Fruitcake Hill: A History and Memoir of Life on the Hill in a Family of 15. Gerald J. Kuecher

uneasiness with sexual issues came to a zenith one particularly cold morning. Looking out the frosty kitchen window, the children observed a very unusual phenomenon. Our very large and thick Shetland pony, Bubbles, was enveloped in a dense fog. On closer inspection we noticed the steam was radiating from his highly enlarged male member. Babe, noticing a number of faces staring out the window snapped, “Get away from those windows!” We’d walk away from such a shameful experience citing “mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa,” convenient Latin phrases we learned as altar boys to deal with our shame. If that didn’t come to mind we could repeat the prayer “Lord I am not worthy” about a gazillion times.”

      Babe was an advocate of a number of Catholic practices such as burying St. Joseph statues upside down in lawns to sell homes and sprinkling holy water over her lottery tickets. These actions gave her a distinct advantage over non-believers, or so she thought. And she prayed to a number of saints of whom the children never heard. In fact, if Babe cared to share her thoughts about a relative that had passed on, she would gather her box of funeral holy cards and speak to you about them. Photos were not required!

      But if God loves the person who gives their all in this life, then He surely has reserved a place for Babe. We distinctly remember the look on Babe’s face when she heard the account of the witnesses to the miracle at Knock, Ireland. When asked how the witnesses knew for certain the identity of Jesus, Mary, Mary Magdaline, and Joseph in this apparition, they replied in typical Irish logic, “Because they looked exactly like the statues out front!” Babe knew logically this popped the balloon on the miracle but if it’s good enough for the Pope, it was good enough for her.