Category: Columns

Columns

Love in Every Bite

Cindy Hval

For many years, I’ve written an annual zucchini column for The Spokesman-Review’s Food section.

It started when my husband planted our first garden and made the rookie mistake of planting three zucchini plants.

The abundance of zucchini prompted me to delve into my cookbooks and recipe files. It also led me to give the gift of a gourd to friends, neighbors and random strangers who offered to take some squash off my hands.

This was when our two youngest sons were still at home. They resignedly ate the resulting side dishes, casseroles and soups, and happily devoured the breads, cakes and cookies that resulted from our garden abundance.

Flash forward to our empty nest and more manageable zucchini crop. Manageable because we’ve reduced the size of our crop, and I learned how well the resulting baked goods freeze.

My Norwegian brother-in-law is a big fan of my chocolate zucchini bread. He and his wife have a beautiful saltwater swimming pool in their backyard and graciously allow us to swim on sweltering summer days.

A tasty homemade thank-you gift is always ready in my freezer. This year, I upped the ante with chocolate zucchini cupcakes studded with chocolate chips.

Earlier in the summer, a friend had ankle surgery. Her husband is in my writing group. Zucchini isn’t the only garden goodie that lends itself to baking. Our bumper crop of raspberries became a decadent coffee cake. I served some to my group and sent the rest home for Sarah.

Twice a month, we host a family dinner. I never have to worry about dessert because I’ve got plenty of zucchini peanut drop cookies or zucchini chocolate chip cookies on hand. All that’s needed is a carton of vanilla ice cream.

I may have read too many “Little House on the Prairie” books as a child, because nothing makes me feel more accomplished than having homemade goodies on hand. I’m like Laura Ingalls Wilder, but with an upright freezer instead of a root cellar.

Where does it all go?

Well, this summer I served lemon zucchini bread with lemon glaze to a former member of my writing group and his wife.

They’d moved to Montana a few years ago. When I had the opportunity to interview them about their new ministry, I invited them to our backyard gazebo. When they left, I sent the leftover dessert with them to sweeten their journey home.

My Norwegian brother-in-law is a big fan of my chocolate zucchini bread. He and his wife have a beautiful saltwater swimming pool in their backyard and graciously allow us to swim on sweltering summer days.

A tasty homemade thank-you gift is always ready in my freezer. This year, I upped the ante with chocolate zucchini cupcakes studded with chocolate chips.

Earlier in the summer, a friend had ankle surgery. Her husband is in my writing group. Zucchini isn’t the only garden goodie that lends itself to baking. Our bumper crop of raspberries became a decadent coffee cake. I served some to my group and sent the rest home for Sarah.

Twice a month, we host a family dinner. I never have to worry about dessert because I’ve got plenty of zucchini peanut drop cookies or zucchini chocolate chip cookies on hand. All that’s needed is a carton of vanilla ice cream.

Every season, I find new recipes to try, and during my weekly phone call with our Texas son, I told him I’d been baking chocolate chip zucchini bread.

“You should send me some,” he said.

I’ll be popping a loaf in the mail soon.

Last week, I got a text from one of my closest friends. Her only sibling had died unexpectedly.

Stunned and saddened, I pulled a loaf of orange chocolate chip zucchini bread from my freezer. On the way to her house, I stopped at the store and bought a sympathy card and an Uber Eats gift card.

I know she appreciated the gifts and my presence, but it was the zucchini bread she mentioned more than once.

When forced to swallow the bitter pill of loss, a taste of homemade sweetness sometimes offers a moment of respite.

All I know is my freezer full of baked zucchini goods makes me feel prepared for whatever celebration or sadness lies ahead.

Over the years, I’ve cut these breads and cakes into wedges, rectangles and squares. I’ve served it on glass trays, porcelain saucers and paper plates.

Anyway I slice it, it all adds up to love.

Columns

Zucchini Mayhem

Cindy Hval

I know I say this every year, but it seemed like zucchini season got off to a slow start.

No gigantic gourds awaited us when we returned from vacation – just one or two supermarket-sized squash.

Even more shocking, I still had two loaves of lemon zucchini bread and one loaf of chocolate zucchini bread in our freezer.

I blame our No. 3 son. He got married in October and now his lovely wife keeps him well supplied with sweet treats.

This year, I made a vow to slow down on baking and cooking. Unfortunately, our zucchini didn’t get the message. Neither did my husband.

When he hauled out the food processor to shred our first batch, I gave him my second-largest mixing bowl and told him not to fill it to the top.

