And Bob's your Uncle...or your skip or your teacher or your wierd neighbor

I sit across the wobbly library table from Bob Andrus. With a tuft of peacock feathers in one hand and a bottle of Sally Hansen nail polish in the other, he peers down on our handiwork through the thick glasses perched perilously close to the edge of his nose. "Now, make sure you don't crowd the head!" he warns, and laughs because one of us is, invariably, crowding the head of our hook. It is week three of fly-tying class, and each week it takes us longer and longer to tie flies. We are up to one hour and fifteen minutes per fly. But we are learning much more than how to imitate aquatic insects with feathers and deer hair and tinsel. We are getting a detailed account from Bob about the different sizes of thread that can be used, the purpose and uses for different sized hooks, and how many pairs of reading glasses you will own as you age because you will begin to misplace them (he had one pair on his nose and one pair hanging from his neck.) Bob can talk , but he can't hear, so questions are lost to stories of huge salmon caught on microscopic hooks in the west.

At the table with me are three older women who, if not for their appearance, I would have pegged as middle school girls. They giggle and flirt and make fun of Bob for using nail polish. They feign confusion and frustration and complain about the weird smell of the bucktail. Seconds after meeting DeeDee, she tried to set me up with a bewildered sixteen year old who was also attending the class, and after learning my age, tried to set me up with her son.

So that is fly-tying, lessons with Bob Andrus every Tuesday. Wednesday nights I am mentored by Bob Turpa, a retired bus driver, also known as Skip Bob. He is the captain of our curling team. When skating around on the ice on his 'slider' shoe, Bob reminds me of a little kid on a park hockey rink that has just frozen for the winter. Like many seasoned curlers, he has terrible form. Breaking every curling technique rule I read about in Curling for Dummies, his advice is of a much less formal style. "Whatever you do, don't curl like I do." That was his first piece of advice. Later, over cheap beer in the Curling Club basement bar, he explained that in curling, the last thing you want to do is aim for your target. Putting together these vague pieces of advice has turned out to improve my game.

Bob # 3, the weird neighbor. Bob Peterson. Bob Peterson is a self-diagnosed obsessive compulsive. Who loves e-bay. His recent obsession with beer signs was made obvious as he welcomed us into his basement with a mysteriously thick yooper accent (he grew up in Saginaw). Every square inch of the room had been covered with beer signs. He showed us his most recent addition, a Christmas gift from his daughter. It was a Bush Light Nascar edition banner. "Dat dere is a nice sign eh? Badass, eh?" We all agreed that the banner was badass. Come to find out, beer brewing is Bobs current obsession. He has brewed over 25 gallons of beer, and will not give up until he captures the sweet yet bitter perfection found only (as of yet) in a cold bottle of Long Hammer IPA. Bobs wife Mary has a lazy eye. She told me about the time she was playing pinball in the basement (they have three pinball machines) and she heard the dog barking outside. And there, at the end of her drive, was a bear! She laughed and then started telling me about the zucchinis she had in her garden last year, and the hundreds of smelt that she spent whole days cleaning before she knew you could eat the bones.