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For the love of books

Cindy Hval

Each note felt like meeting a new friend.

The responses to my previous column about how February is Library Lovers month proved once again that book people are my tribe. I asked readers to share their favorite books from childhood, ones they enjoy revisiting. The replies served as a reminder of how important it is to introduce our children to books and to cultivate an appreciation of the value and importance of public libraries.

For example, Ginny Lathem started reading at 5 and said it remains her best form of escape. She had many childhood books she adored, but her favorite was one she received from folks on her 6th birthday–“Mother West Wind Stories” By Thornton E. Burgess.

“I remember the inscription my Dad wrote to me inside. I remembered that book opened up a portal of wonder, amazement, and comfort to me,” she wrote. “I’m 69 and have a rather extensive library even after donating 13 boxes of books. Even now, opening up a new book brings me joy.”

However, one memory doesn’t bring joy.

“When I was in college my Dad remarried. He and his new wife built a home and they decided to give all my books away,” Lathem recalled. “I’ll always remember his response when I asked why they didn’t save them for me or even ask if I wanted them. ‘Why Gin, they were just old books.’ ”

It seems her dad wasn’t a reader.

Tricia Stone had a similar experience. Growing up in the Bay Ridge neighborhood of Brooklyn, New York, her love of books overrode everything else and libraries offered peaceful reading escapes. Her favorite book was “Strawberry Girl” by Lois Lenski.

“I regret that when we moved to Burbank, CA, books were NOT thought ‘barrel worthy’ and left behind for other cousins,” she said.

Janice Verdugo wrote that her favorite book was “Half Magic” by Edward Eager.

“I’m 70, so it may be out of print!” she said.

And Margo Buckles grew up in a family that like mine cherished public libraries. When she left home her father told her to get a library card because it would save her countless dollars over the years.

“Books were always gifts at our house. Everyone in my family read constantly, she said. “My mother read in the bathroom to avoid children and housework. My father read and reread Patrick O’Brian’s books about Jack Aubrey and the British Navy. I think that reading kept him sane after a debilitating stroke in his late 60s.”

Her aunt’s traditional birthday gifts were books.

“I eagerly awaited the package and was rewarded with books like “The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes” and “The Count of Monte Cristo,” Buckles recalled.

But her favorite is also one of mine.

“My favorite childhood book is “The Secret Garden,” by Frances Hodgson Burnett. The story of two unpleasant children – a spoiled girl and a sickly boy – who find a secret garden where they learn to love nature, themselves and others, speaks to me to this day,” she said. “I read it as a child and have reread it as an adult. It is magical.”

Magic. That’s the essential essence of stories that take us out of our everyday lives and into the realm of pretend and possibilities. So, I wasn’t surprised to learn that other readers enjoyed “The Velvet Room” as much as I did.

“I could not believe you talked about ‘The Velvet Room’ in today’s paper!” wrote Mary Fisher. “My best friend and I read that book at around the age of 10, as well. I became a part of that book, it was the very first book I read that drew me in and made me a reader for life.”

Debbi Irvine-Collins agreed.

“I about fell out of my chair while reading your article today. I was also around 10 years old when in the mid-’60s, I found ‘The Velvet Room’ at the library and fell in love with the story. I wanted to find my own turret library to read in and escape to.”

She discovered a 1975 seventh-edition paperback for $10 on Craigslist.

“I keep it in my nightstand so I’ll never lose it. Thank you for bringing back such a great memory. I’ll read it again.”

The book she found was the same as the copy I’d purchased at the Scholastic Book Fair in 1975.

Imagine my delight when last week, the day before my birthday, I received a well-read book fair copy of “The Velvet Room” in the mail!

Becky Luther from St. Maries said her sister had stored her copy for years and she was happy to send it on to me.

Tears filled my eyes when I opened the envelope and found my favorite childhood book. It felt like my long-lost best friend had returned.

If you’re a reader, you know exactly what I mean. And honestly, shouldn’t every month be Library Lovers Month?

Cindy Hval can be reached at dchval@juno.com. Hval is the author of “War Bonds: Love Stories from the Greatest Generation” (Casemate Publishers, 2015) available at Auntie’s Bookstore and bookstores nationwide.