Derek misheard me and shredded every zucchini in sight, and could barely get the lid on the bowl.

“Oh no!” I said. “I needed some to slice and dice for casseroles and soups!”

He raised his eyebrows.

“Can you wait a couple of days?”

Of course, he was right. Even with only one plant, I’ve got squash coming out of my ears.

It’s a good thing my recipe game is strong, and last year it was augmented by my sons’ former choir teacher, Helen Kennett. After last year’s column ran, she graciously sent me recipes for Zucchini Bacon Quiche and Zucchini Peanut Drops.

Both are wonderful, and I’ve included them below, along with a recipe for a tasty casserole that calls for a box of stuffing mix. It offers a taste of Thanksgiving in August.

Right now, I’m giving thanks for the goodness of the green gourd and the comfort of an air-conditioned kitchen to prepare it in.

Zucchini Bacon Quiche

From Helen Kennett

1 tube (8-ounce) refrigerated crescent rolls

2 teaspoons prepared mustard

6 bacon strips, diced (save 2 tablespoons bacon dripping)

3 cups thinly sliced zucchini

1 medium onion, chopped

2 eggs beaten

2 cups shredded mozzarella cheese

2 tablespoons dried parsley flakes

½ teaspoon pepper

¼ teaspoon garlic powder

¼ teaspoon dried oregano

¼ teaspoon dried basil

Separate crescent dough into eight triangles.

Place in a greased 10-inch pie plate with points toward the center.

Press dough to the bottom and up the sides of plate to form a crust.

Seal perforations. Spread with mustard.

In skillet, cook bacon over medium. heat until crisp. Remove to paper towels; drain, reserving 2 tablespoons drippings.

Sauté zucchini & onion in drippings until tender.

In a large bowl, combine eggs, cheese, seasonings, bacon and zucchini mixture. Pour into crust.

Bake at 375 degrees for 25-30 minutes until knife inserted comes out clean.

(Cover edges loosely with foil if pastry browns too quickly.)

Taste of Thanksgiving Zucchini Casserole

6 cups diced zucchini

1 (10.75-ounce) can condensed cream of mushroom soup

1 cup sour cream

½ cup chopped onion

1 cup shredded carrots (honestly, I usually omit these, and it still tastes great)

1 (6-ounce) package stuffing mix (I use Stove Top cornbread or chicken)

½ cup butter, melted

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Grease a 2-quart casserole dish.

In a large saucepan over medium-high heat, cook zucchini in lightly salted water until crisp-tender, about five minutes. Drain and place in a large bowl. Stir in the soup, sour cream, onion and carrots.

In a small bowl, mix together stuffing and melted butter. Spread half the stuffing mix in the bottom of the casserole dish, add a layer of zucchini mixture, and top with remaining stuffing.

Bake 20 minutes or until the top is golden brown.

Zucchini Peanut Drops

From Helen Kennett

1 cup margarine (I use butter)

1 cup peanut butter

½ cup sugar

1 cup packed brown sugar

2 eggs

1 teaspoon vanilla

2 cups grated unpeeled zucchini

½ cup chopped peanuts

3¼ cup flour

½ teaspoon baking powder

½ teaspoon baking soda

1 teaspoon salt

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Cream margarine (or butter), peanut butter and sugars until light and fluffy. Add eggs one at a time, beating well. Stir in vanilla zucchini and peanuts. Combine dry ingredients and blend into creamed mixture. Drop by tablespoonfuls onto greased cookie sheet (I use parchment paper).

Bake for 15-18 minutes.

Columns

Watching the World Go By

Cindy Hval

News that Twigs Bistro & Martini Bar at River Park Square Mall will soon undergo a remodel brought memories of our most recent visit.

The atrium area at Twigs provides free entertainment with your meal. With a bird’s-eye view of the busy intersection of Main Avenue and Post Street, the opportunities to witness the foibles of humanity are boundless. It’s one of our favorite people-watching spots!

First, there’s the endlessly amusing rounds of parking roulette in front of Red Robin across the street from the mall.

Downtown street parking can be challenging, but more so if you don’t read the signs in front of those invitingly vacant spaces in front of the restaurant.

Those spots are reserved for to-go pickups and food delivery services like DoorDash or Uber Eats.

Here’s a hint – no meter means no parking, yet time after time we watch hapless drivers pull in, hop out and look for a meter.

Some brave souls shrug and go inside to dine, perhaps underestimating the parking fines they may incur. Most don’t gamble with the parking gods and move along.

During a recent meal, we watched a huge Humvee pull into the spot. The driver got out, scratched his head while reading the “No Parking” sign, and then returned to the car and drove off.

