From Novato into the City that is. This is one of my favorite parts, traveling across the Golden Gate Bridge. I had a drink once with my wife at the Top of the Mark bar at the Mark Hopkins on Nob Hill, probably in the 60s. From one of the windows you could see the above bridge: probaby one more manifestation of my infatuation with our parents’ generation. During WWII they say that girl friends and wives would watch the ships their paramours or husbands were on sail away into the Pacific Ocean, or was that a movie I once saw?

In 1943 I remember waving good-bye to my father who was in the back of a bus as it went careening around a corner in Hustisford Wisconsin. He came back safe and sound from Italy after catching the mumps allowed him to avoid the Battle of the Bulge. Some of his friends didn’t return.