Donna

 Tony was the family dog when Donna was a young girl. Donna shared several Tony stories with me (I'd ask her to tell them to me again and again. She was a great storyteller). Here's one of my favorites. During a visit to her grandfather's home, Tony went into the barn and got into a fight with a rat. Donna ran to her grandfather and urgently told him about this terrible thing. Her grandfather said, "He knows what he's doing." This is Donna's favorite photo of Tony because her grandfather's beautiful gardens are visible in the background. She loved walking around these gardens with her Grandfather Peter Michels. He would tell her about each plant as they strolled along. This is a color tinted black & white photo of Tony. Some of the tinting has faded away. Some of the spots are Tony's. Some of the spots are splashes of spaghetti sauce accidentally placed there by one of Donna's children. For this photo Fred Michels, Donna's father, pl...

What a fascinating, wonderful human. I remember often, and always with a smile, a moment at work. As I walked past Donna, she exploded with [her headphones on and] that beautiful, musical laugh. She explained, loudly [in a voice that indicated she was SO enjoying WFMT at good volume] that the host had just announced the next recording they were playing: a work by Pachelbel.."NO" he had said, "not THAT one."  no more words.

This was our first photo shoot. Click here for the album .

 I was at a convention center, I don't know where. Both Dad and Donna were going to speak at separate conferences. I think Donna was going to talk about flowers. I can't remember Dad's topic. I was going from Donna's preparation room to Dad's. Just making sure they had everything they needed. I remember thinking, "I know such great people." The dream ended as I walked Dad into his venue.

A list composed by Donna.  Click   here  to download the PDF  This list was excerpted from another document written by Donna.

  Reading to each other was one of our favorite pastimes. It was more than the story. It provided the opportunity to discuss the story, or a paragraph, or a sentence. Choosing what we’d read aloud was part of the fun. Martin Amis and Elmore Leonard were perennial favorites. Aside from favorite authors, there were books we wanted to share. A couple were memorable, not just because they were great books, but because Donna gave them such a great reading. One was Harper Lee’s ‘To Kill a Mockingbird.’ She knew how to voice it without any of it sounding overdramatic. I often wish I had recorded her reading. But then the act of recording would have detracted from our shared experience. Another of Donna’s great reads was Julia Child’s autobiography ‘My Life in France.’ Julia Child is one of my heroes, so giving voice to her words had special meaning. Donna knew just how to do it. Perfect. Elmore Leonard’s novels were always mine to read aloud. Donna insisted on this, and I didn’t disagree....

I must say that no one warned me (or I didn’t heed) that aging would bring so much sadness. I do remember some great times with my Claw friends. One in particular occurred at a member’s camp where we had gathered one weekend when Donna and Sue introduced us to the songs of Tom Lehrer!  “Be Prepared” “I’ll take Your Hand” etc.  They had memorized them from a record. So when I heard about Donna’s passing, I poured a glass of wine and listened to Tom on You Tube. Salute. I’m so sorry for your loss, but cherish the memories.

Donna listened to WFMT every weekday, all day long. She would listen to the radio station's internet stream, so no matter where we lived she could tune in her favorite classical music station. It was on WFMT that Donna first heard mezzo-soprano opera singer and recitalist Cecilia Bartoli. I think it was love at first sing. Donna purchased a number of Bartoli's recordings and listened to them again and again. We read that Cecelia Bartoli would be performing at Chicago's Symphony Center. I asked Donna if she would like to attend. Donna answered yes in the blink of an eye. I called about tickets. The performance was sold out except for one box seat held by a season subscriber who couldn't attend. I invested in that box seat, and explained the situation to Donna. She was saddened that we couldn't attend together, but thrilled to go nonetheless. A box seat! That was a first. On the day of the performance I drove Donna to the front entrance of Symphony Center, then I walk...

 In this YouTube video, Donna Michels walks us around her gardens .

 

I first saw Donna when she entered a building in the middle of a Chicago winter. Her coat was unzipped, flapping in the breeze. She wasn't wearing a hat or gloves. This sight is etched in my memory. I grew up in Chicago and knew the ferocity of its winter weather. Yet Donna came in from the cold as if the cold was not there. Who was this person?  As time went by I learned more about her. She was from Michigan's Upper Peninsula, Ishpeming specifically, where they had real winter weather; real biting winds, real drifts of snow, ice that lasts till June. Compared to that, winter in Chicago is not winter. Pictured here, Donna Michels standing on an Upper Peninsula cliff overlooking the Lake Superior shoreline -- appropriately attired.

