Columns

The kids are more than all right

In 2006, the editor of the Voice section asked if I’d like to interview a future high school graduate.

“It’s for the grad tab,” he said. “You just interview the kid and keep it short. If you like it, I’ll have you do a couple more.”

Even though I’m a lifelong subscriber to The Spokesman-Review, I had no idea what the grad tab was. Maybe it was a new annual feature. Maybe I just ignored it because my kids were fairly young, but as a fledgling freelancer, I needed the work, so I agreed.

I interviewed Tim, a Ferris student who was earning his pilot’s wings. Tyrel, a Liberty High School footballer, who taught vacation Bible school and volunteered at the Spangle food bank. And Samson, a Mead student who used a wheelchair for six years, underwent a risky brain surgery and was able to walk down the aisle when he was crowned homecoming king.

The stories hooked me, and I’ve been writing them ever since.

My four kids grew to dread my seasonal graduation grumpiness. The extra work didn’t make me grouchy, but writing about students who overcame debilitating loss, physical impairments, mental health issues and trauma led me to compare them to my healthy, well-loved sons.

Not fair, I know, but certainly understandable.

After all, they’d heard me interview teens on the phone and watched the tears roll down my cheeks as I spoke with kids whose mom or dad had died and wouldn’t be there to snap a photo of their cap and gown-clad grad.

They’d watched me lace up my shoes and head out to walk off the rage that I felt after hearing about the abuse inflicted on boys and girls by adults who were supposed to care for them.

Of course, not every student profile is about young people overcoming hardship. Some teens are bright, high achievers, looking toward their futures with purpose; those stories are equally relevant and inspiring.

They also inspired me to check my kids’ grades online, which none of them appreciated. Let’s just say we all breathed a sigh of relief once all four of them successfully graduated.

This year’s graduation section runs on June 3, and I hope you’ll take the time to read about the wonderful teens poised to vault into their futures.

Of the 10 students I interviewed, two dealt with dyslexia, two have cerebral palsy, one is visually impaired, one has a connective tissue disorder, one lost a sibling to addiction, and one has a sibling with ongoing mental health issues.

All shared a singular commonality – each one looks to the future with excitement and optimism.

Conducting these interviews made me feel nostalgic and curious about what happened to the three young men I profiled in 2006.

They’re now in their late 30s, which made me feel ancient. I did a little internet digging and am happy to share the rest of their stories.

Tim did indeed become a commercial airline pilot. Tyrel pursued his dream job and is a project engineer at a local construction company. Homecoming King Samson was a Fulbright Scholar, a graduate of UC Berkley School of Law and served as editor-in-chief of the California Law Review.

Over the years, I’ve written anywhere from three to 12 grad profiles each issue, resulting in close to 200 features. I’ve found a double-stranded thread that weaves through every story.

One strand is the incredible resilience of these teens, and the other is that an adult, whether family member, teacher, coach or counselor, saw value in them.

Twenty years after writing my first student feature, these stories still leave me humbled and hopeful.

The kids are all right – and so, we will be, too.

All Write

Another serving of soup!

On Tuesday, April 28, “I Can’t Stop Laughing,” from Chicken Soup for the Soul, hit bookstores nationwide.

This one features my story, “Talk-to-Text Trouble.”

Let’s just say, technology is not my friend, and that little microphone on my phone has got me into all kinds of TROUBLE!

This is the 14th volume in the Chicken Soup for the Soul series featuring one or more of my stories.
I’m proud to partner with a publisher that highlights inspirational and often hilarious true stories.

You can purchase it online here. Or even better, visit your local independent bookseller.

Turn off the news, pick up a copy, and have a chuckle or two. It’s good medicine.

Columns

Having the last word

It’s a daunting task to sum up a life in a few paragraphs.

Yet every week, the newspaper obituary section is filled with stories told by loved ones left behind.

From birth overseas to military families to a couple of ladies who wanted to have the last word, here are a few snapshots of community members who’ve passed away.

On Dec. 12, 1945, the New York Times reported Graham DeLong’s arrival in the U.S. Eight-month-old Graham and his mother, Joyce, a World War II bride, arrived on one of the first ships sent by Congress to ferry military dependents to the States during the war.

They settled in Montana, where his father joined them after his service.

