Columns

Boys’ rooms get new life

When our youngest son moved to Texas almost four years ago, we didn’t fall into the empty-nester stereotype and convert his room into a home gym.

After all, he returns home a couple of times a year for long visits.

The room across from ours also remained untouched – unless you count everything from our bedroom closet that we placed there “temporarily” while Derek began building a walk-in closet.

He got sidetracked by other projects, and the room that was once occupied by all four of our sons became the “junk room.”

Then on Thanksgiving, Sam got engaged. Not only would he come home in May, but he’d be bringing the beautiful Susan with him!

Just like that, we had motivation for renovation.

First, Derek needed to finish the walk-in closet so we could clear out the junk room. That became the most labor-intensive part of our home makeover. We had everything from seasonal clothes to photo albums to boxes of china in there. And tools. Lots of tools that he wanted to keep nearby.

We agreed that the room would become a guest room/home office for Derek and that Sam’s old room would be transformed into a guest room with updated paint, lighting and furnishings.

The only glitch in our grand plans was that Derek wanted to do all of the work himself. With the spring visit looming, I balked at the idea that he could finish a closet and two bedrooms before Sam and Susan arrived. (There was also the matter of the unfinished shower in the downstairs bathroom.)

You don’t stay married for 40 years without learning the art of compromise.

My husband agreed to gut and redo the upstairs room, while I took charge of the downstairs room. This was great because I’d already hired a contractor to paint it.

When Sam moved, the sticky tack he’d used to hang scores of posters had left gouges and removed the paint in many places. The cobalt colored walls were scarred and stapled.

He’d attempted to paint his closet doorknobs red, cats had bent the blinds, and the ceiling light was dated. Only the lovely wood floor that Derek installed when he built the room still looked good.

I chose a soft, powder blue paint. In two days, the contractor painted the room and refreshed the molding and the closet. The result? A dark, outdated room transformed into a bright and airy space.

Derek installed new blinds and lighting, and then the real fun began –decorating.

The only new furniture I bought was a bed, an end table and lamps – everything else I sourced from our home.

A white shoe shelf from our old closet fit perfectly in a corner and holds books, games, movies and a few teacups.

My mom’s antique washstand became a TV stand. An easy chair from my office, draped with a soft white blanket, made for a cozy reading spot. I repurposed wall art from other rooms and bought a large white-framed mirror. A throw rug and blue-and-white bedding completed the transformation.

Meanwhile, Derek wasn’t having quite as much fun (or at least not what I consider fun). He’d removed the aging gold carpet in preparation for new laminate flooring, but a pesky squeak in the floorboards drove him crazy.

That squeak woke the babies who once slept there every time I’d tiptoed in to peek at them.

Derek wasn’t having it. He ripped up part of the subflooring, and after much YouTubeing, many nails and some creative language, he vanquished the squeak.

Before he could lay the new floor and paint the dingy white room light gray, there were holes to fill and texturing and priming to do.

Oh yeah, he also removed the horrible popcorn ceiling that adorned many houses built in the ’60s and ’70s.

After days and days of dust, he emerged and said, “Yeah. I’m not doing that again.”

Finally, he got to have fun. He brought up Sam’s bed and desk, and together we figured out how to haul our old pine TV armoire upstairs. The addition of my mom’s bookcase means Derek finally has a place to display his collection of shot and beer glasses.

The aging white ceiling fan/light was tossed, and he found a cool low-profile industrial-looking version online.

The day before the kids arrived, Derek installed the shower door.

Whew! Our empty nest transition is complete.

No home gym. No craft room. No shrine to childhoods long past. Just inviting rooms ready to welcome visiting kids and grandkids.

It was worth the wait.

All Write, Columns

Celebrating a lifetime of Mom’s love

On Mother’s Day, Mom and I had a lovely chat.

Though bedbound and in hospice care at her assisted living facility, her eyes lit up when I knelt beside her.

Alzheimer’s stole a lot from her, but not the memory of me.

