Cindy Hval

Christmas in October!

October 7, 2016 Cindy Hval

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I LOVE Christmas and I received an early gift when the UPS man dropped off this box of books!

I’m thrilled that two of my stories “Christmas Glow” and “Wishing for a Silent Night” have been included in the latest addition to the Chicken Soup for the Soul series: The Joy of Christmas.

My work has been featured in 10 volumes of this wonderful franchise and I’m happy to be part of a series that offers words of inspiration and affirmation to readers all over the globe.

Pick up a copy today and spread the “Joy of Christmas”!

Columns

In which I enjoy being a girl

October 6, 2016 Cindy Hval

Today’s Spokesman Review column finds me attempting to update an old song.

If there’s one remark guaranteed to rain down the wrath of Mom upon my sons, it’s when one of them says to the other, “Don’t be such a girl!”

Using gender as an insult is a nonstarter in my house.

Besides, as Doris Day famously sang, “I enjoy being a girl” – at least most of the time.

The 1958 Rodgers and Hammerstein show tune is fun to sing, but the lyrics are definitely not contemporary.

I’m a girl, and by me that’s only great!

I am proud that my silhouette is curvy,

That I walk with a sweet and girlish gait

With my hips kind of swivelly and swervy.

Let’s be honest here. After birthing four sons and reaching my fifth decade my silhouette’s curves are decidedly more pronounced. Are spheres curves? I’m not sure. I didn’t do well in geometry.

Also, my gait is no longer girlish. In fact, many mornings I limp to the kitchen to get my first cup of coffee due to a strained Achilles.

I still take the stairs two at a time, if by two at a time you mean carefully placing one foot and then the other on each stair before descending.

I adore being dressed in something frilly

When my date comes to get me at my place.

Out I go with my Joe or John or Billy,

Like a filly who is ready for the race!

We’ve already established that I’m not racing anywhere. I also no longer wear something frilly due to the aforementioned dangerous curves.

Fifty may be the new 30, but 30-year-olds are dressing like teenagers, so shopping is complicated. I recently bought some trendy jeans, artistically ripped in strategic places.

My husband said, “I could take a razor to your old jeans and save you a lot of money.”

“But, I’ve got bling! On my butt!” I replied, twirling around to show him my jewel-encrusted back pockets.

He started humming “Rhinestone Cowboy.”

I hummed “Sleeping Single in a Double Bed.”

Game. Set. Match.

When I have a brand new hairdo

With my eyelashes all in curl,

I float as the clouds on air do,

I enjoy being a girl!

My sons used to pluck out a stray gray hair whenever they’d appear. A few years ago, my youngest announced, “I don’t think we should be pulling out your grays – you’re gonna get bald.”

So, now my new hairdo involves regular appointments for highlights – not to cover the gray, but to camouflage it. It doesn’t cause me to float on air, but it does lighten my wallet considerably.

When men say I’m cute and funny

And my teeth aren’t teeth, but pearl,

I just lap it up like honey

I enjoy being a girl!

Men do say I’m cute and funny and I love that. Of course, the men who tell me that now are generally over 70 or under 20.

Also, my teeth aren’t pearls, but there’s definitely some silver and a few crowns involved.

I flip when a fellow sends me flowers,

I drool over dresses made of lace,

I talk on the telephone for hours

With a pound and a half of cream upon my face!

OK, here’s the deal. I learned long ago, that while flowers from a guy are sweet, I can buy my own roses any time I want – no need to wait around for Valentine’s Day. And I like lace as much as the next gal, but not necessarily where it can be seen by the public, if you know what I mean.

I’ve come to terms with moisturizers, eye cream, toners and “miracle” repair, but I draw the line at a pound and a half of cold cream. Actually, the only cold cream I have is in the refrigerator and I pour it in my morning coffee.

Who talks on the phone for hours anymore? Texting and instant messaging are much more efficient. However, I rarely use emoticons. Especially after I sent what I thought was a chocolate cupcake to a friend on her birthday. Apparently, there are poop emojis. Lesson learned.

And one lesson I hope my sons have learned is that “being a girl” is not an insult. After all, without this girl, they wouldn’t even be here.