Graham served in the military during the Vietnam War. He enjoyed a long career at Kaiser Aluminum Trentwood and opened Graham’s Graphics post-retirement.

He died Nov. 22, and was preceded in death by his beloved wife, Linda.

The family wrote, “Mom and Dad, we imagine you dancing to music, sipping coffee, and enjoying pastries together once more. Thank you for your example of hard work, selfless love, perseverance, and wholehearted devotion to family. We will carry your legacy forward.”

Paul Cooley was born in Naples, Italy, to American Army Air Corps Staff Sergeant Ralph B. Cooley and Filippina Russo Cooley, an Italian native.

He moved to Spokane as a baby and was soon joined by his sister JoAnn, twin sisters Barbara and Beverly, and finally a brother, Robert, all within five years. Paul’s large extended family led to many holiday gatherings and parties filled with pasta, music and games.

Paul loved teaching and coaching, and his career in education spanned 30 years.

Patrick Michael Molvik, 58, died unexpectedly in October.

His obituary said, “He leaves behind a world he made brighter, smarter, and kinder – and a legacy that hums in every wire he repaired, every student he inspired, and every life he gently guided.”

“Patrick was a modern-day renaissance man, a true polymath whose curiosity knew no limits. He was passionate about more things than time or space could ever hold, and could never resist discovering how things worked. Radios, engines, and computers often found themselves spread across his workbench, awaiting the patient precision of his hands. He brought broken things back to life – not just machines but sometimes spirits too.”

Brian Miller’s obituary described him as quiet and studious, avoiding the spotlight. However, his contributions significantly impacted a device most of us use daily – the cellphone.

An electrical engineer who graduated from the University of Colorado at Boulder with a 4.0 GPA, he held multiple patents from his time at Hewlett-Packard in Liberty Lake and its spin-off companies. His work helped revolutionize cellular technology.

“If you have a cell phone, in some way you know Brian,” read his obituary.

He also spent decades volunteering for the Spokane Audubon Society.

“If you’ve enjoyed the sound of the birds at a Spokane area wildlife refuge, you know Brian.”

His memorial concluded, “You may not think you knew Brian. But you did – you do. You know him in the technology you use, the nature you enjoy, and the relationships you cherish. You know him in the way the room feels when it’s full of laughter, and the way a warm spring breeze feels on your face.”

Penny Ann Sanders managed her own life all the way to the end when she penned her obit.

“All of my life I have tried to be in charge,” she wrote. “When I felt I was not, I always knew why. My Lord was in charge, and by His word, I knew I had to obey or else. His final word to me was, ‘It is time to come home.’ I lifted my arms in the air and said ‘yes,’ and off I went, not to look back or question.

“Still being in charge before I go, I have asked that there be no service. I have always hated services, it is just a time to cry, sing songs that the family had to pick out, and hope that they picked the right ones, and order flowers hoping that the person that just passed likes them.”

She further directed, “I know people hate that when there is no service, and they feel that they didn’t get to say goodbye, but just look up and wave to the sky and shout ‘GOODBYE PENNY!’ ”

Sometimes having the last word is a gift to those you’ve left behind.

Laura Jean Sweet died in November and asked the following to be included in her obituary:

“Now that I’m gone, remember me with smiles and laughter, and if you need to cry, cry with your brother or sister who walks in grief beside you. …

“Look for me in the people I’ve known or helped in some special way. Let me live in your heart and in your mind. …

“Love does not die, people do. So that when what is left of me is love, give me away as best you can.”

Columns

She’s full of tuxitude

There’s a reason they call them the terrible twos – the defiance, the disobedience, the disregard for accepted standards of behavior.

It’s galling to have a 2-year-old standing on your kitchen table, staring you down, while you loudly admonish them to “Get down right now! Don’t make me come in there!”

Our tiny tuxedo kitty, Freya Charlotte, turns 2 next month, but she’s exhibited this behavior consistently since we brought her home at 8 weeks old.

I thought she’d outgrow her impulsive, natural naughtiness. I assumed she’d learn that kitchen tables, refrigerator tops, and my face are not appropriate places to plant herself.

After all, this isn’t our first cat rodeo. It’s not even our first tuxedo cat. But she is our first girl. I’d love to blame her gender – or Derek’s doting – for the way she tests our patience and tabletops, but it turns out that spunkiness is simply part of the black-and-white package.

