We walked the 0.7-mile circuit around Volkening Lake on Monday evening just as the light was fading. But there was still enough light to illuminate the dog.
On the other side of the lake — which is really a large pond — we spotted geese and goslings crossing the path. 
We wisely held back as they waddled across, since we didn’t want the geese to get any wrong ideas about what our dog was up to.
I thought about going to a new (to us) forest preserve on Sunday, which turned out to be warm and pleasant, unlike Saturday. But I decided that I didn’t want to drive too far, so we went to Poplar Creek FP instead.
That’s the dog, sitting under a tree. We were doing the same. A little context:
After a walk of about a mile and a half or so, we found a shady spot to rest. Just another of spring’s delights, when it actually gets warm.
During our visit to Dayton five years ago — has it been that long? — we saw this downtown sculpture array, depicting the Wright Brothers and the Wright Flyer III, which the brothers built and first flew in 1905, a much improved version of their two earlier planes.
Sometimes I’m curious to keep up with places I’ve been, so I checked and the sculpture group, by Dayton architect and sculptor Steve Brown, has been removed, reportedly for re-installation elsewhere at an unspecified later time. Hope that unspecified time doesn’t stretch out so far that it becomes “never,” and the works remain in storage somewhere or gets lost in some future decade. Sidewalk sculpture this kinetic deserves to be out in public.
This was in a window we walked by in west suburban Wheaton not long ago. I like the neon. Who doesn’t like neon? Who doesn’t like gelato? I’d never had any gelato until I went to Florence. That was a great place to experience it for the first time.
We didn’t stop by for any gelato. We did buy a couple of most delicious pastries at a nearby place called Suzette’s.
I found this card in Peoria recently. Near Bradley U. Not at the store itself, but while picking up food at Jerk Hut, where we bought some tasty jerk chicken.
Interesting that the students of Bradley, some of whose parents weren’t around for the original iteration of hippies, would support such a business. Then again, the key might be in that now-obsolete code term tobacco accessories.
I heard a few seconds of an ad on YouTube recently featuring a young Brit walking along the Thames, with the Tower Bridge in the background, to make absolutely sure we know he’s British, as if his dialect didn’t tell us that. He said something along the lines that such-and-such was going “redefine the way you think about men’s makeup.”
Fat chance, ya limey bastard. I can sum up my thinking on men’s makeup in one pithy sentence that isn’t going to change: I’m never wearing any.
Got a press release the other day from someone — some automated mailing list — that doesn’t appreciate my commercial real estate beat.
“With #chlorophyll and #chlorophyllwater trending on social media, I wanted to put Chlorophyll Water® (the only bottled, pre-made chlorophyll drink on the market) on your radar, as it’s selling out in retailers across the country,” the release asserted.
“A favorite amongst Kourtney Kardashian, Rosario Dawson, Mandy Moore and Aly Reisman, Chlorophyll Water® is a plant-powered purified water enhanced by nature with the addition of Chlorophyll, a key ingredient and the distinct green pigment in plant life.”
I probably won’t be a consumer of that product, but who knows? Chlorophyll might be tastier than I think. Also, glad to report that I’ve only heard of two of those celebrities, only one of whom I can acknowledge has some talent.
Received some direct mail the other day promising better lawns through chemistry. It is spring, after all. As chilly as temps have been, it’s still green out there. Anyway, on the outside of the envelope, it says:
Dandelions. Crabgrass. Weeds.
Act now to stop those lawn problems and receive your 20% neighborhood discount.
Plus a FREE Core Aeration. See details inside.
Problems, you say? I say it’s biodiversity. The suburbs need it, too.
This is a gimme letter envelope I had to scan, from a statewide advocacy org with its eye on utility rates. I suspect the risk is pretty small, considering the distinct history of the two states.
You know, in some other context, some other organization might be sending letters screaming, Texas Cannot Become Illinois.
RIP, Helmut Jahn. I never met the man, but I worked in the same building in downtown Chicago as his office, once upon a time. The superb 35 East Wacker, as it happens, where Jahn had his showroom in the top dome. We were on the seventh floor. We could always tell when architects were on the elevator, headed up to Jahn’s office; they were the gentlemen with ponytails.
Lilacia Park, like Cantigny, is in the western suburbs, in Lombard as it happens, only a few miles to the east and a little north. Early May is the time of the lilac blooms there, and it’s been a fair number of years since we went, so we decided to drop by Lilacia on the way home on Saturday.