Columns

For the love of libraries

Cindy Hval

An email announcing February is National Library Lovers Month, prompted memories of my favorite childhood book and my lifelong love affair with libraries.

I blame the library for my unfulfilled longing to live in a house with a turreted room crammed with books and a cozy window seat draped with red velvet curtains.

At 10, I checked out a copy of “The Velvet Room” by Zilpha Keatley Snyder. I quickly lost myself in the world of Robin, the middle child in a family of migrant workers traveling across California in their Model T during the Great Depression.

When her family finds work on a ranch, Robin is befriended by Bridget, a kindly old woman who gives her a key to an old, abandoned house. There Robin discovers a beautifully furnished library with a window seat. She gathers books, curls up in the window seat, pulls the drapes around her and finds respite from the harshness of her unstable life.

The book captivated me so much, I begged my parents to buy me a copy when I found one at the Scholastic Book Fair. They agreed, but foolishly as a teen, I gave my treasure away to make room for more sophisticated fare.

That email about Library Lovers Month came from Brainly, an online learning platform and homework help community, and it also featured fun bookish words, like the following:

Bookarazzi: A book lover who excitedly takes photos of the books they read and posts them online. (That’s what #bookstagram on Instagram is all about.)

Shelfrighteous: The feeling of superiority about one’s bookshelf.

Readultery: When a book lover cheats on one book by reading another book simultaneously.

Bibliobibuli: Not a “book bully” just a person who reads too much. (Pretty sure there’s no such thing as reading too much.)

While searching for a replacement copy of “The Velvet Room,” I came across the perfect quote from it for Library Lovers Month.

“There was that special smell made up of paper, ink, and dust; the busy hush; the endless luxury of thousands of unread books. Best of all was the eager itch of anticipation as you went out the door with your arms loaded down with books. Libraries had always seemed almost too good to be true.”

I guess I did find the velvet room I longed for as a child – it just wasn’t in a boarded-up mansion. Instead, I discovered it among the shelves, in quiet corners of public libraries.

All Write

War Bonds Reaches New Zealand

Cindy Hval

I got a note from my publisher this morning forwarding me this message from a reader in New Zealand. Still in awe that “War Bonds” is being read around the world!

“Could you please pass on my thanks to Mrs. Hval for this book?
It was a privilege to read the stories of ordinary couples living through and doing extraordinary things.

My late father was an ordinary soldier in WWII who fortunately left a memoir (which I didn’t know about till after his death) and together with my mother they left behind their wartime letters which have been wonderful to read.I wonder if she knows about the US Marine War Memorial here in New Zealand at Queen Elizabeth Park, Paraparaumu, Wellington. The Marines were based there, training, before going to fight in the Pacific. Sadly ten of them drowned in a landing practice.”

Yours sincerely,
Julie

Columns

Faith and Football

Cindy Hval

The saying “there are no atheists in foxholes” might well be amended to “or on football fields.”

On Jan. 2, millions of people watched in horror as Buffalo Bills safety Damar Hamlin, 24, suffered a cardiac arrest and collapsed on the field during a game against the Cincinnati Bengals.

His heart stopped. He had no pulse. Medical personnel used a defibrillator and CPR to resuscitate him.

Players and staff from both teams knelt on the field united in prayer. Strangers in the crowded stands cried and prayed together and many of us watching the game at home did the same.

Instantly, the hashtag #PrayerforDamar began trending on Twitter. All 32 NFL teams changed their Twitter profile pictures to a message reading “PRAY FOR DAMAR.”

The following day, in a moment that quickly went viral on social media, ESPN analyst Dan Orlovsky prayed for Hamlin on air during an edition of “NFL Live.”

“God, we come to you in these moments that we don’t understand, that are hard, because we believe that you’re God, and coming to you and praying to you has impact,” Orlovsky said.

If this surprises you, then you probably aren’t a football fan, because even to a casual observer, football and faith seem inextricably linked.

After all, since 1990, at the end of every NFL game players from both teams kneel in prayer on the 50-yard line. And prayer at high school football games put Washington state in the national spotlight with a recent Supreme Court ruling.