Contact Cindy Hval at dchval@juno.com. She is the author of “War Bonds: Love Stories From the Greatest Generation.” You can listen to her podcast, “Life, Love and Raising Sons,” at SpokaneTalksOnline.com. Her previous columns are available online at spokesman.com/ columnists. Follow her on Twitter at @CindyHval.

War Bonds

You are more than enough

October 2, 2016 Cindy Hval

This podcast is for you.

Moms, Dads, Grandparents, Caregivers. All of you who think you aren’t up to the task of caring for the children in your charge.

Those who feel inadequate at the end of every day. Those who feel you aren’t quite up to the task.I just want you to know. You are more than enough. And those little ones in your care? They are irreplaceable.

Tune in here and let me know if this podcast resonates with you at dchval@juno.com

#LifeLove&RaisingSons

War Bonds

War Bonds helped kids go to camp

September 27, 2016 Cindy Hval

You never know where your book will end up.

Today I got a note from a reader who purchased a copy of War Bonds to donate to her church auction.

“Spokane Valley United Methodist Church raised enough money to send 35 children to camp, including some from Hearth Homes and Family Promise who were homeless,” she wrote. “Your book was part of making that happen.”

That’s something that would delight each of the 36 couples in War Bonds as much as it delights me.

Books can make a difference in the most unexpectedly wonderful ways!

Young War Bonds reader

Columns, War Bonds

Sometimes the next chapters aren’t yours to write

September 22, 2016September 22, 2016 Cindy Hval

Writer’s fall in love with their characters. It’s just a fact. But sometimes the rest of the story isn’t yours to write– especially when it’s the true, ever-unfolding story of your children.

When it comes to books I’m a sucker for a good title, but it’s the opening lines that determine whether I’ll delve into the depths of the story.

There’s something satisfying about cracking open a book when the first few chapters are so engrossing and engaging that you know you’re in for a good read.

I’m to the midway point of writing my second book, so my thinking is fogged by pages, outlines, indexes and introductions.

Perhaps that’s why when a new friend commented that it must be hard having my two oldest sons gone from the nest and completely independent, a book metaphor immediately sprung to mind.

“Not really,” I said. “I’m blessed to have been able to write their introduction and the first few chapters, the rest of their stories are their own to tell.”

Those words have stayed with me as I watched two close friends send sons off to college recently.

It’s been eight years since my firstborn flew the coop, and it wasn’t an easy transition for any of us. But he was home so often to do laundry or eat dinner that aside from his empty room it was hard to tell he’d really gone. Our youngest quickly moved into the empty room, delighted to no longer have to bunk with a brother. Plus we got a cat, so there were still five living things for me to take care of.

Six years ago our second son moved out. Again, it wasn’t far and again there were laundry visits and family dinners and yes, another cat. Then Alex moved to Houston. No more popping in for food. An empty place at the table on Thanksgiving. And Christmas. And his birthday.

Happy that he was flourishing in his new place, I encouraged and applauded from afar, but the first time he admitted to being homesick, I hung up the phone, went to my room, shut my door and wept.

My tears were not only for his loneliness and for the ache in my heart from missing him, but also because I knew his homesickness was probably temporary. And it was.

Now our third son is preparing to move to Nashville this spring to pursue his dream of a music career. I try not to think about it too much, but my husband has already vetoed any additional cats.

I’ve done some reading and I looked at a map. There are 2,112.82 car miles between Spokane and Nashville. I’m pretty sure Zach won’t be coming home to do laundry or eat dinner.

Number two son is also on the move again. Next month he’ll move from Houston to Columbus, Ohio. Columbus is where his girlfriend is from. She’s the one who eased his homesickness. I haven’t met her in person yet, but I already love her because Alex is so happy.

At first I was excited. I’m geographically challenged and assumed Columbus would be closer to Spokane than Houston. Columbus is 2,117.27 miles by car from Spokane.

It’s not any closer.

If I was the author of my sons’ stories, I would write them successful careers and happy relationships here in Spokane, with homes just a few miles away – not quite within walking distance.

I didn’t lie when I said it wasn’t hard to see them living independent lives. After all, the goal of parenting is to release competent contributors into the world, not to keep them dependent on their parents.