Tuxedo cats are known for being highly active and often mischievous. In fact, they’ve coined a word to describe their demeanor – tuxitude.

Freya’s got that in spades.

Her vertical leaps surpass Michael Jordan’s in his prime. We attached a cat toy on an elastic string to our French doors. When she releases the toy, it springs upward and Freya flies after it, easily reaching the top of the door.

Last month, either her athleticism or her curiosity led to an eye injury. We’re not sure what happened, but one evening we noticed she wouldn’t open her right eye. Thankfully, she was already scheduled for a checkup. Our vet said she’d scratched her cornea and sent Freya home with oral antibiotics, pain meds, and a new accessory – the dreaded cone of shame.

Knowing how important it was for her to keep her paws away from her eye, we made her wear it for the required amount of time. She wasn’t a happy camper, but her eye healed quickly.

Tuxedo cats are known for their dog-like devotion, and Freya does follow me from room to room. But it’s more of a supervisory role than a desire for closeness.

The only time she cuddles is right after breakfast. Then she squeezes her head under my chin, burrowing her nose into my neck, and purrs. Her rhythmic purr is the perfect way to wake up or enjoy a few extra minutes of sleep, aka a cat nap.

Like most tuxedos, Freya is quite social. She greets guests at the door and then goes through any bags or purses more thoroughly than TSA does. If the bag is big enough, she’ll climb in and get cozy.

She’s made herself an honorary member of the writers group I host each month. My fellow writers tolerate her intrusiveness and alert me when she’s on the kitchen table attempting to remove plastic wrap from any covered treats.

It’s embarrassing to have to get up and remove your cat from the snacks while writers are sharing their work. Ditto, trying to keep her paws off their plates.

She and Sir Walter Scott, our tabby, accompany me to my downstairs office each morning. Walter perches on the windowsill or curls up on my reading chair. Freya prefers to sit on my mouse or atop the printer – whichever is most inconvenient for me.

Recently, she accepted the position of painter’s assistant. No matter that the painter working on a downstairs bedroom didn’t want or need her help. Even with the door shut, she found a way to sneak in through the closet.

By the time the job was done, she had several new white markings on her sleek black coat.

Walter endures her antics with stoic resignation, but he often chases her around the house to remind her who really rules the roost.

Though her incorrigibility is frustrating at times, we’d never trade Freya for a docile lap cat. Her terrible twos will pass, but her sassy tuxitude is just part of her charm.

Columns

At 95, Mom still makes me LOL

On Saturday, my mom celebrated her 95th birthday and had a new story for Derek and me.

I told her that we’d be celebrating our 40th anniversary on Sunday, and she nodded.

“Yep, you married the boy your dad and I picked out for you.”

This was news to us. Derek seemed pretty confident that I’d picked him out and then brought him home to meet the folks. Or vice versa. But when interacting with someone who has Alzheimer’s, it’s best to go with the flow.

“Why did you choose him for me?” I asked.

“Oh, because he was so nice and so quiet,” Mom replied.

Also, news to us since Derek hasn’t been quiet since he took his first breath.

Though she seems frailer every week and now uses a wheelchair to travel outside her room, she still has lots to add to my #thingsmymomsays collection. Here’s a sampling I’ve collected over the years.

April 2019

I asked Mom if her birthday balloon was still floating.

“Yeah, it’s an automatic balloon. I don’t have to do anything. I just watch it, and every so often it turns around.”

November 2020

Today, Mom recalled when her Sunday school teacher, Grandma Hines, taught them about hell.

“She made a figure out of a picture from a catalog and lit him on fire,” said Mom. “She told us that’s what hell was like, only the fire never goes out.”

And that pretty much explains all you need to know about my mom – and my childhood.

March 2021

Every time I see her, she says, “How come you’re taller than me now? I was always taller than you!”

I assured her the only growth spurt I had was COVID pounds.

She shrugged.

“Must be gravity.”

August 2021

Told Mom they were serving smoked ham for dinner in the dining room.

“No, thanks. I don’t smoke,” she replied.

October 2021

This afternoon, I decorated Mom’s place for fall. I mentioned that she might want to put away her white shoes.

“At least I’m wearing shoes,” she said, pointing at my bare tootsies in my flip-flops.

“I’m getting a pedicure this afternoon,” I explained.