Moments later, it returned. This time, a few men stepped out to examine the sign, engaging in an animated discussion with a lot of arm waving. Then a gaggle of women and children emerged from the vehicle and marched into the restaurant. The driver and his cohorts clambered back into the rig to find an actual parking spot.

Problematic Parallel Parking also offers fun. It’s tricky. Multiple lanes of traffic and cars turning onto Main Avenue from Post Street increase the challenge. Sometimes we wager the next round on how many attempts it will take before a driver successfully parks.

We get pretty excited when someone does it on the first try and quietly applaud from our table above the fray.

(Full disclosure, I NEVER parallel park. I know my limits.)

Lime scooters have upped the people-watching ante. Novice riders wobbling down the sidewalk in front of the mall sometimes gently topple over, but I’m happy to report we’ve witnessed no major mishaps.

(Full disclosure, I will NEVER ride a Lime scooter, as per my limits mentioned above.)

The funniest thing is how my husband suddenly becomes a fashion expert as we watch people cross the bustling intersection.

“His pants are off. They’re around his ankles. How can he even walk? Aren’t we over that trend?” he’ll murmur.

Mostly, his observations confirm that it’s a good thing we didn’t have daughters. A trio of scantily clad girls provoked a gasp.

“They need to go home and put some actual clothes on!”

We watched a family of four emerge from Red Robin. The two little boys each carried a brightly colored balloon.

“Look!” I said. “They attach the balloons to sticks, now.”

At one time or another, every one of our four sons suffered the trauma of losing their grip on a balloon’s string and watching it waft skyward. Even when we tied the string to a chubby wrist, it would somehow slip off on the way to the car or the house, leading to heartbroken sobs.

I suppose that’s progress – no more tears over lost balloons.

Derek’s observations were more pragmatic.

“I betcha 10 to one, they’ll turn those sticks into swords and start jabbing each other before they get their car,” he said. “And then someone’s balloon will pop.”

I didn’t take that bet. After all, I raised four boys with him, and some things never change.

Columns

Shooting Like a Girl

Cindy Hval

I made a lot of shots during Hoopfest weekend, but none of them was with a basketball.

When I received a media invite from Shoot Like A Girl to visit its mobile shooting range at Cabela’s in Post Falls, it sounded like a fun Saturday excursion.

Shoot Like A Girl is a marketing company focused on empowering women to participate in shooting sports with confidence.

Its mobile shooting range features a military-grade firearms simulator and travels the country with certified female instructors. They offer women 18 and older the opportunity to shoot a compound bow, a handgun and an AR-15 rifle.

The cutting-edge technology provides immediate recoil, impact and sound feedback, creating a realistic shooting experience.

Over the past 15 years, 36,578 guests have participated in SLG2, Inc. experiences, according to statistics from 2023.

I’m no sharpshooter, but I’m not exactly a novice.

My high school sweetheart was into skeet shooting and he took me along once or twice.

No skeets were harmed by me on these outings, because I couldn’t hit a dang thing. The sport required more coordination than I possessed. By the time I had the shotgun raised, the clay pigeon had sailed past before I could fire.

I’m pretty sure that’s not why he dumped me, but who knows?

Several years ago, I wrote a column about the Spokane Practical Pistol League. After a thorough gun safety briefing at the practice range, I tried out a variety of handguns.

A .22 with a laser sight was my favorite and the satisfying ping of a bullet hitting the steel target proved fun.

I’d also visited Sharp Shooting Indoor Range and Gun Shop with a group of gals for Ladies Night. We got to shoot zombie targets.

No zombies needed to be double-tapped at the Shoot Like a Girl mobile shooting range. Event manager Dub Fincher stressed that safety and education are paramount.

Inside the semi-trailer, archery instructor Shawn selected a compound bow for me to try.

I quickly discovered I’m no Katniss Everdeen. The bow and the shooting stance felt awkward, but my arrows safely lodged in the target area.

Shawn handed me off to TBuzz, who covered gun safety protocol. Although no live rounds are fired within the simulator, she explained that every gun should be treated as if it’s loaded and lethal.

TBuzz fitted me with safety glasses and digital noise-canceling earmuffs which protected my ears while allowing me to hear her instructions.

The handgun with the laser felt comfortable and was easy to use. I even hit a bull’s-eye. The rifle required a bit more effort and I was glad they provided a stand for steadier aim.

Back outside the trailer, Fincher introduced me to the latest in pepper spray options and walked me through how to use it.

