Cherry Pickin' and the Touchdown Jesus

Poetic Justice?: Donna and Cindy in stocks

The Australians

One of the best things about coming home from Wisconsin last weekend was getting a call from the Australians Sunday night. Like my parents with their Canadians, the Australians is a term of endearment my boys and I use for the family of one of my oldest, dearest friends--Cindy Kutil Armstrong. Cindy, Rosemary Mueller, and Sue King are all proof positive that even distance can't crimp a great friendship. I treasure these women because they are repositories of my history. To quote a refrigerator magnet Rosie gave me long ago, "We'll always be friends. You know too much."

Cindy tried to lure me to Australia after college but I got an offer in Chicago and had a honey back home, so didn't go. I've always admired her bravado when it comes to things like her great adventure overseas. Somehow, even so far away, we have managed to stay connected. We talk several times a year and see each other and lift a glass with her mom, Jan, when she comes home. We laugh about old times, share news about old friends, try to figure out family and kids, and plan for the time when we can share a trip making and seeing art in exotic places. Her call Sunday ended with a pledge to do a round the world art trip in three years. It also got me thinking about a great adventure we shared with our kids about 10 years ago.

At that time, Cindy called from Australia and said, "Hey, we're coming to America. Why don't you and the boys meet us in Disneyworld." And, that was the auspicious beginning of what has become legend in our house and an event that spawned what may well be the lifelong friendships of our children, the opportunity for Thomas to have a real, live Aussie girl to bring to "show and tell" for a week in junior high, and stories to expand on for the next 40 years. In addition to the insanity of two women bringing together 3 boys and 2 girls -- all adolescents, there were several other monumental happenings that week. One, the boys and I saw Cirque du Soleil for the first time (I have seen it 7 or 8 times since) and Thomas went on his first "serious" roller coaster.

At Disney World from L to R: Ellie, Esther, Linus, Cindy, Thomas, and Philip

Bad Mommy

MGM Studios is a fun place. When the boys were 5 and 8, Mike and I took them and while strolling "Main Street" a large man on the order of Zero Mostel walked up to Philip, asked his name, shook his hand and said, "Happy to meet me." This was hilarious and a prominent memory relived over the years. When we went back with the Australians, I found myself looking for the guy wanting to recapture the experience with our foreign friends...thinking that would be a lovely cosmic case of parallel construction. Instead, I now remember that visit as a questionable time in motherhood.

We'd been through the haunted house with the floor that fell several stories and the usual run of the MGM lot. But what captured everyone's imagination was the "Rock 'n Roller." RnR was the behemoth roller coaster that was supposed to be the fastest thing on rails. The older kids went and walked off it dizzy and telling tales of taking off from a dead stop to 75mph. Thomas wanted to go and concerned that this was too much for him, I resisted but eventually reluctantly agreed to let him go if I went with him. The ride probably took all of 15 seconds but as I remember, it passed as if each second was separately unthawing from Arctic ice and stiffly moving to the next. In my memory stretched recollection, the moment the rollercoaster jerked to 75--Thomas looked at me as if he was going to vomit with a force equal to the event. In that moment, I was certain that I was a tragic failure as a mom and would pay by wearing the insides of his stomach in 95 degree weather for at the very least the duration of a walk to the hotel. When the panic subsided and Thomas' head stopped looking like it would blow off, I grabbed him hoping the intensity of the embrace would distract him from what I figured would be a good two years of nightmares. After we stopped, I let him go expecting to spend the rest of the afternoon running down a prescription for Valium only to see his eyes light up and hear him frantically begin chanting, "Let's go again. Let's go again. Let's go again."

Most of this has nothing to do with the adventures of my life in Cincinnati. It's just how memory works and the after-the-fact fascination I catch myself in when remembering something that's disappeared from my consciousness for a long time. So, what, you may ask, is the remnant of this story that connected my past to my present? That shocking jerk from 0-75mph.

There are times when life crawls by and then there are weeks when daily existence goes from a dead stop to 75mph in 2 seconds just like the Rock 'n Roller. Last week was like that.

Pickin' and Pittin'

Like riding a bike, there are some things you never forget. The weekend after Denver was an unexpected shift into farm girl and an old skill set I haven't used much lately--food preservation. A member of my staff has been out in poor health since February. On Friday of the week I returned from Colorado, I went to have lunch with him and his wife, Nit. She is from Thailand and has an impressive garden which I was invited to tour. At the end of the yard was a large tree covered in cherries. "You like sour cherry?" Nit asked. "They make great pies," I said which was unwittingly the golden ticket to two days of picking and pitting cherries. It seems the cherries have gone to the birds in recent years because time and desire have been in short supply.