I scooted close and we linked arms – her skin still so silky soft. As Derek snapped a photo, I said something that made her laugh.

“You’re just like your dad,” she said. “He made me laugh so hard!”

The cloudiness cleared from her beautiful, pale blue eyes, and she looked deeply into mine.

“I love you,” she said. “I love you so much!”

“I love you, too, Mama,” I said.

And I kissed her and told her we’d be back soon.

When I woke up Friday morning, I had a mom. A few hours later, I didn’t.

At 95, her death wasn’t unexpected but still a lot to process – especially since I saw her every Friday afternoon. I had her laundry washed and folded in a basket by the front door.

She’d waited 31 years to be reunited with my dad, and for the last few years, dementia drastically diminished the quality of her life.

Her world shrank, and so did she.

“I’m not hungry,” she complained. “But they say I don’t eat enough.”

“That’s OK, Mama,” I replied. “Guess what? You don’t have to clean your plate. You just eat what you want.”

And between moments of her fretting that “Jesus doesn’t want me,” there was love, prayers and so much laughter.

My file of #thingsmymomsays brims.

Here are a few reminders.

February 2021

Mom wasn’t sure how old she’ll be next month, and when I told her 90, she gasped.

“Well, that’s it then,” she said. “That’s about as high as I can count.”

April 2023

I shared the most recent pictures of the grandkids with Mom. She said, “Oh, they call you Aunt Cindy, right?”

I said, “No. I’m Nana Cindy, their grandma.”

She put my phone down.

“HOW DID YOU BECOME A GRANDMA!?”

“Well, Mom, when a boy loves a girl …”

“Stop right there!” she said.

And we laughed until we cried.

May 2023

“I’ve lived a long time, and I am amazed by the things I can remember, and then I’m amazed about all the things I’ve forgotten. I guess I’m pretty amazing!”

February 2024

Mom adjusted her recliner.

“Boy, that sounds creaky,” I said.

She nodded.

“I know, but I just creak along with it.”

May 2024

As previously mentioned, Mom’s lift chair creaks along with her, or as she put it today: “I’ve got sound effects to go with my sound effects.”

March 2025

Mom was in good spirits today.

The kitchen made her a special cake for her birthday. She said it was too pretty to eat.

It was pretty hard and stale, so I offered to toss it.

“Not yet,” she said. “It still looks good!”

I asked if she was going to enter the talent show at the end of the month.

“I think I’ll just sit right here in my chair,” she said. “I’m really good at it. I’m probably the best chair-sitter here.”

May 2025

Today, Mom was grateful for the view from her window – especially the trees.

It put her in a poetic frame of mind.

“Poems are made by you and me,

But only God can make a tree,” she recited.

If my 94-year-old Mom can be thankful and recite poetry, don’t you think the rest of us need to up our game?

February 2026

Mom is missing a lot of socks, so I bought her some new pairs for spring.

“You have a lot of single socks,” I said.

“I know,” she replied. “And I still have two feet.”

Long pause.

“So far, anyway.”

While the things my mom said bring smiles, it’s who my mom was that leaves an aching hole in my heart. Honestly, I’m not sure who I am, now that I’m no one’s “Baby Girl.”

This weekend, while sorting through the outpouring of kind condolence messages, this one from a dear high school friend and bridesmaid in my wedding brought comfort and rang so true.

“I am so sorry. I loved your mom,” she wrote. “Of all the Moms, yours was the sweetest and the funniest. You’ll be together again.”

Shirley Burnett, March 21, 1931-May 15, 2026. Beloved wife, mother, grandmother, great-grandmother and friend.

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

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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Columns

If I’d married the strong, silent type, there’d be no #thingsmyhusbandsays

It’s a new year, and my husband is still unintentionally providing me with plenty of column fodder.

Here’s the first 2026 edition of #ThingsMyHusbandSays.