“If someone is approaching you in a threatening manner, extend your palm out, loudly yell, ‘STOP! I don’t know you!’ and then deploy the spray.”

A mannequin named Bob the Bad Guy served as the target for the inert pepper spray.

“Aim above the eyes, then across the nose and back toward the mouth in a Z for Zorro pattern,” Dub said. “And don’t use it all in case there’s another bad guy.”

If Bob had been an actual baddie, he would have been in a world of hurt by the time I was done with him.

Shoot Like A Girl offers these experiences at no charge. They had a gun bar for guests to check out various models, several gun safes to peruse and a display of concealed carry handbags. Those items were available for purchase inside Cabela’s.

“We encourage people to find a local ladies’ shooting group,” Fincher said

If shooting like a girl means pepper spraying the heck out of Bad Guy Bob, nailing a bull’s-eye with a handgun and scoring a respectable cluster of hits from 50 yards with an AR-15, then I most definitely shoot like a girl. Maybe I’ll give skeet shooting another try.

For more information on Shoot Like a Girl visit shootlikeagirl.com/

Columns

He took the books

Cindy Hval

He drove 1,700 miles to see us, and when he left, it felt like he took his childhood with him.

Three years after accepting a teaching job in Texas at Odessa College, our youngest son finally completed his move.

Last month, instead of flying home for his summer visit, Sam drove so that he could take the bins and boxes filled with books he’d left behind.

He’s an English instructor for a reason. There was no way his library could fit in the small U-Haul trailer he and his dad drove across the country on his initial move.

In addition to household goods and furniture, Sam had crammed as many books and movies into the trailer as possible, with the overflow spilling into his car.

“I guess I’ll have to come back for the rest,” he said.

Sam’s college office is lined with beautiful wooden bookshelves, and he’s been itching to fill them with his best-loved tomes.

With every subsequent flight home, he sorted through his stash, donating some and exchanging others. The problem is for every book he got rid of, he bought two or three more.

“It’s not hoarding if it’s books,” I used to say, but that was before his stash quadrupled my own.

He made good time on his cross-country drive, and like all my boys, he made sure he was home in time for dinner.

But.

“I’m not doing that drive again,” he said. “From now on, I’m sticking to air travel, so I’d better take everything I left behind.”

I was so happy to see him, I didn’t think about “everything” and what that entailed until he started loading up for his return trip.

In addition to four plastic totes and a cardboard box filled with books, he added some other items.

“I probably won’t move back to Washington until I retire,” Sam said.

Gulp.

Some things that didn’t make the cut on his initial move: his childhood Bible, his Pokémon card collection and a tattered, dog-eared copy of “Hank the Cowdog.”

I didn’t bat an eye at the Bible or the Pokémon cards, but seeing “Hank the Cowdog,” on top of his stack brought a tear or two.

Sam’s brothers are 10, 8 and 5 years older, but they’d all loved it when I read that series with Sam. We’d listened to them on audiobooks on carpool drives and trips to Loon Lake.

Sensing the inevitable, I mentioned his red bin.

Years ago, I bought four red totes. I sorted through accumulated memorabilia from my boys – report cards, yearbooks, sports trophies and honor roll certificates. I labeled one bin for each kid.

Ethan’s is still tucked away, but over the years, we’ve taken or shipped most of our second son’s mementos to his home.

Zachary took his bin shortly before his October wedding.

“I might as well take mine now,” Sam said.

First, he sorted through it.

“Think about your future wife and kids before you toss anything,” I said. “Think about what they’d want to know about your childhood.”

He nodded.

“Do you want my soccer trophies?” he asked.

I laughed.

“Nope!” I replied.

“How about my Baby Book?”

Oh! The record of baby showers hosted in his honor, gifts given, details of his birth, his first smile, first tooth, first words …

“It’s your story,” I said.

He tucked it back into the tote.

I didn’t watch when he loaded everything in his roomy SUV.

Sam returned to Texas with his books and mementos, but he didn’t really take his childhood. It’s all still here between the walls of this house.

Our home holds thousands of memories from his first step to the time he pulled into the driveway after a two-day, 1,700-mile trip from Texas.

Someday, we may sell this house, but his childhood won’t vanish with it.

Those memories, bigger than any plastic bin can hold, remain tucked within my heart.

Columns

#ThingsMyHusbandSays, Father’s Day Edition

Cindy Hval

I’ve been writing a personal column for about 20 years, so often when I meet people during interviews or at events, they say, “Oh! I feel like I already know you!”

I usually reply, “You probably know more about me than is strictly necessary.”