The park didn’t disappoint, though I think it was a few days past peak for lilacs, to judge by the effusions of flowers I’ve seen in earlier years.
But not for tulips. Definitely peak blooms for many of them.
Lilacia was crowded too. Especially with prom and quinceañera celebrants.
“Lilac bushes are not native to North America,” explains Flower magazine. (Just like most of us.) “The Common Lilac originated in Eastern Europe in the mountains of Bulgaria, Croatia, Slovakia, the Czech Republic, Hungary and Romania. For centuries, the Turks cultivated the species.
“Then, in the 1500s, lilac bushes arrived in Vienna and Paris. The French developed so many varieties that Common Lilac is often called French hybrid or simply French Lilac. Finally, these European specimens made the journey to the New World, and lilac bushes graced the gardens of George Washington and Thomas Jefferson.”
And, I have to add, the former garden of Col. William Plum and his wife Helen Maria Williams Plum in Lombard, Illinois.
“Colonel Plum moved to the Chicago area in 1869 and settled in Lombard when it was still a new village. The Plums purchased land and filled it with lilacs, which they fell in love with after traveling to the celebrated gardens of Victor Lemoine in France,” Atlas Obscura says.
“The couple returned from the trip with two lilac cuttings, one of Syringa vulgaris, ‘Mme Casimir Périer,’ a double white, and the other of Syringa vulgaris, ‘Michel Buchner,’ a double purple — the initial cultivars of the collection that stands today.
“The acclaimed landscape architect Jens Jensen — responsible in large part for the design or redesign of Chicago’s Columbia, Humboldt, Garfield, and Douglas Parks — agreed to design the Lombard Community Park, now known as Lilacia Park.”
It looks like Cantigny Park has taken the opportunity posed by the international health crisis to do some work on Col. McCormick’s mansion. This is what the outside of the mansion looked like on Saturday.
We didn’t visit to see the mansion, which we toured some years ago. Instead we wanted to see the grounds in spring. The day was cool — it’s been a cold spring lately — but not bad for a walkabout among the greenery.
And the flowers.
Lots of flowers.
Along with other plants.
We haven’t been to Cantigny in a number of years. More recently than 2010 or 2011, but I don’t remember exactly when. On Saturday we also spent a little time at the McCormicks’ grave, in the shape of an exedra, which isn’t far from their mansion.
Though a little chilly (mid-50s), it was a festive day at Cantigny.
People are gathering in groups once more this spring, or so anecdotal evidence, such as seeing them at Cantigny, tells me.
A postcard I sent from Suzhou in May 1994.
Jim must have asked me about zoos and natural history museums, two kinds of places he likes to go. In Beijing, we did visit the main zoo, including a look at its moth-eaten pandas, but no natural history museums. We didn’t do that until we got to Mongolia.
Suzhou is famed for its gardens, and we visited a few. As far as I can tell, I took only one picture in any one of them.
Limited film and the prospect of months on the road inspired that kind of parsimony in me, I guess.
Near downtown Peoria is the Cathedral of St. Mary of the Immaculate Conception, mother church of the Diocese of Peoria, completed in 1889 and restored in the 2010s. I was able to catch it resplendent in the full eastern sun on a Sunday morning, before it opened for mass.
The adjacent cathedral rectory and, on the lower level, the diocesan chancery.
Other details, including a statue of Mother Teresa.
Later, we popped inside just before the beginning of mass. The interior is just as grand as the outside.
The cathedral isn’t the only church in the neighborhood. Not far away is Christian Assembly Church.
West of there looked to be a hill made of buildings.
This is at the base of that “hill.”
The Irving School was the Peoria School District’s oldest school, built in 1898, when it closed in 2012.
“Irving and Peoria City Hall are the city’s only two representations of the architecturally significant Flemish Renaissance design,” noted the Journal Star at the time. What are the odds that I’d see both of them on the same morning during a ramble in Peoria? Not bad, actually, since Peoria isn’t that large.
Looks like it’s being redeveloped, to judge by the construction truck. The buildings on the hill, incidentally, form the OSF Saint Francis Medical Center, the largest hospital in metro Peoria.
Last time we went to Peoria, we visited the Springdale Cemetery. Next to it is the Peoria Zoo, Luthy Botanical Gardens and Glen Oak Park. This time we stopped for a few minutes at the entrance of that park, which happens to be on Dan Fogelberg Parkway.