He’s been talking in his sleep

• Derek’s sweet tooth is legendary, but his dreams about baked goods can be disturbing. One night, I woke up to him mumbling about doughnuts.

“Doughnuts?” I asked, nudging his shoulder.

“Yeah, the big metal doughnut.”

Now, I’m really awake.

“What big metal doughnut?”

“The one from the sign. It’s too late, now.”

“Too late for doughnuts?”

“No, it fell off the sign, and I tried to stop it, but it crashed through the window.”

He rolled over and continued sleeping.

Me? I wanted to know if anyone got crushed by the big metal donut.

• Who hasn’t had a scary dream about dinosaurs? But Derek’s was oddly specific – and alliterative. He was yelling and thrashing around, so I woke him up.

“You’re having a bad dream,” I said. “Hush!”

Then I asked him what he was dreaming about.

“Triceratops,” he muttered. “In the tent! Not the BIG dinosaurs – little tiny ones.”

He sighed and rolled over, but I heard him muttering, “Little tiny triceratops …”

Derekisms

• Derek: I’m at Costco. Can I get you anything to eat?

Me: I’d love a nonfat yogurt swirl.

Derek: Where’s the yogurt squirrels?

I reminded him we don’t live in Idaho.

• He called our youngest son, Sam, to tell him about the business conference we were attending in Austin.

“All the headwigs are here early.”

• Him: I had Thanksgiving by myself in Flight School. I bought myself a Manhandler Dinner.

Me: Oh, my!

• I really hope some of his words become part of our national lexicon. Like this one: “People need to get off the political blandwagon.”

Life according to Derek

• Speaking of politics, after reading about yet another political sex scandal, Derek told Sam, “That’s the problem with mankind. They keep putting their wieners in the wrong places.”

• Reading online local news briefs to him is always entertaining. I read him one about a reported disorderly male Kung Fu fighting with traffic cones in a parking lot. His reply?

“I should go down there and help him; he’s probably outnumbered.”

• Me: How was your day?

Him: Pretty good till that truck ran into our building.

• His wildlife commentary makes road trips interesting.

“What the hell! A turkey just flew across the road! Did you see that? Who knew they could fly? Looked like a basketball flying across the sky!”

• Derek is also known for his critique of popular music. He especially loathes “Grenade” by Bruno Mars in which the singer vows, “I’d catch a grenade for ya.”

“When was the last time anyone threw a grenade at you?” fumed Derek. “I mean, my gosh, Bruno Mars has never been in combat. You don’t CATCH a grenade. What frickin idiot!”

Married life

• While organizing my shoe shelves the other day, I found a Hershey bar. I’d forgotten I’d stashed it there in the summer after the last time we made s’mores.

“Why did you hide a chocolate bar in your closet?” Derek asked.

“Every woman needs an emergency chocolate stash,” I replied.

“But it’s been there for five months!”

“I guess I haven’t had an emergency yet.”

“Well, you’re about to because now I know where you hide your stash.”

• Holidays can be stressful for husbands. One Christmas Eve, Derek was wrapping presents in the bedroom late at night. He came out looking agitated and poured himself a stiff drink. “This is gonna take a while,” he said. “A long time ago, I bought you a really cool gift, but now I can’t find it.”

(He eventually found it in his truck.)

• I was getting ready for work when I noticed something missing from a shelf in our bathroom. We had two Viking rubber ducks, but the lady Viking had vanished.

“Hey, what happened to Mrs. Viking Ducky? Have you seen her?” I hollered to Derek.

Silence.

Mumbling.

“What?”

“She was buried at sea,” he admitted.

He’d knocked her in the toilet when he went to flush early one morning and couldn’t retrieve her before she went down to her watery grave.

• We watched a movie where a young widow went to her husband’s closet and grabbed his flannel shirt to hold close. “I need to buy you some flannel shirts, so I have something to cuddle if anything happens to you,” I said.

“I’ll just wear my underwear for a week and put them under your pillow,” he replied.