Since the advent of these #thingsmyhusbandsays columns, Derek’s been getting a taste of that recognition.

Last week at the Northwest Passages event celebrating the launch of Jess Walter’s new book, “So Far Gone,” several people greeted me, then turned to my husband and said, “You must be Derek!”

Luckily, my extroverted husband enjoys these exchanges and is unfazed by his growing notoriety.

The equanimity and warmth that make him a great life partner also make him a wonderful dad and papa. We honored him on Sunday, and I’m continuing the celebration with this installment of #thingsmyhusbandsays.

He’s been talking in his sleep

• Sometimes, Derek sleeps too close to me and encroaches on my space.

I nudged him. “Your head is on my pillow,” I said.

“No it’s not,” he replied. “My brain is on your pillow.”

That image kept me awake for a while.

• One morning, I woke up to his muttering.

“She drowned!”

I poked him.

“Who drowned?”

“You’ll find out,” he replied.

I waited until he left for work to take my shower. Better safe than sorry.

Derekisms

• Derek: That Howard Rutger is always scary!

Me: You mean Rutger Hauer?

Him: Yeah. The German guy.

Me: Dutch.

Him: Exactly.

• We watched a video of a dad taking his baby to the doctor for the baby’s first shots.

“You didn’t take ANY of our sons to their vaccinations,” I said.

“Meh. I was there for their vasectomies,” he replied.

I hope to God he meant circumcisions!

• While we were on the topic, one of our sons was worried that our cat, Milo, had been castrated. Derek tried to explain spaying and neutering this way: “Did I get castrated? No! They call it a vasectomy.”

• Him: My brother is making a pot garden.

Me: Really? He’s growing weed?

Him: Weed? No, he’s planting strawberries in big pots.

Me: Oh. A container garden.

Him: Like I said. A pot garden.

Life according to Derek

• Recently, my husband came home and announced, “Well, I’m selling the business. Oscar Meyer is hiring Wienermobile drivers. I’ll have to go to Wienermobile School, but I’m confident this is the job for me.”

• Every October, Derek and our son Zach watch cheesy horror movies. One evening, the film was over by 8.

“Did everybody die?” I asked.

“Yeah, but not soon enough,” Derek replied.

• Several years ago, Derek went to Vegas with a buddy. They visited the STRAT Hotel, Casino & Tower and decided to take a leap with the SkyJump. It’s the highest commercial decelerator descent, with an official height of 829 feet.

He sent a group text to me and our sons before the jump, worried that his last words would be profanity.

Ethan told him, “I’m sure Jesus will forgive you. Heck! He’s gonna have a blast right along with you.”

To which Derek replied, “He flies. I don’t.”

Married life

• We were watching a video on “America’s Got Talent,” and the contestant was crying at the sight of the baby during his wife’s ultrasound.

Me: You didn’t cry at any of our ultrasounds.

Him: I also didn’t have a man bun.

• A commercial came on for Jimmy Dean pancake-wrapped sausage on a stick. “Oh my! If you die first, I’m totally going to eat that!” Derek said.

I’m sharing this in case I die an untimely death due to my husband’s lust for pancakes and sausage on a stick.

• Speaking of death, we were talking about our funerals. (Doesn’t everyone?)

“I don’t want a creepy open-casket viewing. Don’t do that to me,” I said.

He replied, “Oh, no way! I’m putting you on the deck with a book in one hand and a martini in the other.”

He may be an amazing dad and a wonderful husband, but comments like these make me realize I need to take better care of myself.

Obviously, I need to outlive him.

All Write, Columns

Travel that Transforms

Cindy Hval

When I think of Susie Leonard Weller, the first word that comes to mind is “vibrancy.”

From the brilliant turquoise color she favors to her beautifully bright smile, she exudes energy and intelligence.

We met almost 20 years ago at a writers group. She taught parenting and life skill classes for Head Start parents enrolled in the Community Colleges of Spokane and I was a fledgling freelance writer.

She was in the early stages of drafting her book, “Why Don’t You Understand? Improve Family Communication With the 4 Thinking Styles,” and I was writing columns about my boys burping entire conversations at the dinner table.

I’d leave the group inspired by our conversations, and I think she at least left entertained. After retiring from the community colleges, she left the group but continued to write and, more importantly, travel.

The travel bug arrived on her 10th birthday when Susie received a three-piece set of powder blue vinyl luggage. Two years later, she lugged it through the LAX Airport with her 10-year-old brother in tow as they changed planes on their way to Mexico City. Her parents had arranged an informal exchange with a family in Mexico.