The sophisticated cherry processing assembly line.

I loved the whole weekend. The tree was covered in perfect cherries. No flaws. No blemishes. Absolutely perfectly ripe and blanketing the tree. In the end, I picked about four bushel and pitted enough for 14 quarts to freeze and two cherry pies. I made pastry from scratch the first day and took a pie over the second. Oh, my it was good. In Belmont growing up, we had a cherry tree and froze the coveted berries for treasured treats in the winter. Cherry was one of Dad's favorites and my brother, Ken, has ordered it for his birthday more than once over the years. In recent years, Mom and I have bemoaned the fact that it is more than hard to find tart cherries in the stores. Buying sweet cherries or the cornstarch-enriched canned filling just doesn't cut it. I got nothing else done that weekend, had stained fingernails, and a sugar-heavy diet — but I was absolutely content and happy with a Donna Domestic adventure. In addition to the pies I made corn relish and watermelon refrigerator pickles.

Birthdays in Da Fatherland

Last weekend was the June Birthday Celebration trip to Madison. I came in early Thursday and over the course of the next five days I saw Bonnie's exquisite new studio,

Bonnie excitedly leading me to the new studio.

languished on Mike's back porch, coffeeied with Frank, chatted over food prep with Ellen,

Three "sisters" at the Krusiec estate.

had four meals with my kids, breakfasted in New Glarus with Mom, and celebrated Grandma Pierick's 93rd birthday with the boys at the Edgewater.

Grandma Carol reminded the boys that they wouldn't be here if not for her.

Stayed with Kathy and Norb Krusiec and broke in their new pergola with birthday pizza for Philip and Thomas. Even made the boys' favorite birthday cakes, fresh strawberry and raspberry with whipped cream frosting.

Thomas and Philip leaving the party in the Esch-mobile with cake in lap.

Somewhere in there, the boys and I got out to see "Iron Man-2."

I came home with newly painted toe and fingernails and missing my boys. It was good to see family, friends, and fields.

Lightening Strikes Jesus and Other Incredulous Tales

Storms raged over the week and I started worrying about my plan to dig up the land around my house and seed Crown Vetch, a ground cover. We had flash floods and tornado warnings. The biggest victim of the inclement weather was the demise of a local landmark struck by lightening.

I've delighted in showing visitors coming in from Dayton, the bizarre and somewhat disturbing statue of the King of Kings in front of the Solid Rock Bible Church north of Cincinnati. You know you're not in Kansas and especially not in Madison when a 3 story Jesus is a prominent fixture on the northbound interstate. Affectionately know as the Touchdown Jesus (the picture tells it all), the plaster Lord took a hit of the white lightening and burned down to its metal armiture. I received two emails from friends in Madison letting me know that TJ made the national news. Bonnie Neal lamented not taking a picture on her visit. Not to worry, Bonnie. Here's the before and after. The church's leadership, the Bishops (no joke-- a husband and wife clerical team) staunchly insist that TJ will be rebuilt...probably before your next visit, Bonnie.

This week I heard a former child slave (restevac) from Haiti speak at the Institute's diversity program. I shipped off a staff member for a two week deployment to the Gulf. And, I led the branch web team in preparing our online resources for the Institute Director's use in Senate briefings on the what NIOSH is doing in response to the oil spill. My job is not dull.

I'm finishing the week adjusting to the sultry Cincinnati summer. It's like July and August back home. Last night I sang with the Jump 'n Jive show band at an outdoor concert. It was reminiscent of so many similar events with the Gardenia Big Band and All That Jazz. I enjoyed the evening. Sang well and was feelin' the love from the band guys. They tell me I'm "the real thing," that they love to play for me, and want to know where I was hiding. One thing about musicians, you know right away where you stand with them.

Moose, the Mountains, and Muchmore

Today I will get the inside of Mt. Muchmore in order for the week and start on a new oil painting inspired by some of my Rocky Mountain photos. A moose came in the mail (postcard) from Sue King. She says the mountains miss me. I sure miss the inspiration, my good friends, and the lovely slow cadence of life at the King Castle in Estes Park. I'm hoping to go back soon and bask under the big sky. For now, I hope the guy comes to mow my growing prairie today and that it isn't too miserable to spread a little mulch on the top 40 here on the mount.

Happy Father's Day to the great dads I know and to my own wherever he is.

Sister-in-law, Lori, Dad, and me circa 1990.

Dad at Grandpa Van Bogaert's, LaFox, Illinois in 1949.

That's all from Mount Muchmore where the prairie grows, life never slows, and the rains are all above average.