His romance game may need some work, but his stellar quotability quotient more than makes up for it.

Columns

Hval holiday movie favorites range from classic and cozy to controversial

Years ago, I wrote a column about how much I dreaded my kids’ annual holiday concerts.

The boys were all in grade school, which made for a marathon of recorder recitals, jingle-belling, beginning orchestra and choir concerts.

The heat I took for that one included a couple of letters to the editor about how Mrs. Hval obviously doesn’t value music education.

I remain unrepentant. It’s been more than a decade since I attended an elementary school concert, and I do not miss them.

A few years later, I wrote about my least favorite Christmas songs. At the top of my list? “Happy Xmas (War Is Over).”

Yeesh! From some readers’ reactions, you’d think I’d been an accomplice in the death of John Lennon.

After that, when the holidays rolled around, I kept my column topics on the safer side of the page. Fresh Christmas trees vs. artificial, holiday lighting, and sentimental Christmas ornaments all went to press with nary a tirade to the editor.

Safety is overrated, and I’ve never written about Christmas movies, so here goes. (And yes, we own all of these movies. Should livestreaming fail, we’ll still be jolly.)

Firstly, I have reluctantly come to accept that “Die Hard” is a Christmas movie. After all, the setting for all the mayhem and swearing is Christmas Eve, and holiday music and décor are featured.

If savagery and bloodshed get you ho-ho-ho-ing, then 2022’s “Violent Night” is for you. It stars David Harbour as Santa Claus (an immortal Viking warrior) who’s suffering from holiday burnout in the worst way. But when a gang of mercenaries takes a family hostage, this unsaintly Nick springs into action.

These are the things one watches when one has given birth to four boys.

That’s not to say my family is averse to the sweetness of the season. We usually watch both “It’s a Wonderful Life” and “Miracle on 34th Street.”

If neither of those films awakens your Christmas spirit, you might as well change your name to Scrooge.

Ditto for “A Charlie Brown Christmas.” The wonky little tree and listening to Linus explain the true meaning of Christmas never fails to evoke happy sighs.

On the lighter side, we usually kick off the season with “National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation,” which offers some of the most quotable lines in holiday movie history.

At least once during December, you’ll hear me quote Clark Griswold, “This is a full-blown, four-alarm holiday emergency here.”

Or his long-suffering wife, “I don’t know what to say, except it’s Christmas, and we’re all in misery.”

“Home Alone” is always fun, and “A Christmas Story” is a beloved family classic. We have an actual leg lamp in our living room, beaming the “soft glow of electric sex,” out into the neighborhood. And one year, our son, Zach, got an “Official Red Ryder carbine action two-hundred shot range model air rifle.”

He didn’t shoot his eye out, either.

“Elf” is currently off our rotation, because we watched it one too many times. Even so, I usually utter “SANTA! Oh my God! Santa, here?! I know him! I know him!” at least once or twice.

“Jingle All the Way” is another Hval family favorite, in part because my husband owns almost every Arnold Schwarzenegger movie.

Our second son actually bought Derek a Turbo Man action figure, and often one of us will say, “Put that cookie down!” (If you don’t say it with Arnold’s Austrian accent, you’re doing it wrong.)

Surprisingly, the most polarizing movie in our collection seems to be “The Polar Express.”

Critics hated its CGI animation, and it does take a bit of getting used to. For us, the story is strong enough to distract from the creepy North Pole elves and a little too much Tom Hanks. (Yes, it’s possible.)

Based on the Caldecott Medal-winning book, the film tells the story of a boy’s magical train journey to the North Pole, where he rediscovers the true spirit of Christmas.

One of the most poignant quotes comes from a fellow nonbeliever named Billy, who says, “Christmas just doesn’t work out for me – never has.”

People who believe in the spirit of Christmas can hear Santa’s sleigh bells ring, but for the boy, the bells are silent.

The train conductor explains, “Seeing is believing, but sometimes the most real things in the world are the things we can’t see.”