Bremerton High School coach Joseph Kennedy had been fired for his insistence on praying on the field after games. The Supreme Court ruled in his favor and he is to be reinstated to his coaching position on or before March 15.

I’m confident no one watches the game to see the players pray, yet to my knowledge no other professional sport has such overt examples of spirituality. I don’t watch much basketball or baseball, but I know I’ve never seen players gather at center court or midfield to pray.

My affection for football goes back to my childhood when I rooted for the Dallas Cowboys with my dad when Tom Landry coached. We switched our allegiance when Chuck Knox took over for the Seahawks.

The juxtaposition of faith and football makes sense when you watch grown men violently colliding with each other. There’s nothing subtle about tackling or blocking. No matter how well-padded and protected every hit has to hurt and the risk of severe injury is ever present.

And now, on national television, we’ve witnessed an apparently healthy young man drop to the ground in cardiac arrest.

Not all of social media was faith-fueled during those first dramatic hours. Plenty of detractors posted “What about praying for ___?” Or “How come no one publicly prays for ___?” And those who think the sport should be banned weighed in as well.

But for the most part, it seems when confronted by tragedy and our powerlessness to help, there’s an instinctive, almost universal response to cry out for something bigger than our humanity to intervene.

So we prayed.

Even skeptics.

Even unbelievers.

Perhaps in all of us resides a quiet longing to believe.

Nine days after his cardiac arrest, Damar Hamlin was released from the hospital to rehabilitate at home. Did all those heartfelt prayers affect his amazing recovery? Who can tell?

The quick lifesaving response of the Bills’ medical team and the skilled physicians caring for him at the hospital can’t be discounted.

But if we’re going to talk about prayer and miracles, to me the most miraculous thing was watching the social media response to the incident.

For a few hours in the often toxic Twitter environment, civility and compassion ruled. Dividing lines blurred, team loyalties abated, political issues muted, and we were just people hoping and praying for a young man to see another day.

I just wish it didn’t take witnessing near tragedy to bring us to this place.

Cindy Hval can be reached at dchval@juno.com. Hval is the author of “War Bonds: Love Stories from the Greatest Generation” (Casemate Publishers, 2015) available at Auntie’s Bookstore and bookstores nationwide.

Columns

Christmas with chaos, but no jelly

Cindy Hval

My husband narrowly avoided a “Jelly of the Month Club” situation at work over the holidays.

A couple of weeks before Christmas mail delivery to his Hillyard-area business came to a standstill. A disaster at any time when you depend on getting paid by your customers, so you can pay your employees, but especially concerning over Christmas.

Derek worried that instead of bonuses, he’d have to give his employees memberships to a Jelly of the Month Club just like Clark Griswold received in “National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation.”

Movie fans know that didn’t end up well for Griswold’s boss.

Equally troubling was the absence of our sons’ Christmas gifts. I’m not an online shopper, so Derek buys gifts the kids put on their Amazon wish lists, while I purchase presents at local stores. He always has the packages delivered to his business because his locked mailbox is more secure than our home curbside box. No mail delivery from USPS meant no packages, either.

When a week passed with nary an envelope in his box, Derek sent an employee to the neighborhood post office to find out what the problem was.

After waiting in a long line of unhappy postal customers, he was able to get a stack of mail, but no packages.

“They’ll come tomorrow,” the harried worker told him.

It seems like many area post offices, the Hillyard branch was critically understaffed and completely overwhelmed.

The packages didn’t arrive the next day. Nor did any mail. Another week went by and Derek went to the post office and picked up a huge stack of mail. The packages?

“They’ll be delivered by Christmas Eve,” the employee assured him.

On Dec. 23, our sons’ gifts arrived (but no mail).

I thought Derek would be relieved, instead, he was sad.

“Your gifts didn’t come,” he said.

I hugged him.

“My birthday’s in February. I bet they’ll be here just in time.”

But the meltdown of mail delivery is no laughing matter. I’m glad Derek was able to pay his bills and his employees, but another customer at the post office was missing needed medication. For those who live on slim margins, the lack of a check can mean no money for rent, utilities or groceries.

As USPS still struggles, another catastrophe loomed. Our son was scheduled to return to Texas via Southwest Airlines on Dec. 29.