We went there because I want to see the statue of the Great Agnostic. I’m glad to see that the artist — no other than Fritz Triebel — wasn’t trying to hide the man’s portliness. That was insurance against 19th-century wasting diseases, anyway.
If I ever knew it, I’d forgotten that Robert G. Ingersoll (1833-99) spent much of his adult life in Peoria, though he lived other places, such as Shawneetown (before it was Old Swaneetown). He’s not buried in Illinois, however, but Arlington National Cemetery, as befits the commander of the 11th Illinois Volunteer Cavalry of the Union Army.
I can’t remember how I first heard of him, but it was in high school. He’s another of those interesting public intellectuals who’s been completely forgotten, which would be almost all of them. Forgotten except by his hometown, though I expect most Peorians don’t know who he was either.
While driving on I-74 just west of downtown, I saw a sign pointing to an individual’s grave nearby — a rare thing, now that I think about it. The individual was Susan G. Komen. I was still by myself at that point, so there was no one to object to checking out yet another cemetery.
She’s in a niche in Parkview Cemetery.
It occurred to me as I read the nearby plaque that I knew nothing about her, except that her name is attached to the breast cancer foundation. She died from the disease in 1980 at age 36. It was her sister, Nancy G. Brinker, who established the foundation.
Later Nancy Brinker was U.S. ambassador to Hungary, early in Bush the younger’s administration, a job I expect she got since she and her husband, the inordinately successful chain restaurateur Norman Brinker, were serious donors to the Bush campaign. (Seems she also had enough pull to have a sign put up directing people to her sister’s memorial.)
Parkview is pleasant enough, but not nearly as picturesque as Springdale. Still, I found an interesting but probably informal section where a good many Greeks or people of Greek ancestry are buried.
This structure says, 1931 American Greek Society Homer on top. Below it says, Erected by Charter Members, with a list of names of a distinctly Hellenic cast.
The afternoon we arrived in Peoria, we were driving along Adams Street not far from downtown when suddenly we saw the famed (well, 15 minutes) Cookie Monster mural. Imagine my delight. I had to stop to take pictures of that.
The mural got national attention late last year. As reported, the story was that a mysterious man (Fake Nate) paid an artist (Joshua Hawkins) to do the mural, claiming he was the building’s owner. The real owner (Real Nate) came back from a Thanksgiving trip to find the mural, and expressed outrage. The artist said he’d been tricked, too. Then Real Nate painted over the mural. Fake Nate’s identity and motive — and there must have been a strong one, since Hawkins reported being paid “a lot” in cash for the work — remained elusive.
It’s an odd story. But soon I’d forgotten that the small building, which is absolutely nondescript in every other way, was in Peoria. When I saw the mural, I remembered.
But wait — wasn’t it painted over? Whitewashed is more like it, since spring rains had clearly removed most of the covering, rendering Bolshevik Cookie Monster visible again.
As I stood across the street taking pictures, a stubby, wrinkled, gray-haired man got out of his car not far away and tried to enter a small bar on my side of the street. He found it closed.
“It’s closed,” he said to me, heading back toward his car.
“What’s the deal with that?” I asked, pointing toward the mural.
“It’s some kind of joke,” he said, and related a bit of the reported story. But then he expressed skepticism that it really happened that way. Rather, he suspected, the artist and the property owner cooked up the story to help sell the building — which, I read later, the owner did not long ago — and help get the artist some attention, too.
That’s certainly plausible. There’s no doubt that the artist is capitalizing on it. If it didn’t involve paying $35 ($25 for the item, $10 for shipping), I’d consider buying a t-shirt with the mural on it, as offered at the artist’s web site along with other merch. (That’s too much for any t-shirt.)
Maybe, maybe not. Doesn’t matter. It’s an inspired bit of whimsy. Мир, земля, печенье (Peace, Land, Cookies) is a play on the Bolshevik slogan, Мир, земля, хлеб (Peace, Land, Bread), and there is a touch of early red propaganda poster to the thing.
If the new building owner, and the city of Peoria, has any sense, they’ll keep the mural. Restore it, in fact. Besides being funny, at least to some of us, it’s a distinct thing to be found there and absolutely nowhere else.
On the Sunday morning we were in Peoria, I popped out for a look around as my family still slept, as my wont. We were staying in East Peoria, so downtown Peoria was just across the Murray Baker Bridge. Soon I made my way to Main Street, which features buildings short —
— and tall, at least for Peoria, such as the Commerce Bank Building.