During the journey, the boy embraces the magic of the season and receives the first gift of Christmas from Santa–a sleigh bell.

At the movie’s end, the boy, now a man, says, “Though I’ve grown old, the bell still rings for me, as it does for all who truly believe.”

Several years ago, I interviewed Santa at the Southside Community Center. He gave me a shiny silver sleigh bell.

I am so glad I can still hear it ring.

Columns

Soundtracks for Daily Life

In a world where music streams from apps like Pandora and Spotify, I listen to music at home the old-fashioned way.

No, I don’t spin vinyl albums on a turntable or pop tapes into an eight-track player, but I do own a stereo with a five-disc CD changer.

Our youngest son worked his way through college at Best Buy, and one of the last times he used his employee discount was to buy this sweet stereo for me.

He kind of had to if he wanted to eat.

My family knows cooking is how I unwind after a long day, and I can’t cook dinner without my tunes.

Sure, I can stream music from our television, but that dilutes the joy of sorting through our CD library and selecting the mix I want to hear for the week.

Every Monday, my fingers explore the options that heavily favor the best music era ever – the 1970s and ’80s.

Oh, I have plenty of albums from classic crooners like Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin, but the bulk of my collection stems from my childhood and teen years.

Why yes, I do have John Denver’s “Greatest Hits.” Gordon Lightfoot’s and Olivia Newton-John’s, too.

The Bee Gees, Bon Jovi, Billy Joel and the Eagles are well represented. But every week, at least one of the CDs in my stereo reveals my passion: movie soundtracks.

Some people love show tunes from Broadway musicals. To me, those mostly original songs feel more confined to the stage and the storyline, while movie tunes can captivate us right where we are.

Soundtracks make my toes tap, and I discovered long ago that cooking and dancing aren’t mutually exclusive.

From the original “Shrek” soundtrack, which introduced me to the band Smash Mouth, to the iconic before-my-time tracks from “Stand By Me,” the musical mix of old and new delights me.

I found the “Stand By Me” CD at the Spokane Symphony Associates Upscale Sale, and bought it primarily so I could listen to Buddy Holly sing “Every Day.” If that song doesn’t make you smile, even after a deadline-filled day, not much will.

Other oft-played albums bring happy memories of the movie experience.

“Footloose” came out in 1984, midway through my freshman year of college. My best friend and I saw it at the now-defunct North Division Cinemas.

When the reprise of the title track played, we leapt from our seats and danced in the aisles, and soon a large crowd joined us.

It’s hard to beat memorable moments like that, which may be why “Footloose” is my phone ringtone.

Derek and I loved the Joel and Ethan Cohen movie “O Brother Where Art Thou” when we saw it in theaters in 2000. Allison Krauss’ vocals add depth and resonance to the amazing soundtrack.

“Guardians of the Galaxy” included a great remix of classic songs like “Hooked on a Feeling” and “Fooled Around and Fell in Love,” while “The Greatest Showman” featured nine original songs. Its single “This is Me” won a Golden Globe for Best Original Song.

But the movie soundtrack that most often headlines my home rotation is “La La Land.”

At the 89th Academy Awards, the film won Best Original Score and Best Original Song for “City of Stars.” The tune’s multiple renditions in the film never fail to capture my emotions, and John Legend’s “Start a Fire” adds the perfect coda to the end of a long day.

Tonight, as Emma Stone sings “Audition (The Fools Who Dream)” while I chop vegetables for a simple stew, I’ll likely pause to take a few twirls around the dining room.

Here’s to the ones who dream

Foolish as they may seem

Here’s to the hearts that ache

Here’s to the mess we make.

It’s a lovely soundtrack for everyday life.

Columns

Adventures in Austin

We sat squished together, our suitcases gripped between our knees.

A wall of humanity teetered in the aisle and blocked every window view. Each seat was crammed, forcing latecomers to stand and grasp for handholds as the bus shuddered and lurched down the highway.

