Rebecca Kee

Yesterday was our big send-off for Bob. In deference to the pandemic we kept it small and outdoors, but I have to say I think it's exactly how Bob would have wanted it: at his son's Petaluma ranch, not too much fuss, no hired help, just those of us who loved him working and sweating and laughing and creating something special in his honor. A few of us rode to steal flowers from private property and poppies from the roadside as he loved to do. So I got to get him flowers one final time after all. Hard to describe the mix of joy, grief, and magic of the day. I've spent a week stuffing my feelings down most of the time, focusing on logistics and event details and checking up on others. And then yesterday morning it just felt like he was with us - there was this lightness about moving around on the ranch, hauling furniture and making things beautiful under a huge open sky. I thought about Bob a lot, but what kept rising to the top were my memories of his fearlessness. Bob might...

Most people are slightly-to-extremely terrified of Bob Gnaizda. He’s brilliantly smart, quick-thinking, and focused on his work, to the exclusion of pleasantries and small talk and what many of us would call “warmth.” He won’t comment on weather patterns and his eyes will glaze over if you try to chit chat about pop culture, and if you persist he’ll unceremoniously change the subject or simply walk away. If you manage to win his approval or catch him in a reflective mood, he won’t wax poetic, but rather will quiz you about a statistic (“how many wild giraffes would you estimate are left in Africa?”) or ask you a heavyweight question like, “where do you expect to be in 5 years?” to demonstrate his affection. He’s not the type of person you would expect to love children, because he’s operating on a different level from the rest of us already and children are that much further behind when it comes to political analysis and world news. But he doesn’t see them as helpless, he sees them ...