She’s pretty much kept her bags packed since.

Recently, she sent me a note to let me know that her latest book, “52 Global Reflections: A Pilgrim’s Travel Memoir,” is scheduled for release on June 18.

We caught up over the phone.

“I see myself as a global citizen,” Weller said. “The book is part spiritual autobiography, part travel memoir.”

Over the years, she’s explored 34 countries, ranging from Australia to Turkey, and she typically stays in youth hostels.

“They’re for the young at heart, not just the young of age,” she said.

Susie, Barcelona, 2019

Weller has hiked over hills, trekked across trails, kayaked across bodies of water, and soared above the ground.

“To commemorate my 50th birthday, I paraglided over the Swiss Alps.”

In “52 Global Reflections: A Pilgrim’s Travel Memoir,” she documents her experiences in 52 locations around the world and includes over 150 reflection questions.

Her reason for penning this book now is simple.

“I’ve survived Stage 3 colorectal cancer, Stage 1 breast cancer, a ministroke and brain surgery,” she said. “I want to share my story before I die. If I don’t share it now, it will be gone.”

Weller’s story isn’t one of tourism but of connection.

“I believe in connecting with people at their sacred sites and spiritual places,” she said. “So many communities across the world are searching for that connection to something bigger than ourselves.”

Her pilgrim travel memoir integrates her 1981 master’s degree in pastoral ministry from Seattle University and a 2006 certificate in spiritual direction from Gonzaga University to provide insights into visiting sacred locations, shrines and labyrinths.

In a world divided by politics, ideologies and religion, Weller’s experiences offer much-needed hope.

“I’ve experienced the kindness of strangers and the generosity of people,” she said. “I’m so glad I traveled earlier because if you wait till you retire, health issues can limit you.”

In 2023, she spent nine weeks in Greece, Jordan, Malta and Turkey.

While visiting the home in Ephesus, Turkey, where Mary, the mother of Jesus, is said to have spent her final days, she writes of experiencing a profound healing of childhood wounds.

But her favorite country remains the first one she visited at 12.

For 18 years, she and her husband, Mark, wintered in Zihuatanejo, Mexico.

“We’ve traveled by bus all over Mexico,” she said. “When I’m there, I don’t feel like a visitor.”

Weller’s goal in sharing her travel experiences is to encourage others to step out of their comfort zones and enter the unknown.

“Let us build bridges to increase our compassion and respect for others, recognizing that they are a part of us, that we don’t yet know,” she writes in the memoir’s conclusion.

Neither illness nor time has dimmed her vibrancy.

“Travel transforms my head, my heart and my spirit,” she said.

”52 Global Reflections: A Pilgrim’s Travel Memoir” will be released June 18 through Kindle Direct Publishing with a special 99 cent promotional offer. More information at https://52globalreflections.com/

Columns

Living the next-level adulting dream

Cindy Hval

There’s something deliciously rewarding about reaching a stage in life where you can finally purchase something you’ve always wanted but previously denied yourself, believing it to be a frivolous expense.

In times past, for me, that might have been buying a cute pair of strappy sandals or a blingy bracelet, but I seem to have achieved a new tier of adulthood.

After a stressful few weeks, I decided to engage in some retail therapy. I bypassed the malls and the cute boutiques and headed to At Home and Target.

As my sons would say, “That’s some next-level adulting.”

On my list: one thing I’ve always wanted and one thing I desperately needed.

Hold on to your hats, kids, this is where it gets exciting! What I needed was an electric can opener. (Your ideas of excitement may differ.)

In the past few months, I’ve spent almost $40 trying to replace my dull, aging and utterly useless manual can opener.

Efforts to open a can of tomato sauce or pinto beans became endurance contests involving much swearing. The opener consistently skipped a section of the lid. I’d start over only to have it glide over the top again, leaving me with a jagged-edged, partially opened can.

I assumed it was worn out and bought a standard $12 replacement. It, too, proved worthless. I thought it might be me, so I left the can opening to my husband.

Guess what? He didn’t have any better luck. The atmosphere in our kitchen grew quite colorful because his profanity vocabulary is much more advanced than mine.

Back to the store I went. This time, I brought home a fancy high-end brand. It didn’t work any better – in fact, it was worse. Derek pronounced it useless and suggested he dig out his Swiss Army knife.

“I’m going shopping tomorrow,” I replied.

My first stop was At Home, where I picked up a sleek black Cuisinart electric can opener for $25.

Next, I headed to Target.