“Well, you’d better put some socks on when you’re done, or you’re going to catch pneumonia!”

As my sons would say, “Moms are always momming.”

January 2022

Mom broke another tooth – this one close to the front. “I’m falling apart in bits and pieces,” she said. “I just wish the Lord would take all my pieces at once!”

January 2024

Asked Mom how her trip to the doctor went.

“I didn’t trip at the doctor’s, so that was good.”

November 2024

Called to tell her Happy Thanksgiving and asked how she was feeling.

“Pretty mean,” she said.

I think that’s going to be my standard response to how are you.

April 2025

I brought Mom deodorant and toothpaste.

“Oh, honey! You’re going to get me in trouble!” she said.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because I’m going to smell good and have fresh breath. There’s a lot of old men around here, you know!”

November 2025

Today, I decorated Mom’s room for Christmas. The water in her musical snow globe has grown dark and discolored. You can’t see the snow falling or the angel inside of it. I turned the key, and the notes of “Angels We Have Heard on High” played.

“Should we throw this away?” I asked.

She shook her head.

“You can’t throw away something that still sings.”

I blinked back tears and placed the snow globe on her bookshelf.

March 2026

This week, I wanted to capture a video of her thoughts on turning 95, but instead, she wanted to tell me how much she loved me, my kids and her great-grandchildren.

“I love Cindy, cuz she’s my baby,” she said as I filmed her with my phone.

“I’m a pretty old baby,” I replied.

“Yeah,” said Mom. (Note, she didn’t disagree), “I don’t know how I managed to get so old, Cindy.”

“I think you just kept waking up every day.”

“I don’t know. Now, I look in the mirror and think who is that old lady, and who let her in?”

She’s not just any “old lady,” she’s my mom, and as long as she’s here, I’ll always be her baby girl.

Columns

Tea for two, plus books!

Forget Taco Tuesday, my daughter-in-law and I recently discovered something even more fun: Tea Tuesday.

Longtime readers know how excited I was when our son, Zachary, married Naselle in October 2024. After raising four sons, I finally got a daughter-in-law nearby. And not just any DIL – one who shared my love of tea parties and books.

Recently, while scrolling through social media posts, I found a teashop in Post Falls that offered “Tea Tuesdays.”

I’ve been longing to take a jaunt east of the border to visit Kindred & Co., a Post Falls bookstore/bistro that opened in 2024. What if I could combine three of my favorite things: books, my daughter-in-law and tea?

Naselle was all in. Her next Tuesday off from work coincided with the day plumbers were in our home for a major remodel. Perfect timing!

She picked me up on a gray February morning, and we set out for La Tea Da Tea Room. On Tuesdays and Wednesdays, the venue hosts casual café lunches – no reservations needed.

We were captivated by the charming shop, which features tea essentials, jewelry and girly gift items. Our server pointed out a sweet selection of fancy hats.

“You’re welcome to borrow one for your visit,” she said. “They’re sanitized after every use.”

Who can refuse an opportunity to try on myriad flowery, lacy concoctions?

I quickly settled on a pink frothy number that matched my outfit. After some deliberation, Naselle chose a wide-brimmed forest-green chapeau with lots of lace and netting.

Appropriately adorned, we sat at a lace-topped table set with blue glass water goblets and dainty porcelain teacups.

We started with a pot of vanilla almond tea. Our server set the clear glass pot on a warmer and brought cream and sugar cubes.

While sipping the perfectly steeped beverage, we opted to share the English Tea Nibble, followed by a scone trio.

The tea nibble featured toasted sourdough topped with whipped feta and bacon jam, accompanied by a tasty pasta salad with diced cucumbers.

Then came the scone trio. Tender, warm apple cinnamon, blueberry lemon and snickerdoodle scones served with Devonshire cream, raspberry jam and garnished with fresh fruit.

Each bite, a delight!

Next, we drove to Kindred & Co. Already sated, we strolled through the bustling bistro to explore two stories of bookish joy.

Upstairs in the children’s section, puffy white cloud lamps hung next to a glittering pirate ship chandelier. I thumbed the rows of picture books looking to add to our grandsons’ library.

Winter sunlight warmed the conservatory, where a group of crocheters quietly stitched at one table, and business folk and students tapped away at laptops nearby.