On Dec. 27, he woke us with the news that Southwest had canceled his flight and said they couldn’t rebook him until Jan. 13!

His was just one of more than 2,500 flights the airline canceled within four hours that morning. Sam has classes to prepare for and was due back in his office on Thursday. He and Derek found a flight on American Airlines that would get him home on Tuesday.

I couldn’t complain about an extra five days with our youngest, but my heart ached for friends stranded far from home.

Stressful situations like these serve as reminders to check our attitudes. Are we being kind to the airline workers and postal service employees who are on the front line of customer frustration? Are we finding things to be thankful for amid the chaos?

And honestly, a one-year subscription to a Jelly of the Month Club isn’t the worst thing in the world – especially if you’ve stocked up on peanut butter.

Columns

Yes, I can hear you now

Cindy Hval

In the early 2000s, Verizon Wireless launched a successful ad campaign with a series of commercials featuring the “Test Guy” who trudged through various locales asking, “Can you hear me, now?”

I thought about that commercial while perusing produce at the grocery store. As I slipped red peppers into a plastic bag, a tinny voice behind me said, “They got his test results. It’s not good.”

Pausing my pepper selection, I looked around. A man nearby was holding his cellphone in front of him. He leaned on his cart and said, “I knew it! He’s so fat. All he eats is what comes from boxes, or drive-thrus.”

Stunned, I watched the guy pick through the salad selection while the person on his phone went into detail about someone’s cardiac history. The shopper had his volume high enough that I could hear every word, even as I rounded the corner to the deli.

I wish that had been the only time I was forced to overhear a phone conversation about private matters in a public place.

We’ve all grown used to hearing one-sided conversations as people chat on phones while waiting in lines or walking through stores, but most of us are polite enough to hold our phones to our ears or use Bluetooth. Lately, I’ve noticed an alarming trend of folks putting calls on speaker mode while out and about.

I don’t think it’s intentional rudeness, but I do wonder if society’s standards have lapsed.

Not long before the grocery store incident, I waited in the lobby of a car dealership as Ruby Sue got her regular oil change.

A teenage girl held the denizens of the waiting area captive as she debated her homecoming garb with a friend via speakerphone. The volume was set so loud we could hear the person on the other end crunching chips as they conversed.

“K. I’m sending you my top three picks,” the girl in the waiting area said. “My mom already vetoed the red backless sheath, but I like it.”

Rustle, rustle, crunch.

“Dude, it’s sweet and all, but I like the lacy black mini way better,” her friend replied, through a mouthful of food.

I got up and moved to the other side of the waiting room and tried to read my book. Soon, the far side was filled with others trying to avoid a conversation none of us wanted to hear.

I’m not averse to using speaker settings during work interviews or chatting with a friend while making dinner. But I can’t imagine walking through a grocery store with my phone out in front of me asking my husband if he wants tacos or tuna casserole for dinner. That’s what texting is for.

Are people really self-centered enough to think others are happy to hear their discussions about whether no bra is better than a strapless one?

The worst example of this total lack of social awareness came on our way home from our recent trip to Ohio. Dozens of weary travelers crammed into a crowded way-too-small boarding area at the Minneapolis-St. Paul airport to await a 9 p.m. flight to Spokane.

We sat elbow-to-elbow with other travelers. Honestly, the one thing I miss about COVID restrictions is social distancing. That sentiment became more pronounced as a 40-something woman two seats away, recounted her trip highlights and lowlights to her partner via FaceTime.

I mean, I think it went OK, babe, but I just dunno,” she said. “Do you think I’m too insecure?”

Her unwilling audience was treated to her partner’s murmurs of love and affection followed by his assessment. “Well, yeah sweetie, you are a bit insecure.”

People on either side of her and across the aisle glared. Most of us were trying to listen for our boarding call in the bustling airport.

Remember when you got caught passing notes or whispering to a friend in school and the teacher called you out and said, “Do you have something you’d like to share with the rest of the class?”

One wonders if these speaker-phone aficionados always replied, “You bet!”

Consider this my plea for simple good manners. When in public don’t use your speaker phone setting, because the answer to that Verizon ad question is clear. Yes, we can hear you, now, but do we really need to?

