Positano. Because then we would have figured it out all by ourselves.

Rob won. Read More>

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The Bridge

Drive over the Bay Bridge, eastbound, meaning out of San Francisco. The second half of the bridge is all new construction, white and clean and nothing special, except for those killer views of the water. But look to the right and you can see the skeletal remains of the former Bay Bridge, the one I knew so well, the one that used to be strong, but is being disassembled. Ripped down.

Watch it as you leave the city, and think about how much it carried. All those people, all those stories. Yeah, yeah, yeah, you’re safer on the new bridge, but doesn’t it make you a little sad to see something so important coming apart? Look closely, while you can. It’s a ghost town. It’s an entry in a history book.

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At the beginning of 2005, I moved from Berkeley to San Francisco. I worked in the East Bay, which meant a daily commute over the Bay Bridge. Getting to work was easy, a reverse route that took me past rows of frustrated drivers, making their way slowly into the city, while I breezed along, blasting music and sipping coffee.

After work, I got in my car to go home, and that was the best part of the day. Getting on the bridge, realizing I lived in this amazing city, watching the buildings appear in front of me. Coit Tower, Alcatraz, the triangle-topped Transamerica Pyramid, Sutro Tower. The Bay, just rippling along, catching whatever light bounced off the city. Read More>

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