I’m truly thrilled when my sons embrace new opportunities. But perhaps I should have added that sometimes I struggle with wanting to take out my red pen and edit certain parts of their stories, and occasionally I long to rewrite entire sections.

Yet, I’ve relinquished creative control of these characters I helped create. They’re writing the storyline now, and I can’t wait to see what happens next.

Contact Cindy Hval at dchval@juno.com. Follow her on Twitter at @CindyHval.

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My sons. My heart. 2008.

War Bonds

Bicycle Built for Two

September 19, 2016 Cindy Hval

They rode through life together.

When Chuck and Harriet began dating, he didn’t have a car, so she’d perch on the handlebars of his bike and off they’d go. That’s why I titled their chapter in War Bonds, “Bicycle Built for Two.”

They were married January 16, 1944 by a Navy chaplain at a YMCA and a dozen eager sailors served as their witnesses. After two months together, Chuck was sent to France and they spent 17 months apart. That was too much for both of them.

And so for the next 72 years they were inseparable.

Chuck died August 7 and Harriet passed away September 10th.

Today I received this note from their family.

Your book was such a blessing to our family. We had several copies that we passed around at their celebration Sunday. A copy always sat on their dressing table which we showed to all their many health care providers. If Mom was having a bad day, they would sing “Bicycle Built for Two” and that would cheer her up. Thank you for writing such a meaningful book.

But I’m the one who has been blessed to meet such amazing people and to share just a small part of their lives.

Their stories have become part of my own story and I’m forever thankful.

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Chuck and Harriet Soliday, 1945

War Bonds

Hey! I’m collectible!

September 12, 2016 Cindy Hval

I hadn’t checked my Amazon author page in awhile, but two new reviews prompted me to take a look.

While I’m thrilled War Bonds: Love Stories From the Greatest Generation is still generating reviews 18 months after publication, what caught my eye was that the list of copies available from Amazon now includes “collectible” editions!

Having no clue as to what makes recently-published books, collectible, I clicked on the copies offered.

To my delight it was the signed copies that were deemed collectible and offered at higher prices than the unsigned copies.

This first-time author is tickled to find the signature that graces school report cards and field trip permission slips is now “value-added.”

What a wonderful world 🙂 13254332_1088081834563776_7878354948230130632_n[2]

Columns

A visit from the Frown Fairy

September 8, 2016 Cindy Hval

In which I’ve come unglued. Or something. Seriously, aging isn’t for the faint of heart– or weak of ankle.

Squinting at my phone, I rubbed my thumb across the screen, certain there was a smudge on it marring the photo I’d just taken of my friend and me.

After posting it on Facebook, I checked the enlarged photo on my computer and that shadow I’d seen between both of our brows was still there. Only it wasn’t a shadow – it was most definitely a crease. How had we both suddenly developed frown lines right between our eyes? Neither of us is prone to frowning.

And not for the first time, I realized I should have listened to my mother.

Sometime in her late 40s in an effort to combat wrinkles, my mother came up with an innovative solution to prevent pesky frown lines. Before going to bed at night, she affixed a corn plaster right between her eyes. She dubbed them “frownies” and was confident the plaster would prevent wrinkles from creasing her forehead while she slept.

I’ve noticed other signs of increasing decrepitude. A few months back I started having severe pain in my right elbow that radiated down my forearm.

“How could I have tennis elbow?” I moaned to my husband. “I haven’t played tennis in 25 years!”

I took ibuprofen and soldiered on, unwilling to spend time or money on a doctor visit. A colleague heard my groans and diagnosed the issue. Turns out it wasn’t tennis elbow – it was “mouse elbow,” a common problem for people who work at computers all day.

She sent me a chart about how to sit at my desk to help alleviate the pain. I adjusted my chair and desk, bought an elbow brace and before long, the pain was gone. Who needs a doctor when you’ve got a journalist?

It’s a good thing my elbow felt better, because lately I’ve been limping. The pain radiates from my Achilles tendon, making walking miserable. This is not good news because I walk several miles three to four times a week and need this exercise for both my physical and mental health.