A few weeks before the last Christmas of the twentieth century, my brother Mike and I stepped out into a cold and gray winter day for holiday shopping in Chicago. Mike informed me at the out-set that he was on a “mission” to find a Christmas something for Donna.    “Something really unique,” he said in calm, almost reverent voice.  “Something Donna!” For the entire day we visited several used vinyl record and CD establishments, Mike, as always meticulously combing through tightly packed bins throughout the cramped stores.  What was extremely notable and different this day was observing Mike veer from rock n’ roll LP’S to check out the classical music inventory.  At a few used music stores, he would ask my thoughts on classical CD’s he found, most piano, violin or quartet.   Thereafter, he would seek information on his selected CD’s from store employees and listen intently to a selection or two on each.  I do not think Mike cared much about wh...

“One of the mythic hero’s most important tasks is to travel to a strange new land and come back  enlightened or bewildered.” * Honestly, with a lede like that, who isn’t going to continue reading. Today, my lunch was a  sandwich and The New York Review of Books. If Donna were still alive, she might be reading the story to me. She had been reading the New  York Review for many decades, many more decades than the three we shared. She would read  it cover to cover; she gave it her complete attention. High praise. Concerned that a lapse in Donna’s subscription might nudge the universe off axis, I renewed it  in her name. I quietly sit and read. The New York Review has my complete attention. *  Quote from an article by Yuri Slezkine in the October 22, 2020 issue.

  Donna and I traveled to Florida. My dad was in the hospital there. He was unconscious by the time we arrived. Things weren’t good. After a conference with his surgical team, and in line with my dad’s directive, the decision was made to remove life support. My family went back to my mom and dad’s home. Donna and I stayed at the hospital with my dad. We saw him out. I was crushed. Donna stayed close. She had lost her dad some years back and knew what I was going through. When I had pulled myself together enough to converse with her, Donna said, “It gets better. It takes a long time, but it gets better.” So I’m passing along this message from my partner of thirty years. It gets better.

  Donna had wonderful dreams. She would share them with me over morning coffee. This is one of my favorites. She walked into a mansion. Standing in the foyer, she didn’t see or hear anyone. She started walking into the adjoining rooms. In one room she saw a dog staring at a painting. As she walked over to the dog, it turned to her and said, “Why is that cowboy crying?” Donna explained that the cowboy was a caballero, and those weren’t tears. They were the silver buttons on his jacket.

There are two versions of this story. I'll post both here. Donna said she was told this story by a former elementary school classmate when they met years later. Donna and the classmate were walking home from school. They walked by a dog in a fenced yard. Donna turned to the classmate and said, "That dog thinks he's smarter than I am, but he's not."  Sue said she remembers the story as follows. Donna said 'I hate that dog.'  Chris said 'Why'?  Donna replied 'Because he thinks he's smarter than me.'

When Mrs. Michels was living alone at the family cabin in Michigamme, I asked Donna if it would be OK for Paul and myself to pay a visit to her mother..maybe there were some errands we could run for her.  Donna said her mom would probably enjoy some company. When we arrived at the camp, she had just finished her lunch. She had baked an eggplant and cheese and tomato casserole, just for an ordinary weekday lunch for herself. I was impressed. She mentioned that Donna and Mike had shown her some Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers dance videos,  and said she had just watched a guy on TV, and was trying to remember his name. It seems she fascinated by his performance, his song and dance routines, and his costumes. I asked, 'Was he Black?' And she paused for just an instant, and said, 'Well, he USED to be.'    Yup.  Michael Jackson. -- Posted by Sue  

It was in the first year French class in High school, and the class was taking a written test. At  one point during the exam,   Donna STOOD UP, and peered over the shoulder of the student in front of her. She was obviously looking at the other's test paper.  Mr. Brown, the teacher, roared:  ' Donna Michels,  WHAT are you DOING?'   Donna said 'I just wanted to see what she wrote.'      This, to me, was so typical of Donna.  She wasn't attempting to cheat, she was just genuinely curious. -- Posted by Sue

We had an eightieth birthday party for Donna at our favorite pizza place. Toward the end of the dinner, small speeches were offered in celebration. Donna offered this gem; "Eighty years is a long time, but not long enough." "...wry sense of humor," for sure, Sue.

After two weeks in the hospital she was transferred to the ICU. I was by her side. We sat quietly. I offered small talk about my morning at home. She made brief replies, her breathing very labored. Then she listed to one side. She couldn’t talk. I took her hand and she squeezed and caressed mine. “Thank you for sharing your life with me.” She squeezed my hand. “Our years together were the best years of my life.” She squeezed my hand. “When I first saw you I thought, ‘She’s the one for me.’” She squeezed my hand. “I love you.” She squeezed my hand. And then the squeezing stopped.