Cozy armchairs tucked into multiple nooks throughout the shop added to the welcoming ambience. We didn’t take advantage of their comfort, because we had one more stop.

Naselle had found a used bookstore on Seltice Way.

We walked into Literary Souls Used Books and were promptly greeted by a svelte black cat named Gorgeous (Gorgee for short). When you find a bookshop with a resident cat, you know you’re likely to find all kinds of treasures.

Like all the best stores, books overflowed from countertops, spilled from bookcases, and were stacked in piles throughout. We had a wonderful time browsing, and Naselle was tickled to find that Literary Souls has a large selection of jigsaw puzzles.

It was truly a delightful day, and more delights are heading my way.

In July, I’ll gain another daughter-in-law when our youngest son weds. Spoiler alert: He proposed in a bookstore, putting a sticky note in a volume of “Anna Karenina.” For their first Christmas, she asked him for a pretty pink tea set.

Turns out, daughters-in-law, like all the best things in life, are worth the wait.

La Tea Da

Where: 4009 W. Riverbend Ave., Post Falls

Hours: 10 a.m.-4 p.m. Tuesday-Saturday

Info: (208) 262-8969 or http://www.lateada.org

Kindred & Co.

Address: 851 E. Fourth Ave., Post Falls

Hours: 8 a.m.-6 p.m. Tuesday-Sunday

Info: (208) 457-0403 or http://www.kindredandcompany.com

Literary Souls Used Books

Address: 205 E. Seltice Way, Suite F, Post Falls

Hours: Tuesday-Friday, 10 a.m.-5 p.m., Saturday, 10 a.m.-3 p.m.

Info: (208) 457-0494 or http://www.literarysouls.com

Columns

What we give away

When two columnists pick the same topic and their columns run consecutively, the universe might be trying to tell you something.

Last week, Stefanie Pettit wrote about going through their home and purging things they no longer need or use. Her husband’s retirement sparked the reorg, and she admitted it’d been a couple of decades since their last great purge.

I don’t think we have as many closets as the Pettits, or maybe I’m just a compulsive sorter, organizer, giver-awayer. I keep a large bag in the spare room, and when I come across something we no longer want or need, I pop it in the bag. When it fills, I grab another. Then I deliver the donations to one of two places: the Goodwill store near my home, or Next Chapter Home, a nonprofit co-founded by my friend Lerria. More on that later.

Long before decluttering pro Marie Kondo advocated the KonMari Method, which advises keeping only possessions that “spark joy,” a good friend gave me life-changing advice. She followed the “something in, something out” rule.

To wit: If you add something to your home or wardrobe, get rid of something else. (Disclaimer: I’ve never been able to apply this principle to books. But household items, clothes, and shoes? Absolutely).

Recently, I relinquished a pair of satin evening shoes with kitten heels and sparkly rhinestone clasps.

I slid my feet into the classic beauties and winced. Golly, did those narrow toes pinch! Instead of walking gracefully in them, I wobbled woefully. Into the donation bag they went, where they joined a trio of sweaters I didn’t wear and had grown weary of seeing. I went shopping and bought three new ones.

Then I said so long to a perfectly good Pepto-Bismol pink pullover (the color looked better in-store), a baggy scoop-neck leopard print and a heavy green cable-knit sweater.

Wearing the new items sparks joy, as does imagining that donated clothing may be just what a Goodwill shopper is looking for.

Our oldest son is an administrative support specialist with Goodwill’s workforce and family services. From him, I learned that proceeds from the thrift stores fund community-based programs, focusing on job training, employment placement services, as well as specialized programs for veterans, individuals with disabilities, at-risk youth, and those transitioning from incarceration or homelessness.

An announcement from our youngest son ignited a flurry of long-delayed redecorating, prompting more purging.

Sam is bringing his fiancée home to meet us this spring!

We hadn’t gotten around to painting his room after he moved to Texas, mainly because the walls needed some major TLC thanks to staples and sticky tack damage.

Our contractor will tackle that project because my husband has his hands full.

Ten years ago, the spare room across the hall had become a repository for all of the stuff Derek removed from our closet when he built a walk-in closet in our bedroom. He created a lovely space, but never got around to painting it, adding a pocket door, or installing a closet system. But there’s nothing as motivating as a meet the future daughter-in-law deadline! Soon, we’ll actually have a usable guest room. Well, after new flooring and paint.

