a few things you liked…and a few memories

Mustard with big seeds in it
Prairie home companion
Sparkly prisms, especially on the Christmas tree
Rocks with dips in them to hold water
The smell of cedar
Raspberries
Sharing granola with Wasko—Wasko would pick out all the cashews
Huckleberries—especially in the wild
Drinking from mountain creeks—fuck giarrdhea!!
The smell of dog feet (and ears too!)
Poetry and writing
Photography.
Like water for chocolate
Raspberry tart
Sour cherries
Flickers
Wool socks
The word “luscious”
Riding the wake of freighters on the kayaks
Laying on my bed and staying up with me while I packed
Meeting me at the airport
You used to always take me to the airport too. Up until a couple years ago, you had never missed one important departure or arrival. You loved to watch the plane depart, back before 911 when you could escort me to the gate.
What were some of your favorite flowers?
I know you loved vine maples, pruning, and the aesthetics of trees—especially maples.
You broke a tooth once on grandpa’s taffee
23rd birthday. The best birthday ever.
When I started to get boobs and was all embarrassed, we were on the way to the Thai Thai and mom brought it up and I turned scarlet. You were in the back seat. You said, “look, I’m getting boobs too!” And held up your shirt.
You always could smell spring coming. I think you loved that smell. And those salty days when you could smell the sound from the house. You also loved the alpine smell. I love that smell too.
Gray jays, and all their little noises.
You loved calamari at sunfish, and pad kee maw tele at Thai Thai.
You liked David Bruce wines, and a good chianti.
You liked putting your toes in cool mountain brooks.
You loved the tide pools—like opening a present.
You loved to watch the dog open presents.
You loved to get up early, especially when we were camping. You would always have something hot for me when I woke up.
Hun Huur Tu
You liked to throw rocks to try to hit a log out in the water
You loved la rustica and the little beach next to it.
You loved cream cheese pastries at the bakery at the bottom of the hill.
You loved to lie in the grass outside.
Ice cream—vanilla, or even better, vanilla with chocolate fudge in it.
Chocolate chips with peanuts—you said they were homemade Mr. Good bars
Tolkien’s Ring
King Solomon’s Ring, the Bat Poet, I heard the Owl call my name.
Hummus.
Geology
Carmelized nut mix
Those brownies you used to make. And the chewy chocolate chip bars.
I guess you did really have a sweet tooth. What were your favorite savory foods? I know you loved Thanksgiving, especially the cranberry part. You sure loved your berries.
You loved to sit awake with me on Christmas night and watch the Christmas tree.
Empire of the sun
My life as a dog, never cry wolf.
You liked to make Duncan howl.
You would get up running in the middle of the night if you heard Wasko squawk to save him from the raccoon or whatever predator.
I think we slept outside together a few times in the summer, with a tent sometimes, sometimes not.
One time, it was really windy, and we went down to Lincoln Park and went to the point, and opened up our coats to the wind to feel the lift.
Collecting greens for winter decorations at Lincoln park. Getting in a snowberry fight.
Silent thoughtful times on the beach together.
Swinging on the swings.
We saw a fox together once at the arroyos.
You liked to surprise mom with little treats, or having the house all picked up.
You liked to have all these little systems, and you liked to tell me about them. “see, I put this here, and then I just do this.”
You told me in Germany that you had seen me once wear my backpack on the front in order to find something in there (I do it a lot) and you said, “I never thought of that, and now I do it all the time.”
You liked to tell us all the exact measurements of what you had put into something if we were complimenting you on what you had cooked.
You liked your down vest, and your gray down jacket, rain hat, and you liked to have a walking stick.
Kitka, especially the song with the one low note.
Japanese art. Sumie
You liked women in red sweaters.
You loved my tattoo, and would show it off to everyone.
You liked to read Natural History.
You liked peanut butter cups, and so did I. Mom would say, “ugh, how can you guys eat that stuff!”
You liked going to the aquarium. Our favorite was to watch the puffins.
You loved that little town we went to in Canada, on Vancouver island.
You loved the museum of anthropology there.
Quark!
Flax seeds.
One time you itched your ear with the cordless phone antennae thingy, and then a few minutes later, talking to me distractedly, you accidentally put it in your mouth! Eew. Gross.
One time you farted in the van and then after a moment of reflection said, “you know,
everyone secretly likes the smell of their own farts.”
One time you sneezed in the van and it was stinky!! We laughed and you rolled down the window, and said, eew! Gross!
You liked to admire nice wooden fences around the neighborhood.
Shogun.
Akira kurasawa.
Dersu Uzala
Qoyannisquatsi
Italian for beginners
Henry V
You liked learning about the Civil War
You knew downtown really really well, especially the crow nests.
One time we were with a guy with the walkie-talkie—remember? Haha. Little dad standing next to a security guard who is talking through his walkie-talkie saying that there is a scientist here who needs help quarantining an area of the courtyard from activity in order to help a little scared crow.
You loved ALMOND desserts! Marzipan! The almond pastry cake they used to make at south seattle community college—another of your favorite spots.
I think you kind of enjoyed the fact that I liked to eat rocks and especially the fact that the “disorder” was called “pica”
You loved your butterfly shirt
It took me some time to love your butterfly shirt
You liked hemlocks.
You loved pike place market, the music, the smells, the food. You liked beecher’s tapenade, gyros! You loved the gyros. Souvlaki. Costa’s.
The shop—el quetzal? No, la tienda.
And another little shop—a woman who was selling traditional Guatemalan weaving.
You loved the stuff from Prae Pan, Thailand, that I brought you.
When you would say hi to Liz, you liked to stop by her house, you would say, “hiya Lizzie!”
You liked pele, rocky, paton, you really liked Gabriel. Other dog friends of yours—Gunter, mable,roxie (before my time).
Kip, Wasko, Quileut, Klickitat. Shi Shi and Chinook were some of your crows.
You would make a little clicking noise at the back of your mouth (right where you taste sour) that was actually pretty loud, and hold kibble out in your hand and toss it whenever you were summoning crows or jays.
Crow banding was fun with you.
And the crow count. With almond lattes.
When you came to visit at Bryn Mawr, ,you were so happy to see me you came running as soon as you saw me. I was really happy to see you too.
You often had a slightly runny nose, out of one nostril. You would sniff a lot in the winter.
You often got into the van, got yourself settled, closed your door, put the key in the ignition… before you noticed that I was locked out still.
If I slept too late in the morning before high school, you’d come down and rip the covers off me, and put them where I would have to get out of bed to retrieve them.
You wanted me to get exercise, to learn math, finances, to stand up for myself. Not to play with barbies.
You used to say, “that’s a nice fire.” Very satisfied, to every single fire we ever had.

