Hi, I'm Bill Roebuck. It turns out this is a bit of a story about numbers. I've known Bob for about a quarter of a century. It sounds like a long time, but that was less than a third of his lifetime. And although I've considered him a best friend -- and maybe he thought the same about me -- I've learned from the people I've met because of his passing that I probably only knew about 10% of the things I should have known about him. Maybe, because we shared the same birthday, May 7, I just assumed a lot of things. The fact is that it's only been a couple of weeks since we went out for lunch at one of his favourite pubs. That he was so alert and active such a brief time ago is something that's hard to comprehend. By the way, I've never known anyone to so thoroughly enjoy a glass of ice water with a slice of lemon squeezed into it, but on that day, Bob savoured this version of a liquid lunch as if it were a big platter of English-style fish and chips. I never knew Bob to be effusive nor boastful about his accomplishments. Yes he always seemed to excel at everything he tackled, whether it was the many renovation projects around the house, or his work. One example was his teaching of software courses. I could see he felt a strong sense of responsibility to his students and he didn't want to let them down. They trusted him and liked his teaching style -- that was clear. His popularity kept him in demand. Bob was easy to like. And he always seemed to make friends fast. We treated him as a member of our family, and to our kids, he was always "Uncle Bob." I recall that like almost everything, Bob jumped into his teaching career with both feet, and he was fully engaged. I think he saw it like an adventure. I mean, here he was still enjoying work a decade after most people would have retired so they could relax. To Bob, relaxing was DOING stuff! My family has spent a few so-called 'relaxing' weekends with Bob over the years -- and most of them involved getting off our butts and doing stuff. Sailing in Georgian Bay -- always across the big water -- no calm coves for Bob. Canoeing in MacRae Lake up north. But of course, there had to be a couple of hardy portages to get to Bob's favoured clearing for overnight camping in the bush. Bob stood tall in many ways, that's for sure, aside from the fact he was a big guy. But I remember a photo I took of him one camping weekend. Well, a part of Bob. He and Jenny were using a small, Jenny-sized tent, and Bob's naked feet were sticking out the tent flap into the cold early-morning air as he slept. It didn't bother him a bit. Even around Toronto, going out for a walk never meant strolling sidewalks. He'd find some rugged path, partnering with nature, hugging the trees and enjoying the breeze. And there was often a surprise, like the time he gathered up a giant puffball growing on the forest floor, to bring home and cook for us that night. And yes, like many unusual foods, it tasted like Chicken! Bob liked to live life fully. These weekend sojourns were just small adventures for him. Who else would zip across the world to live in Saudi Arabia -- twice? Who else would bother to learn Cantonese in their seventies? That reminds me of a story that reflects Bob's tenacity to do things right. He told me about trying to learn the Chinese word for 'mother-in-law', and how, in that language, he had to get both the pronunciation AND the inflection just right. One slight deviation and he'd end up calling sweet May a dirty old dog or something else offensive. And he'd never want to do that to anyone. I know for us here that Bob's life has seemed way too short. But I truly believe he wouldn't have had the run he's enjoyed without the love and nurturing of Jenny. She made sure he ate a very healthy diet that did him worlds of good. Sure, mushy organic grains didn't taste nearly as good as fish and chips with a cold pint of beer and a chaser of single malt Scotch. But he'd eat what he was told to -- at least most of the time. It was probably that healthy lifestyle that kept Bob so young at heart. Our son, James -- who has known Bob all of his life -- recently sent a note to him reflecting on the fact that he used to think that Bob and I were the same age. There's 15 years between us, but that extra 15 years never showed when you talked to Bob. He was always younger than his age. In a sense, Bob truly was an ageless adventurer. That's one of the things that makes it so hard to say goodbye. He remained youthful, hopeful and optimistic right to the end. Let's hope his soul is continuing the adventure.