Next Chapter Home provided the perfect place to donate the bedding, fleece blankets, and throw pillows that had migrated to Sam’s closet and the spare room over the years.

The organization partners with local charitable groups to provide home goods and furnishings for newly housed persons. A lovely showroom offers a personalized shopping experience for those embarking on a fresh start in their own space.

On Saturday, I dropped off the freshly laundered items. I got teary when I pictured an excited kiddo spotting Sam’s pillowy soft “Star Wars” comforter and wrapping up in its warmth.

It got me thinking about the things we give away. I wonder if they say as much about us as the things we keep.

More information

Find your nearest Goodwill location at discovergoodwill.org.

Next Chapter Home accepts donations 10 a.m.–2 p.m. on the first Friday and third Saturday of each month at 4718 N. Ash St. Donations can also be scheduled by calling (509) 859-8545. Please check their Facebook page (nextchapterspokane) or website, nextchapterhome.org, to learn about donation needs.

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All Write

Down River, Deep Root

I wrote poetry all through high school and college. It was the way I processed life and relationships.

As a busy wife and mother, poetry slipped through my fingers, replaced with calendar squares, newsletters and permission slips.

It eluded me when I launched into journalism, becoming buried beneath deadlines, column inches, nonfiction anthologies and a book of World War II love stories.

My house emptied and life quieted a bit.

That’s when poetry found me again. It felt like reconnecting with an old friend.

I’m so delighted to have two poems included in this new anthology “Down River, Deep Root,” published by Carbonation Press.

This is an anthology of poetry featuring many voices and persepctives about Spokane, Washington, or by poets who have lived in Spokane. The themes of this book include home, roots, and liminality.

Here’s a link.

Columns

The tissue issue

I admit it.

We’d become spoiled – entitled.

We pushed memories of the COVID pandemic behind us. We believed that things had returned to normal, toilet paper once again a commodity we took for granted.

Recently, that belief was put to the test and quickly shredded.

At first, I didn’t say anything. Neither did he. After all, suffering in silence is the hallmark of a long marriage.

Finally, one morning, I emerged from the bathroom and said, “What is the deal with our toilet paper!?”

I dangled a jagged example.

“I know!” my husband said. “The whole roll is unperforated!”

It wasn’t just that one. We’d gone through an entire package from a case of Kirkland toilet tissue, ripping off squares like savages.

Obviously, this batch had escaped Costco’s crack inspectors at the TP factory.

Risking becoming the butt of people’s jokes online, I posted our dilemma, requesting the obligatory “thoughts and prayers during this difficult time.”

That’s when I discovered we weren’t alone. Other friends had also purchased bum packages of toilet tissue.

“Take it back,” some suggested. “Costco is good about returns.”

At this point, we’d already opened our second package. I hoped we’d reached the end of the tissue issue, but each new roll tore our dreams along unperforated edges.

Our parents didn’t raise quitters. Besides, who wants to return a partially used case of toilet paper? We just decided to roll with it.

Another friend suggested that we keep scissors next to the toilet and cut squares as needed. That seemed like an ER trip waiting to happen.

I’ve avoided sharp scissors since the “Bloody Bee Gees Incident” of 2021.

My son had given me the “Bee Gees Greatest Hits” CD for Christmas. I got a bit frustrated while trying to remove the plastic shroud.

Blood was spilled.

It was just my own, and an entire box of Band Aids later, I was fine. No scarring, unless you include the psychological wounds Derek incurred when he found a trail of bloody paper towels and bandages throughout the house.

Another week passed. No wonder so many people bought bidets during the pandemic. Our memories of how toilet paper was supposed to work were slowly being wiped away.

If Sears still published catalogs, I might have been tempted. Derek pointed to our bag full of newspapers ready for the recycling bin, but the answer to our struggle wasn’t that black and white.

By the time I reached the final package, I considered the question of whether to TP or not to TP?

After all, an unopened case offered the bright white hope of perforated squares. Why not have a little fun with the rest of the bad batch? A friend offered to join me on a nighttime T.P rampage through the neighborhood.

Then I remembered an incident from my teenage years when our house was targeted by toilet paper bandits.

My dad made me go out and wind up the white streamers adorning our tree.

“It’s no Montgomery Ward’s catalog, but it’s perfectly usable,” he’d said.