I raised my eyebrows at my husband, and he grinned.

“It’s an adventure!” he said.

When Derek found out his annual business conference was in Austin, Texas, this year, he suggested that we go a couple of days early and have our youngest son meet us there for the weekend.

Sam lives in Odessa, Texas, which is about a five-hour drive from Austin. Plus, we’d be there just two days after his 26th birthday!

The trip costs quickly added up, so when Derek learned our hotel didn’t offer a shuttle from the airport, he proposed public transport.

“Look!” he said. “We can catch the bus outside the terminal under the giant blue guitar and the tickets are just $1 a piece!”

The transit website showed a sleek bus with room to stow our luggage.

What we boarded looked like an STA leftover circa 1990. Even more concerning, when I told the driver where we wanted to get off, he shrugged and shook his head.

Nevertheless, trusting our Google Maps, we settled in for what we thought would be a 15-minute ride.

It’s been a while since I traveled by bus, but in my experience, when the bus is full, the driver doesn’t stop for additional passengers. This logic escaped our driver, who pulled up at EVERY STOP, even when there weren’t any seats left or any straps to hang onto.

Thirty-five minutes later, we got off at what we hoped was our stop. Google said it was a four-minute walk to our hotel. So, we set off, dragging our roller bags behind us.

Surrounded by the towering skyscrapers of downtown Austin, my trusty navigator tried to orient us. We didn’t realize our hotel was BEHIND us. After walking for several minutes with no Hyatt Regency in sight, I spotted it while crossing the Congress Avenue Bridge.

We trudged down a set of concrete steps and found the Ann and Roy Butler Hike-and-Bike Trail, which winds around Lady Bird Lake in the heart of the city. I’d read about the trail and was eager to explore it, but didn’t realize it was unpaved and that I’d be lugging my suitcase along it.

Minutes later, we were outside the back of our hotel, looking at the beautiful pool.

“Let’s use the pool entrance,” I said.

But Derek declined, opting for the front door. He quickly regretted that choice when we discovered construction meant we’d added another quarter-mile to our “adventure.”

Eventually, we dragged our sweaty selves (it was 92 degrees) and our dusty luggage into the lobby.

Sam arrived an hour later. By then, we’d recovered enough to add another mile to our walking total, and we hoofed it to the Rainey Street Historic District.

The lively area is known for its quaint early 20th century bungalows now transformed into hip bars with live music. Strings of lights around dining patios sparkled, a street magician dealt a deck of cards on the corner, and restaurant hosts beckoned guests from the sidewalks.

You’d think my BBQ-loving spouse would have his heart set on brisket, but instead, he led us to Bangers Sausage House and Beer Garden. Men in lederhosen twirled dirndl-clad gals to polka tunes. Not quite how I’d pictured our first meal in Austin, but the food was delicious, and as we left, a country group replaced the polka band.

Saturday morning, Sam drove us to the state capitol. We explored the extensive grounds populated by moving memorials (the Texas African American History Memorial is breathtaking) before taking a self-guided tour of the building. It’s the sixth-tallest state capitol, and as we peered down from the legislative level, we saw a bridal portrait shoot in the works.

Ready for some brisket, we hit Terry Black’s Barbecue. The line wound from the sidewalk, through the expansive patio, and into the building. The eatery is run with military precision. We followed instructions and soon took loaded plates to a picnic table.

That evening, we got a little batty. The Congress Avenue Bridge is home to the largest urban bat colony in the world, with an estimated population of 1.5 million. Female Mexican free-tailed bats raise an estimated 750,000 pups each year at the bridge. Every night from around mid-March to early November, the bats emerge from under the bridge and blanket the sky as they head out to forage for food.

Our hotel was just steps away from the prime viewing point. Not long after sunset, the bats emerged, swirling and swarming high above our heads. It’s quite a spectacle, and while I’m not fond of bats, I’m even less fond of mosquitoes, so I appreciated their efforts.