It may surprise you to know the thing I’ve always coveted is a Black & Decker Dustbuster. How I raised four sons and owned multiple cats without a cordless handheld vacuum is a mystery. Did I mention we’ve lived in a late 1970s-era split-level home for 32 years?

Every spill or trail of dust or dirt (aka boy residue) on the stairs meant lugging out the vacuum or grabbing a broom and dustpan. Cleaning crumbs from couch cushions involved wrestling with vacuum attachments.

A quick trip through the self-checkout, and the treasure was all mine.

As soon as the Dustbuster was charged, I used it on the stairs. Within a minute, no trace of cat hair remained. I had so much fun; I took it on a home tour, busting dust on window ledges and under cupboard edges.

I was in a bit of a tizzy as our youngest son was driving home from Texas for a visit. My version of killing the fatted calf is mixing up a big batch of Creamy Taco Soup in the slow cooker.

Like I said, I was a bit distracted. I plugged in my Cuisinart can opener and mistakenly opened a can of chicken noodle soup instead of cream of chicken soup.

But let me tell you, both of those cans opened easily. No glitches. No partially opened cans. No swearing!

Retail therapy, adult style, may not be glamorous, but I’m living the dream, one small convenience at a time.

Columns

Just one more recipe…

Cindy Hval

In January 2022, I launched “The Collector,” in The Spokesman-Review– a series of stories about what people collect and why.

From Lilac Festival pins to saws, from typewriter ribbon tins to Matchbox cars, I’m having a ball, meeting folks and discovering their collections.

Until recently, I didn’t think I collected anything, but the unwieldy stack of papers at my elbow proves otherwise. Somehow, I’ve amassed an enormous collection of recipes. It’s a little out of control, but I can stop adding to it anytime.

I blame my mother and the internet.

Mom collected many things over the years. I know because I’m the one who had to dust them. At one time or another, she collected salt and pepper shakers, chickens, ducks and teapots.

These were all manageably sized collections. As she grew older, the chickens went home to roost with my sister-in-law Bonnie, and the ducks and the salt and pepper shakers left via garage sale. The teapots she kept.

It wasn’t until Mom moved into an assisted living facility that we realized her real collection was stuffed in envelopes, notebooks and binders and tucked away in kitchen cupboards and drawers.

Mom was an incurable recipe clipper. She lived alone for 22 years after Dad died and subsisted primarily on Lean Cuisine frozen dinners. Yet she kept snipping recipes from the newspaper and magazines. Dorothy Dean had nothing on Mom when it came to recipes involving Jell-O or Campbell’s soup.

Her new place didn’t come with a kitchen, so I tried to sort through her stash. Overwhelmed, I finally gave up, took a couple of her cookbooks home, and called it good.

Scratch cooking, however, is often how I relax at the end of a stressful day, and one afternoon while scrolling through Facebook, I saw an intriguing recipe for sheet pan chicken and peppers. I clicked on it and printed it.

Big mistake! The next day an email from Holy Recipe arrived and like a fool, I opened it. It featured a recipe for Cinnabon cinnamon roll cake.

The kids were coming over for dinner and I love having a new dessert to serve them. I clicked the link and printed it.

You know what happened next, don’t you?

A few hours later my email flag waved. It was a message from Recipe Reader tempting me to check out something called “My One-and-Only Soup.”

My printer whirred and spat it out.

Every day brought a slew of new concoctions from varied sites.

Before I knew it, Big Blue, my extra-large three-ring binder filled with family favorites, had sprouted an additional section: New Recipes. And then the binder got too fat to close.

Where to put the sourdough waffle instructions from Recipe Spot (even though my husband is in charge of waffles and only uses Bisquick)? And what about the spicy pepperoni dip and the peach dump cake I wanted to try?

I found the answer in Columbus, Ohio, at the largest Barnes and Noble store I’d ever seen. We stopped in on the way to the airport after visiting the grandkids and I found two lovely “Favorite Recipes” binders. They came with dividers and quality stationery to use for printing recipes.

When we returned, I unburdened Big Blue and started sorting through my collection. That was seven months ago. Now, I have three partially filled binders and piles of recipes on my desk, waiting to be sorted. Too many recipes. Not enough time.

I’ve decided not to add any more until I get my collection under control. This is proving difficult because during the time I sat down to write this column, I received a recipe from Command Cooking for picnic chicken salad, a link to “Heavenly Bars” from Fussy Kitchen, and one from Recipe Reader for “Creamy Pineapple Dream.”

Don’t worry, I’ve learned my lesson. I didn’t open a single one and plan to add these sites to my spam filter. I’ll put it at the top of tomorrow’s to-do list.