The lessons he’d learned growing up in Arkansas during the Great Depression had stuck with him – and on me.

So, Derek and I used all 24 rolls for their intended purpose, and at last, with great trepidation, I opened the new case.

“If this one is defective, I’m taking it back,” I warned.

Carefully, I unwound a few squares and tugged.

It separated neatly.

Flushed with happiness, I shouted, “It’s perfectly perforated!”

Bottom line? Our ordeal offered us a daily reminder to count our blessings one square at a time.

Columns

Finding good advice and humor in the obituaries

Obituaries not only offer snapshots of our community, but they often include bits of wisdom, sound advice and flashes of humor.

Robert (Bob) Dunning, who died at 94, was known for his sharp wit, curiosity and endless supply of interesting facts.

He could tell you that ponderosa pines smell like vanilla and that cussing is scientifically proven to be therapeutic. Dunning didn’t believe in giving people 100%. His obituary summed up his philosophy thusly, “Give 60% most days, 80% on good days, and when you feel like giving 100%, it will feel like you’re giving 120%.”

I’m no mathematician, but that adds up for me.

Dan Zimmerman enjoyed a varied career. He was a photographer for Q6, a Washington State Patrol trooper and a lineman for Grant County Public Utility District.

But he also had a surprising claim to fame.

Zimmerman was one of the three “Whistling Midgets” from Davenport – a group whose unique talent earned them an appearance on “The Gong Show.”

Joyce Lee Nonnemacher’s talents didn’t garner a television appearance, but they made a difference in her community.

The Reardon resident never missed a chance to help at the Lincoln County Hospital Foundation’s annual luncheon. Her cookie jar was never empty, and her garden was always blooming. She was known for her kindness, humor, and her signature question to friends and neighbors: “Are you behaving yourself?”

As a farmer’s daughter, she waited to die until harvest and seeding were finished.

I would have loved to hang out with Marilyn Dollarhide because her mothering style mirrored mine.

The mother of seven could be a banty hen – quick to defend and protect her chicks, whom she loved fiercely. Her home was loud and filled with laughter, and there was always a place at the table for her children’s friends.

But as much as Marilyn loved the chaos of family life, she appreciated serenity when it arrived. She would say, “I love fall – my favorite colors are everywhere, harvest and fall work are done, the vegetable garden is put to sleep for the year, the kids are back to school, and my house is quiet during the day. A glorious season.”

I couldn’t agree more.

After writing for this newspaper for 20 years, it’s no surprise that the obituary section often includes folks I’ve interviewed.

When I saw Kathy Ludders’ notice, I thought her name seemed familiar. Then I read, “Kathy learned from her mother that everything is in walking distance, if you walk long enough,” and the pieces clicked together.

I interviewed Kathy and her husband, John, in 2021 for a story about their volunteer work with Dishman Hills Conservancy.

The couple met in 1966 on a blind date hiking in the Crystal Mountains of the Cascades. Over their 57 years of marriage, they hiked all over the world.

I enjoyed meeting Herb Genteman in 2024, when I wrote a story about his family-owned business, The Sports Creel – Spokane’s oldest ski store.

Genteman died in November. His obituary describes him as a “Hobie sailer, Heli-skier. Sand bagger, skins stealer. Cereal slurper, sidewalk sweeper. Entertainer, car detailer. A storyteller, so captivating, one never sees that punchline lurking just around the corner.”

If that’s not enough, he also had “a golf swing only Charles Barkley would envy, and a putter that opponents loved to hate.”

Larry Tobin died on Oct. 25.

We met when I wrote a story about him and his friends and their vintage Stearman biplanes. I had intended to keep my feet on the ground during the interview. However, Tobin insisted that I experience what it’s like to soar over Spokane in an open cockpit aircraft. It’s a thrill I’ve never forgotten, and I’m forever glad I listened to him.

Flight features prominently in Gary Cook’s obituary.

Cook had a passion for adventure, discovery and exploration.

His family wrote, “Gary leaves behind a series of partially-used frequent flier miles and a long-suffering family who consistently worried about his whereabouts until they received a phone call or postcard from remote corners around the world.”

They had this request: “In lieu of flowers, please book a flight somewhere you have never been, get outdoors, and toast the end of a long and very well-traveled road.”

Now, that’s good advice.