Cindy Hval can be reached at dchval@juno.com. Hval is the author of “War Bonds: Love Stories from the Greatest Generation” (Casemate Publishers, 2015) available at Auntie’s Bookstore and bookstores nationwide.

Columns

Finding thankfulness in empty nest adjustments

Cindy Hval

Baffled, we stared at our dining room table.

With the leaves, it seats 12. Without the leaves, it seats six. Now, there are just two of us.

“Where are we going to sit?” I asked my husband.

He shrugged.

Our places at the table changed over time as our family grew and then shrank. For several years, it’s just been Derek, me and our youngest son. In September, Sam accepted a teaching position at Odessa College in Texas. We hadn’t thought about the practical adjustments empty-nesters must make – like where to sit at mealtimes.

“We can’t sit next to each other. That’s just weird,” I said.

With a full plate in one hand and a glass of wine in the other, Derek nodded toward the door.

“Let’s eat on the deck,”

Crisis averted, we enjoyed our meal in the September sun and discussed where our new spots at the table should be.

“I don’t care where we sit as long as we’re not eating off TV trays,” he said.

I shuddered.

“Do they even still make those?”

In the weeks that followed we slowly found our new normal. While we miss our Baby Boy, we’re finding lots to love about our empty nest – like nuts. Sam has a severe peanut/nut allergy. We haven’t had a dish of cashews or peanuts in our home in 22 years. Now, we enjoy small dishes of mixed nuts as an appetizer or late-night snack. Also, our grocery bill has diminished considerably!

e aren’t the only ones adjusting to Sam’s absence. Our cats Thor and Walter have had to adapt as well – especially Walter. He’s a creature of habit, and his habit is to tag along after me all day long. Most mornings my tabby entourage escorts me to my basement office. Then he plunks himself on our old BarcaLounger near my desk in front of Sam’s TV.

Sam took the TV and the recliner with him when he moved. With no place to plunk, Walter took to napping at my feet. This proved to be a workplace hazard for both of us. I’d forget he was there and step on his tail, or he’d dart in front of me causing me to trip.

I explained the situation during a phone call with Sam.

“Maybe I should buy him a cat bed and put it next to my desk,” I said.

My son had a better idea.

“Why spend money on a cat bed he won’t use? Just buy a clothes basket. He loves them.”

There’s a reason we call him Smarty Pants Sam.

I bought a $4 basket; put an old afghan in it and now Walter has a safe place to nap when he comes to work with me.

Though I’ve found lots to enjoy about our first few months as empty-nesters, I have to confess to feeling a bit blue as I did my Thanksgiving shopping. It’s our first holiday without our youngest son. We’ll have seven family members at the table – I doubt I’ll need to extend it with a leaf.But when reaching for the serving platters behind my Christmas china, I rediscovered my thankful spirit.Sam will come home for Christmas and his place at the table will be ready.

All Write

Shop Small and Buy Books

Cindy Hval

One of my favorite days of the year! Come shop small at Auntie’s Bookstore on Saturday and hang out with local authors. I’ll be there from 2-3 with Joseph Edwin Haeger and Jess Walter.

They even have copies of “War Bonds: Love Stories from the Greatest Generation” in stock and I’ll be happy to sign your copy.

Books make the best presents!

Check out the full line up of authors below.

❄️11am-12pm❄️

Ty Brown

Lucy Gilmore

❄️12pm-1pm❄️

Mark Anderson

Karen Mobley

Shawn Vestal

❄️1pm-2pm❄️

Jess Walter

Jack Nisbet

Bethany Bennett

❄️2pm-3pm❄️

Jess Walter

Joseph Haeger

Cindy Hval

❄️3pm-4pm❄️

JT Greathouse

Shann Ray

Sharma Shields

❄️4pm-5pm❄️

Lora Senf

Trent Reedy

All Write

Link to Chicken Soup for the Soul Workshop

Cindy Hval

A few weeks ago I presented “How to Get a Bowl Full of Chicken Soup” at the Spokane County Library District’s 6th annual Spokane Writers Conference.

If you were unable to attend, you can view the presentation here for a limited time.

This soup’s for you. Happy writing!