Wasp Story From Sabine

When Bob visited us in Schwabmuenchen (small town where we live) in the end of August and in early September 2006 we went out for a long walk every day. One shiny day with blue sky (after a rather dark and rainy week) we arrived after some kilometers at a nice restaurant near a lake. The first leaves were yellow, the sun was at the western balcony of the restaurant and it was nice to sit there outside on the warm wooden benches. We both ordered (as usually when our family is visiting this place) Apfelstrudel, a kind of apple pie – but different. Bob drank milkcoffee and I took tea with a lot of lemon. For a while we just sat there enjoying the warmth, the lake, the birds and the wonderful place. Suddenly a wasp fell into my hot tea. Bob took his teaspoon and tried to rescue the insect from drowning and sat it on the wooden table. After a short time it flew away. Then Bob took a pencil and an old receipt from the place next to ours and started to write a chain of genetic signs (XX, XO, XY and others?) on the backside of the sheet. I left school 25 years ago – this is when I had my last Biology lessons afterwards I studied (History and German)  but on Bob’s sheet I recognized the wasp queen, the workerwasps but I didn’t understand whats going on with the male ones and the queen… Bob gave some (english) explanations and ended “Here you can see: The queen is the mother but also the sister of the working wasps. This is what clever students always recognize at once.” Was it because of the warm sun shining on my head? because of the language? I wasn’t Bob’s clever student….               

Foraging for Huckleberries

Huckleberry Story from Joe

Bob’s and Joe’s Huckleberry Hike

Many years ago in the fall of the year, or maybe it was still late summer, Bob and I decided to take a hiking trip up the ridges to the north of Highway I-90 this side (the west side) of Snoqualmie pass.  Neither of us had been there before but figured it should be interesting and not crowded.

It was a strenuous walk up the hillside.  Near the top the vegetation became huckleberries; well that’s what I remember, acres and acres and acres of huckleberries.  We began eating and eating and eating those very tasty berries.  It was obvious bears or other critters spent time in that field feasting on the berries too.

We discussed how there were so many different varieties of huckleberries there.  Although it was many years ago I can still remember there were tall plants with shiny berries and short plants with shiny berries; there were both tall & short plants with frosty berries; most of the berries were of the blueberry type but there was a few red huckleberries as I now struggle to remember.

I think we thought we could clearly identify 7 varieties of huckleberries atop that mountain, and I’m sure we believed we could identify each by its unique taste.