Achilles tendinitis is most common in runners, and I can assure you I only run if something or someone is chasing me. Baffled, I tried ice and heat and ibuprofen. Nothing seemed to work.

I took several weeks off from my walking routine, but it’s not like I can go through life without walking anywhere.

Even my journalist friends were baffled.

Then one day while sitting at my desk, I discovered the source of my strain. While writing, I often cross my legs and push my right foot against the back of my desk, flexing my Achilles. I also often tuck my legs behind me, flexing my right foot against the chair leg.

Bingo! Pain solved. Kind of.

Keeping my feet on the ground while working has fixed the source of the problem, and I’ve been able to resume my walking routine, but hills are still painful and if I walk too much, the limp returns.

According to Google, this type of injury can take up to two years to heal. Google further said this problem is also associated with the aging process.

Sometimes I really hate the internet.

So, there you have it. Apparently, I’ve reached the age where frown fairies sneak into my room and slap a crease between my brows while I’m sleeping. I can hurt my elbow by typing and my Achilles by sitting at my desk.

This morning I woke up, stretched my arms over my head and sighed when I heard my shoulders snap, crackle and pop. I didn’t bound out of bed, I cautiously tested my tendon and groaned when I felt the familiar ache that told me I’d walked too many miles yesterday.

I took the stairs to my office one at a time and carefully adjusted my mouse pad, keyboard and chair before I began writing.

As I type my feet are firmly on the ground. At this rate, they’re going to be the only firm thing about me.

Like Bette Davis famously said, “Old age ain’t no place for sissies.”

Which could be why she also said, “There comes a time in every woman’s life when the only thing that helps is a glass of Champagne.”

Contact Cindy Hval at dchval@juno.com. She is the author of “War Bonds: Love Stories From the Greatest Generation.” You can listen to her podcast “Life, Love and Raising Sons” at SpokaneTalksOnline.com. Her previous columns are available online at spokesman.com/ columnists. Follow her on Twitter at @CindyHval.

War Bonds

Author Podcasts: Would you? Could you? Should you?

September 6, 2016September 6, 2016 Cindy Hval

I have a confession to make. I’ve never listened to a podcast. My sons have played bits and blurbs of their favorite podcast for me, but I’ve never actually listened to one.

Until now.

I’m right in the middle of writing my second book, Life, Love and Raising Sons (Not Necessarily in That Order) and the opportunity to host a podcast about the same topics featured in my book opened up.

Never one to wade in and test the waters, I jumped in and drug 2 of my 4 sons with me.

In the first episode we talk about spoilers and ruin Star Wars, Santa and a classic novel or two. Undaunted, in the next episode we talk about summer movies, and board games you shouldn’t play with the family.

Produced by Spokane Talks Online, the forum offers a behind-the-scenes look at the fodder for my Spokesman Review columns, magazine articles and of course my inspiration for the new book. The podcast can be downloaded at Spokane Talks Online and iTunes etc.

It’s been a bit of learning curve, but awfully fun to hang out with my sons and spill the family secrets.

I’m not yet sure if a podcast is a valuable marketing tool for a fairly new author in the middle of writing her second book. Time will tell.

In the meanwhile, I’d love to hear your thoughts about your favorite podcasts– especially if you listen to any author podcasts!
And please tune in to Love, Life & Raising Sons here http://www.spokanetalksonline.com/category/podcasts/life-love-and-raising-sons/

Sam Hval, Cindy Hval, Zach Hval

War Bonds

The house that love built

September 1, 2016September 1, 2016 Cindy Hval

The other night I had a reading/signing event at Touchmark Retirement Community.

An employee approached me and said while she hadn’t read War Bonds: Love Stories From the Greatest Generation, her daughter had.

It seems her daughter and her husband were looking for home and found one they really wanted in Millwood, WA.

“It wasn’t the house so much, it was what they felt when they were inside it,” the woman said. “There was such love in that house.”

A neighbor chatted with them and told them the couple who had lived there had built the house and had been married for more than 70 years.

“Their story is in a book,” he said.

Alas, the couple didn’t get the house, but they did buy a copy of War Bonds. And they fell in love with Warren and Betty Schott, just like the rest of us.

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