All Write

Making room for new traditions

Cindy Hval

A few weeks ago, I received this note from a reader:

I have been searching for a column you wrote about Christmas traditions. My mother had it posted on her refrigerator for years to remember each Holiday Season and your wise words of wisdom.
When she passed, I took the column for myself, but the first paragraph had been torn out. The second paragraph reads: “This new year, I’m going to hold on to traditions that fit our family and let go of the old ones we’ve outgrown, etc.”
I am now the age of my mother with grown daughters/sons-in-law/grandkids and have continued to heed your suggestion of compromise. I was discussing the article with my daughters yesterday and they remember the article on grandma’s refrigerator. Could you send me the entire article for us? I am not sure of the year it was published but it must be older because the paper has turned yellow.

It’s hard to believe I wrote this column TEN years ago! I’m reposting it here because sometimes we all need a reminder that often we have to let go of the old to embrace the new.

Cheers!

Four Hval boys many Christmases ago.

When Tevye and the cast belt out “Tradition” in Fiddler on the Roof, they’re singing my song.

 I especially love the ritual, familiarity, and comfort of holiday traditions. For me, it begins on the day after Thanksgiving. While many folks shop ’til they drop on Black Friday, I decorate ’til I drop.

My sons unearth the red and green plastic tubs bulging with garlands, angels, Santas, and candles, and lug them to the living room. Then I pop a Christmas CD in the stereo and spend the day awash in memories of Christmas past.

Each item from the Play-Doh nativity set, to the Homer Simpson Santa Claus, to the, chipped and scratched snowman dishes has a story.

This year I’m making room for new stories by learning to hold less tightly to treasured traditions.

Actually, the process began a couple years ago with the Christmas tree. Since our boys were tiny, Derek has taken them to Green Bluff to cut down a tree. But our sons are now 21, 19, 17, and 12. Finding a time when everyone has the day off from work to make the trek to the tree farm became impossible.

Derek eyed fake trees, but the younger boys and I rebelled. We reached a compromise: a freshly cut tree from a local tree lot.  We also gave up trying to find a night that everyone would be around to trim the tree. I don’t feel too bad about that. Six people, two cats, and one tree can create a lot of Christmas chaos.

Other changes have been more difficult to embrace. For 26 years I’ve celebrated a traditional Norwegian Christmas Eve with my in-laws. The feast is a smorgasbord of Norwegian foods and delicacies, but the real flavor comes from the gathering of extended family.

My father-in-law loved Christmas Eve. He was in his element at the head of the table with his wife by his side, surrounded by his four children, their spouses, and his 14 grandchildren. His booming laugh and warm bear hugs made everyone smile.

This was our first Christmas since his death. Instead of ignoring the empty space, his absence left, family members shared their favorite Papa memories. And in the light that shone from his grandchildren’s eyes– in the echoes of their laughter– Papa’s presence was felt once again.

When we got home, no one mentioned leaving cookies out for Santa. That’s okay, Santa’s trying to slim down. Besides, I’m pretty sure our kitty, Thor, would eat them before Santa got a chance.

Christmas morning is different now, too. Santa still leaves filled stockings outside each boys’ bedroom door, but our oldest has to drive over from his apartment to get his.

In years past, four little boys would clamber on our bed at the crack of dawn on Christmas morning and dump their stocking bounty out for us to see.

I don’t miss the crack of dawn part.

And Sam, 12, informed me last year, “You know we all open our stockings while you’re sleeping and then stuff everything back in and take them to your room. You do know that, don’t you?”

Yes, I know that, because my sister and I did the same thing when we were kids.

The six of us still gather around the tree and read the Christmas story from the Bible before the unwrapping begins, but now there’s less unwrapping. I’ve discovered the older the kids– the smaller the presents. Unfortunately, smaller tends to equal more expensive.

Even so, I don’t really miss hundreds of Legos strewn across the floor, or tiny GI Joe guns getting sucked up the vacuum cleaner.

Clinging to traditions no longer current is like trying to squeeze a squirming toddler into last year’s snowsuit. It won’t fit and someone will end up in tears.

This new year, I’m going to hold on to traditions that fit our family and let go of the ones we’ve outgrown. I don’t want to cling so tightly to the past that my hands are too full to embrace the present.

Contact Cindy Hval at dchval@juno.com.