Sam returned to Odessa on Sunday, and that evening Derek’s conference began. For the next two days, he attended meetings, received industry updates, and met with fellow business owners from across the nation.

Meanwhile, I basked under the brilliant blue skies and balmy 90-degree temps beside the pool, treated myself to a spa day, and read to my heart’s content.

When it was time to check out, I asked if he planned another airport bus ride.

“Nope,” Derek said. “Sam downloaded the Uber app on my phone.”

It seems my husband’s appetite for adventure had been amply sated.

Columns

At 94, Mom keeps me on my toes

Recently, I took Mom to an emergency dental appointment. We pulled up next to the Spokane Party Bus.

Hoping to mitigate her anxiety, I asked, “Wanna get on the Party Bus?”

“No thanks,” she replied. “They’d probably take you and leave me behind. Plus, I didn’t brush my teeth this morning.”

This even, though I’d called to remind her to brush them 10 minutes before I picked her up.

Caring for a 94-year-old lady with dementia can be a lot like dealing with a recalcitrant preschooler – equal parts exasperation and amusement.

I prefer to focus on the fun, so I’m glad that for many years I’ve been tracking her humor with the hashtag #ThingsMyMomSays.

April 2016

Mom explained a bit of family faith history.

“Your grandma and grandpa had a mixed marriage. Her dad was Lutheran, and his dad was Baptist. One sprinkled, the other dunked. Neither dad was happy about the marriage, but they came around and became great friends.”

April 2018

Mom had a panic attack during her oral surgery appointment, so the paramedics were called.

She was in good spirits after a few hours in the ER – except for her missing socks. Somehow, they’d misplaced her socks.

She put her underwear on over the hospital-issued panties.

“They’ve got my socks, so I’m keeping their underwear,” she said.

June 2018

Today, I noticed her birthday balloons from March had finally deflated.

“I guess they died before me after all,” she said. “We were neck-and-neck for a while.”

May 2019

I told Mom the dining room was serving French dips for dinner.

“Well, they better not expect me to speak French!” she said.

September 2020

During our visit today, I reminded her to pull her mask up over her nose.

“It’s kind of big,” I said.

“My NOSE?” she replied. “I can’t help it. I got the Schmidt schnoz.”

May 2021

I found Mom in the lobby looking lovely in a yellow sweater. She’d visited the hair salon and had her photo taken because it was the facility’s picture day.

“I told them I didn’t need my picture taken because my kids take too many of me.”

“But these are professional photos,” I said.

“Well, that doesn’t mean I’ll look any better,” she said.

October 2021

This week, I cleaned out one of the cupboards in Mom’s kitchenette.

It was overflowing with Ziploc bags, plastic bags, foil, and used plastic lids with straws.

“Any idea why you’re saving all this?” I asked.

She shrugged.

“You never know, I might get invited to a picnic.”

Which doesn’t explain anything, but it made me laugh.

January 2022

I helped Mom fill out a reflection about 2021. A sample question: “What did you learn last year?”

Mom thought it over.

“I don’t think I learned anything. I’m just trying not to forget what I already know.”

“How’s that going for you?” I asked.

“Who are you again?” she replied.

April 2025

I picked up a couple of dirty shirts in Mom’s bedroom.

“I’ll take these home and wash them,” I said. “The laundry service is iffy here, but I learned from the best. The only thing you tried to teach me that I haven’t mastered is ironing.”

“Oh, honey, I really need you to learn how, now,” she said.

“Why?”

“I need you to iron the wrinkles from my face!”

July 2025

We were talking about a mutual friend who refuses to get hearing aids. Mom says there’s a lady at her dining table who won’t wear hers and then says, “What? What?” when people are talking.

“I put mine in first thing every morning, so I can hear everything,” Mom said.

Then she shrugged.

“Of course, I still have NO idea what’s going on.”

A couple of weeks ago, while going over the weekly activity calendar with her, I spotted something intriguing.