That was a good hiking/camping trip.  I’m sure we did and saw more than just a mountain top full of huckleberries, but years later it’s only that part of the experience I remember.

Joe Greenwell
October 17, 2007

oil spill

I loved talking to him. I loved picking up the phone and talking to him. Sometimes I would just call randomly. I loved the sound of his voice, far away in Germany, when he would realize it was me. He would answer the phone somewhat nervously, “Allo, Bob Reineke here,” and I would say, “Hi, Dad,” and he would respond with an almost audible sigh of relief, “oh hi Robin, I was just putting some granola into the oven,” or “I was just listening to that nice CD you gave me.” He would always tell me what he was up to, in a little ritual before we would start to talk about what was going on, how we were doing, what was new.

I can feel defensive of him, and completely not mad. I don’t feel angry at him, I can’t. Its not in me. I mean, the anger is in me, but not at him. I feel that he is innocent, and was just manipulated by medications, and injured by the world. He would gingerly rescue birds that had been hit by cars or had been in the wrong place at the wrong time for an oil spill. These birds weren’t equipped for that. There was nothing in their biology to tell them how to deal with an oil spill, how to recognize pollution, violence, destruction. I wonder if they pondered what had happened to them. How they interpreted the fact that the water they expected would support them, like it did every other day of their lives, had become lethal on this one particular day.

He took me out to the coast, near Hoquiam one day to spend the evening helping out at a school that had been converted into an animal rescue zone after an oil spill in Gray’s Harbor. I remember birds and an oily smell, and plastic combs and latex gloved-volunteers. And the hallway with lockers.
——–

I remember the buckle of the bike seat, mustard yellow and with little teeth that would bite down. I remember the cordoroy baby belly backpack. I remember “what does the baby monster say?” he says (small little voice), “roar.” I remember the nasty monsters eating their yucky dinner at the bookstore, and “bad dad” and chartreuse was his favorite yucky color to bring up as an example of what color hair I might have when I become a teenager. I remember being outside and he asked me which was my favorite, “Sesame Street or Mr. Rogers,’ and I definitely like Mr. Rogers more. He asked me why while I was jumping from rock to rock and I said, “because its quieter,” and he said, “then why don’t you be quieter,” and smiled, and mom scolded him, laughing, “Bob, that wasn’t fair!”. I remember the oily earthy smell of baby crows. Kind of stinky but good, and dad’s pudgy fingers and how they were so gentle and a little trembly. He would always trust me so much to hold the little birds. I would hold them against my belly while he fed them kibble soaked in water.

Bainbridge

Rare Spring Rain

From Robin:

I want to start this with something my Dad wrote to me before I left on a long trip to Asia. I hung it on every wall in every bedroom I stayed in during my trip. The paper is next to me now, wrinkled, weathered, folded and refolded, with his signature, “Dad,” underlined at the bottom. I want to share these words with you, as words he would have spoken also to you, wishes he would have had also for you.

Robin,

Go experience the world:
Its Sights,
Sounds,
Smells,
Textures,
People—human and non-human alike,
For all have something to offer.

Avoid judging.

Keep your senses,
your mind,
your heart—open, receptive,
Tuned to the music of the life around you.

Learn what you can—drink it all in:
Be a desert beneath a rare spring rain.

When things go wrong,
Keep your wits about you,
Keep your sense of humor,
Keep your balance,
Do what must be done.

Be patient, be forgiving.
For we are, all of us, equally human.

Be good company.
Remember those of us who cherish you,
Keep in touch.

Laugh a lot,
Cry a little.
Eat heartily,
Sleep soundly.

Stay safe.

Sayonara,
Dad

From Jutta:

The following poem was written by Bob 3 years ago when he and I became friends. It was written on the back side of a northwestern artist print of a king fisher sitting on a perch and its shadow. All of us need “good shadows” and  I think in this poems is a constant reminder that we have our good shadows always with us. Therefore the poems is also meant to all of you readers.

King Fisher Jutta

In career decisions and personal choices
in matters of the heart
may you always find the courage,
the resistance
to follow where your own heart leads
to trust your intuitive sense of what is “right” for you
to plunge deep
head first,
unhesitant
into the dark unknown:

Accepting the risks of an uncertain future
Accepting the pain of chances lost
to circumstances, to luck
to the choices of others,
chances buried in hurt
that leaves the heart or psyche scarred
seemingly forever
in an uncaring world.

Yet experiencing the joy
of a life fully lived
by a mind & heart fully opened –
exposed to the light & the wonder
of being.

Take the plunge every time Jutta
for life on the perch
is little more
than slow death in disguise

Bob, 24.10.2004