A True Birthday Surprise

           I told St. Bob I didn’t want a fuss for my birthday. Just let it come and go, you know? So he said he’d take me to a hotel downtown for a timeshare dinner, then we’d stay overnight, have breakfast, and come home. Easy peasy, (even queasy, if you think about the timeshare pitch).

          So… off we go. Turns out to be a very nice hotel, with a two-story lobby. As we are in line to check in, Bob points to the balcony above us. “What’s that?” he asks.  I look up.  I see these people waving from the balcony:

          Every one of our kids is there, two have flown in. Our DIL-to-be is there. Friends we’ve had for 50 years have also flown in, and all of them are standing there, waving.

          I thought I’d faint. So many people I love, just like going into Heaven. At least that’s how I imagine it. Here are my 6'4" sons:

Here are all of us, with St. Bob, daughter Nicole, and future DIL, Melissa:

         We visit and catch up with everyone:

          AND THEN… he takes us all to The Kitchen, a Michelin Star restaurant where you’re served course after course (a dozen courses?) of incredible food. It takes four glorious hours. These are just a few samples:

          I’ve never had such a wonderful surprise. Turned out I really did want a fuss.  Thank you, St. Bob!

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It's Fun to be Crabby

           I have often said, that at my funeral nobody is going to say, “You know, she never complained.”

          But this isn’t about that kind of crabbing. It’s about my going off on a trip with some girlfriends 

and St. Bob immediately driving to San Francisco, to Hayes Street Grill.  And what was the urgency for this solo excursion?

          Soft Shell Crab, my friends. This man is crazy for it, and will drive hours and hours to get this delicacy. It’s hard to find (they’re from Maryland), so when he does, he pounces. The day he arrived, the restaurant was closed. So, he did what any sensible man would do—he came home, right?

Wrong. He booked a hotel room and reserved crabs for the following day (and they sold out while he was eating two of them).

          These crabs are lightly fried, and you eat the whole thing, shell and all. I plan never to do this. But Bob is a Foodie of extraordinary determination.

I had a great time with my pals, including the final day when we stopped at a casual restaurant with tables alongside a harbor. Suddenly I saw this sign:

Next time he decides to take off on a wild crab chase, I can save him some valuable time: Just ask moi.

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Death Knell Hotel

          St. Bob and I recently went to Salt Lake City to enjoy the General Conference of the LDS Church. That part went great. We also met up with dear friends and relatives. That part also went great. (You know what’s coming.)

          But we stayed in a terrible hotel. Unfortunately, we invited some friends to stay there as well, and their experience was equally dreadful.  We felt responsible because we were responsible.

          It’s fun to watch St. Bob’s irritation grow with each blunder, but then I’ve stayed in such awful hotel rooms that I find them funny now. He does not.

          First, the thermostat was wonky and unpredictable. The shower leaked onto the floor.  Then there were ultra noisy people above us. In the middle of the night. 

          Next, they turned the lights off in the breakfast room, while we were still in there. Then the microwave didn’t work. Then the refrigerator didn't work. Then the ice machine didn't work. Then the television didn’t include the channel they advertised, on which we were hoping to watch said Conference. Then the phone to the front desk didn’t work, on which we were hoping to report these problems. 

           We ended up watching two Conference sessions on an iphone. St. Bob was ready to pound the counter and possibly the managers. Luckily several Conference talks were about avoiding contention, a timely message that kept us from visiting something called a precinct. So it was a lovely time for all.

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