“Oh! Two Gray Cats are going to do a show next week,” I said. “I’d like to see them.”

She sighed and patted my hand.

“Cindy, you do know they’re not really cats, don’t you?”

She may be 94, but Mom is still keeping me on my toes.

All Write, Columns

Obituaries tell the story of a community

Since Shawn Vestal’s departure from The Spokesman-Review a couple of years ago, what I miss most are his semi-regular recaps of local obituaries.

Each column started with this: “One obituary is a portrait of a life. Several taken together form a portrait of a community.”

When I ran into Shawn at a recent Northwest Passages event, I asked if it would be OK with him if I revived the format in my column.

The following snapshots gleaned from recent obituaries introduced me to people I wish I’d known. People like Mari (Jensen) Clack.

Mari, a Democrat, married Dave, a Republican, and they enjoyed 65 years together before her death on Aug. 2. That’s not to say every day was harmonious, as this story reveals.

“Christmastime brought good cheer as well – most of the time. Dave famously added two stocking stuffers to Mari’s Christmas stocking without Santa’s approval. The first was a big, baby blue Hoover vacuum, and the second was a 15-passenger Dodge van to haul everyone’s kids to activities. The vacuum was re-gifted to Dave immediately, and the van made it two years before Santa or Jesus told Dave to replace it with a yellow Porsche.”

Her life was marked by numerous personal and professional accomplishments, including the co-founding of the Women Helping Women Fund in 1992. The fund has raised over $7 million for more than 600 grants and scholarships.

Mari expressed her faith in a letter she wrote when she learned she had breast cancer.

“When humans show their potential, it shows the wonder of divinity – of God – of a higher power – and the beauty of the universe – a wondrous environment, tempered only by the persistence of ignorance and greed. God works through the deeds of good people doing good things.”

Other obituaries leave lingering questions.

Richard Stanley “Stan” Hallett died on Aug. 8. He played golf, ping-pong, basketball and baseball. He enjoyed rec league softball well into his 70s. His obit said his softball career ended when “he got walloped in the shin. Some of you might remember that.”

Wouldn’t you like to know the rest of that story?

Ethel Mae DeStefano reached the century mark. She served as personal secretary to First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt!

Ethel Mae enjoyed a happy hour Bud, and cheering for the Mariners and Gonzaga.

She spent the majority of her life in Spokane, raising seven children with her husband, Ray. Her motto was “the more the merrier,” and she created a home where everyone felt welcome.

Often, the simplest things leave a lasting impression.

Clifford “Cliff” Kelly loved to travel, cook, drink wine, watch the 49ers and the Mariners, and read a good book.

His family and friends said they will always remember him as a kind old soul with a lovely laugh and a penchant for breaking into song.

Ellis Allan “Mac” McEachern joined the Army in 1943 and was assigned to the 101st Airborne Division. He took part in five combat jumps during World War II and fought in the Normandy campaign, the Ardennes, Rhineland, and the Battle of the Bulge. He earned six service medals, including the Bronze Star.

After retiring from Lockheed at age 55, he moved to Spokane. He spent a good part of his retirement years thinking about how he could improve a process to save time or offer more convenience. He built “contraptions” to make a process more efficient. Solving problems with his inventions became his passion.

He lived independently in his home until he died at the age of 101.

Not everyone gets to see the fullness of their years. Some lives are tragically cut short. Even so, they can leave a lasting legacy.

Sarah Doxey died on July 16. She was 48.

She loved books, podcasts, documentaries and deep conversations. She laughed loudly. She did hard things. She put her makeup on in the car. She drank Red Bull instead of coffee. Sarah embraced people for who they were and created space for everyone to feel seen.

Her obituary listed ways to honor her. “Go on the vacation. Take the leap. Wear the shorts. Hug your kids. Call your friend. Go for the run.”

I never met Sarah, but in her honor, I’m doing all of the above.

Except the run is a 3-mile walk because I know my limits.

I think Sarah would understand.