My email flag is waving. What’s this? A recipe for Chicken Tamale Pie!

It shot from my printer before I even blinked.

I finally understand what collectors have been telling me – the lure of adding just one more is incredibly hard to resist.

Columns

My 6 Million Dollar Man

Cindy Hval

Last week, my husband had his second hip replacement surgery.

“You’ll be my ‘Six Million Dollar Man,’ ” I said, referring to the TV series from the ’70s.

Because he’s good at math and handy with Google, Derek corrected me.

“Actually, adjusted for inflation, I’m your 32 million dollar man.”

On the morning of his surgery, the gentleman escorting him to the OR area asked, “Does your wife write for The Spokesman-Review?”

“Yes, but don’t hold that against me,” Derek replied.

“Oh! I won’t. She’s my favorite columnist! I like how she gives you a hard time.”

That kind fellow may be a bit confused about which partner gives the other a hard time – so without further ado, here’s your next installment of #ThingsMyHusbandSays.

He’s been talking in his sleep

• I was just about asleep the other night when Derek rolled over and started loudly counting in midsnore.

“Five, four, (long pause) three …”

Snoring resumed. I don’t know if he forgot what came after three or if he’d lifted off, but I was awake for a long time wondering.

• Derek was talking in his sleep again.

“Wonder if cats fluff up if you stick ’em in there,” he mumbled.

I poked him.

“What are you dreaming about?”

“The dryer,” he said and rolled over.

Yeah. You try going back to sleep after that!

Derekisms

• We were talking about someone who got caught in a lie. Derek said, “Oh, what tangled weaves we web.”

I burst out laughing.

Derek huffed. “It’s BRITISH!”

• That’s not the only language he speaks. At a family dinner, our son Zach said, “Well, if the music career doesn’t pan out, I can always get a job selling moist towelettes to restaurants.”

Me: I think your dad sells moist towelettes.

Derek: Hmm … I sell little toilets to clean safety glasses with.

  • Hysterical laughter

Derek: What?

Me: You said you sell little toilets!

Derek: No. I said I sell little toilettes. It’s French.

Zach (wiping his eyes): Dad, don’t ever change!

• We were watching a movie, and Derek said, “Look, C.S. Lewis!”

My husband may be the first person in the universe to confuse comedian Louis C.K. with the author of “The Screwtape Letters.”

• While reading a coffee package, he said, “Hmm … looks like I like my coffee the way I like my women, full-figured and smooth.”

I grabbed the package.

“That’s full-BODIED!

He shrugged.

“Same thing.”

Life according to Derek

• We were waiting for the start of “Love’s Labor Lost” at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival. My husband asked if it was a comedy or a tragedy. I told him it’s about some guys who swear to give up girls in favor of scholarly pursuits.

“Ah. More farce with tragic results,” he said.

• Derek got an “avocado” cigar.

“Smell it!” he said, waving it under my nose.

I shuddered.

“It looks like a turd, and it smells like a turd,” I said.

Holding it under his nose, he took a deep breath and said, “If my turds smelled like this, I would never flush!”

• When our son told his dad they were playing pickleball in PE, my husband was unimpressed.

“When I was a kid, we used REAL pickles when we played pickleball.”

• One Sunday at church, our pastor said, “When you think Peter, most of you think of the fisherman – the rock on whom the church was built.”

Derek leaned over and whispered, “I think of Paul and Mary.”

Married life

• Now and then, I get a glimpse of what my husband would be like as a single man.

Recently, I caught him watching squirrel hunting on TV.

“They’re shooting them out of trees! Look at them run! Oooh! A dog got that one. He’s still twitching. Wonder why they have silencers on their .22s?”

• Him: What does “carga” mean in Spanish?

Me: I don’t know, why?

Him: I’m rewiring the downstairs bathroom switch, and I accidentally grabbed the Spanish instructions.

• Derek trying to talk me into watching a horror movie.

“It’s romantic. Like a love story only TERRIFYING!”

• Speaking of movies, we streamed a film that failed to impress and pondered if we should finish it.

Him, sighing: Well, we’ve had 35 minutes and 32 seconds of nonstop fun.

Me: Maybe it’s like marriage – you have to hang in there to get to the good part.

Him: You mean death?

Anyway, we are still married.

Derek told people the reason he had both hips replaced was so that he could keep up with the grandkids, but as they wheeled him back for surgery, the truth came out.

“Pretty soon, I’m gonna be able to catch Cindy!”

Stay tuned.