On Main Street, I mostly focused on Courthouse Square, where there’s a sizable old memorial, the Soldiers and Sailors Monument, along with a sizable new mural, “Abraham Blue,” which is perched on the side of the Peoria County Courthouse.
First, the Soldiers and Sailors Monument. Impressive bronze.
The memorial has been there since 1899, a project of the Ladies Memorial Day Association. A plaque nearby quotes the president of that organization, one Lucie B. Tyng, who said it would the work would “last for all time, and tell our children and children’s children our loving gratitude to these brave men who took their lives in their hands and went forth to vindicate and sustain our Government in its hour of peril.”
The association tapped Fritz Triebel, a native Peorian artist resident in Rome, to create the monument. He also did the intricate bronzes at the Mississippi State War Memorial Monument in Vicksburg. That’s the spirit of sectional reconciliation at work, by golly. Or maybe a commission was a commission for Triebel.
As for “Abraham Blue,” the Journal Star reported before it was hung on the courthouse in 2018 that “the Lincoln portrait was created by Doug Leunig several years ago as part of a work that captured the likenesses of the famous Americans that adorn the nation’s currency.
” ‘It’s called “Abraham Blue” because it’s tinted blue. That symbolizes the fact that Lincoln suffered from depression but was able to overcome that problem to be a great president,’ said Leunig.”
It adds quite a presence to Courthouse Square. And to the courthouse itself, a brutalist box if there ever were one.
Further wandering in downtown Peoria took me to City Hall, designed by Reeves and Baillee and dating from 1897. No boxes for them; Le Corbusier was still in short pants in those days.
Down the block from City Hall is Sacred Heart Catholic Church, dating from 1905. Closed. I was too early for it to be open for mass. 
Elsewhere, there’s a former church — I haven’t found out what kind yet — that’s now Obed & Issac’s Microbrewery & Eatery. Looks like a nice adaptive reuse.
We didn’t eat in any restaurants on this little trip. But it won’t be long now.
Another recent vaccination destination was Peoria. We spent about 24 hours on the trip, there in the afternoon and a return the next afternoon. Shortly after taking care of the shot at a local pharmacy, we took a walk along the Illinois River near downtown Peoria, including a paved section but also parkland.
Riverfront Park gives you some nice views of the Murray Baker Bridge, which carries I-74 across the river. It’s named for an early executive of Holt Manufacturing Co., later Caterpillar Tractor Co., who oversaw its move to Peoria in 1909.
For what I took to be a fairly old bridge (opened 1958), it looked spanking new, a handsome example of bridgebuilding. Turns out there was a reason for that.
“After a final countdown the lights were flicked on and the Murray Baker Bridge was re-opened to drivers of Central Illinois,” 25 Week reported on October 31 last year. “The bridge, which was shut down back in March, went through $42 million worth of renovations. Workers replaced the bridge deck, repaired the structural steel, repainted, and fixed the LED lights, which was one of the most anticipated changes.”
North of the bridge is a curiosity called Constitution Garden, dedicated to the U.S. Constitution.
Looks a little unkempt, at least this spring, and the plaque is dark. Someone’s comment on the state of our fundamental law?
Not far away, overlooking the river, is the Dan Fogelberg Memorial, which has been there since 2010. A couple was there when we arrived — a man and woman maybe a few years older than me — and they expressed their enthusiasm for the musician to us, and had me take their picture in front of the rocks. Then they offered to take our picture (Yuriko was elsewhere with the dog.)
I hadn’t realized Fogelberg was from Peoria, but he was. The rock to our left features lyrics from “Part of the Plan,” which I told Ann was one of his better-known songs. Behind me the middle rock had lyrics from “Icarus Ascending,” a song I didn’t know, and to our right the rock says:
Dedicated to the legacy of
Dan Fogelberg
Musician, Singer, Songwriter, Artist
Born in Peoria August 13th
1951 – 2007
With some lines from “River of Souls,” another song I didn’t know. I liked Fogelberg well enough when I heard him on the radio, but I didn’t listen to him much beyond that, except for the album Phoenix (1979), which one of my college roommates had and I listened to occasionally. “Face the Fire” on that album has the distinction of being an anti-nuke song — nuclear power, that is, not bombs, clearly inspired by Three Mile Island.
Its lyrics didn’t make it onto a rock, unsurprisingly, since I suppose “The poison is spreading, the demon is free/People are running from what they can’t even see” wouldn’t have the right vibe for his memorial. More surprising is no mention of “Same Old Land Syne,” considering that’s a Christmastime sentimental favorite on the radio even now.