Tag: married life

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.

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.

Columns

Things my husband says: new and improved edition

Cindy Hval

When my oldest brother David offers advice, I usually take it. He’s a pretty smart guy.

When my husband had hip replacement surgery a few weeks ago, however, David warned, “Just don’t write a column about what he says while coming out of the anesthesia.”

That’s like telling me not to drink coffee in the morning.

The surgery went well, and when they wheeled him into his post-op room, I met him there, notebook in hand.

Alas, he didn’t have general anesthesia, so no embarrassing quips to report. He also was a bust when he had his wisdom teeth removed. He did worry, though.

“I’m afraid I’ll say something inappropriate to you,” he said.

“You always say inappropriate things to me,” I replied.

“Yeah, but not in front of witnesses.”

Thankfully, Derek doesn’t need drugs to entertain me. Here’s the latest installment of #ThingsMyHusbandsays.

He’s been talking in his sleep

• One night, as I drifted into sleep, Derek murmured, “Tootsie Rolls … a chest filled with Tootsie Rolls …”

I guess his sweet tooth even haunts his dreams.

• Early one morning, he rolled over and elbowed me.

“Ouch!”

“Sorry!” he said. “I didn’t know you were there.”

“I sleep here,” I said.

“I know, but you didn’t look like you were here.”

Derekisms

• Derek on why I should watch “Dune.” “It has that guy you like, Jason MIMOSA.”

He’s not wrong. I do like the actor Jason Momoa. I also enjoy mimosas.

• Him: “Listen, it’s not your fault if they want to be a hobbit.”

Me: “You mean hermit?”

Him: “Whatever.”

• “Get the little hookers!” he said, while decorating the Christmas tree.

We don’t have risqué ornaments. He needed ornament hooks.

• “Look! There’s a Dalai Lama guy! Oh, hey, there’s two!” Derek upon seeing two Buddhist monks at Manito Park.

• “I’m feeling a lot better. I haven’t taken Desitin in days.”

Let the record show he meant Mucinex, not diaper cream.

• Derek’s been watching a PBS series about World War II called “Nazi Mega Weapons.”

It doesn’t really interest me, but I cuddled with him while he watched it.

I was kind of dozing and heard an interesting quote.

“Who said that?” I asked.

“It’s their fornication expert,” he replied.

I sat straight up.

“I meant FORTIFICATION expert.”

I stayed awake for the rest of the show just to be sure.

Life according to Derek

  • WARNING! Spoiler Alert!

One year, after Easter dinner, talk turned to when we each discovered the Easter Bunny wasn’t real.

Ethan, our oldest, couldn’t remember.

“How about you, Dad?” he asked. “You’re firstborn, too. Do you remember?”

“I’ll never forget it,” Derek said. “You were a baby, and I caught your mom taking an Easter basket to your room. ‘What are you doing!?’ I said. ‘That’s the Easter Bunny’s job!’ Then she broke it to me. I still haven’t gotten over it.”

• Him: “Damn squirrels are in my garden again!”

Me: “How did you get rid of them last year?”

Him:” I shot ’em.”

Me: “You did not!”

Him: “Yep. I got out Zach’s BB gun and blasted them.”

Me: “No, you didn’t.”

Him: “OK, then this is the year.”

• “It’s like a bad movie. I’m gonna finish it, but I’m not gonna like it.” Derek on sugar-free ice cream.

• One of our sons grew frustrated with the dating scene. “I’m lowering my expectations,” he said. “That’s what your mom did, and she got me!” his dad replied.

Married life

• Derek flung open the bedroom door.

“What do Chris Pine and I have in common besides our incredibly sexy good looks?”

I felt like this may be a trick question, so I shrugged.

“Don’t know. Give me a hint?”

He grinned.

“Warren Buffett and I have this in common, too!”

Now, I’m truly stumped.

“OK. I give. What do you, Chris Pine and Warren Buffett have in common?”

“We all HATE SMARTPHONES!” Derek says and does a victory lap around the bed.

(He’s quite attached to his ancient, barely functioning phone with its slide-out keyboard.)

PS: I was for cash. Lots of cash.

• Me: “Something is really wrong here. I just spent more money at PetSmart than I did at Total Wine.”

Him: “That’s terrible! You need to go back to Total Wine!”

• “I contemplate lumber the way you contemplate purses or shoes,” my husband on why he’s taking so long at Home Depot.

• One winter evening I couldn’t find Derek anywhere. Finally, Sam looked out on the deck and discovered his dad smoking a cigar. “What are you doing? It’s freezing out here!” I said.

Turns out he’d read about the oldest living veteran, who at 107 drinks whiskey in his morning coffee and smokes up to 12 cigars a day.

“I’ve got 11 more to go!” Derek said.

“Yeah, but also he said the true secret to his longevity is staying out of trouble,” I replied.

He sighed. “I’ll be in after I finish my cigar.”

With that kind of wisdom and his spry new hip, Derek just may make 107, too.

Columns

Amusing me for 38 years

Cindy Hval

Feedback from my column about the amusing things my husband says was unanimous with readers asking for another installment.

After reading it, our pastor said that he felt a sermon title coming on “God. Does. Not. Rapture. Zucchini.”

I’m eagerly waiting for that one!

I’ve been collecting Derek’s sometimes purposely but usually unintentionally funny sayings for years and saving them under the hashtag #thingsmyhusbandsays.

Here’s your second helping.

He’s been talking in his sleep

• One night I got in bed after Derek had turned in early.

“Did you see that?” he asked, as I slipped between the sheets.

“What?”

“The screen just jumped!”

“What screen?”

“The TV screen.”

“You’re not watching TV. You’re sleeping,” I said.

“Whatever,” he mumbled. “But the screen just jumped.”

• At 5:30 one morning, Derek woke me up saying, “Hi! How are ya doing?”

And even though I knew he was talking in his sleep I answered, “I’m fine, how are you?”

“Wha? Huh?” he replied.

“You asked me how I was, so I said I was fine.”

“But I was talking to you on the phone in my dream. You were having car trouble. Now I won’t know which car it is, and I won’t be able to help you!”

“Go back to sleep and I’ll call you again,” I said.

Derekisms

• “Well, that’s going to throw a wrench into his monkey.”

• “Did you see that? The guys on that porch are playing guitars and Mandalorians!” (Pretty sure he meant mandolins.)

• “I tend toward goodism.”

• After a week of vacation, I wasn’t sure I remembered how to do my job. “Don’t worry, it’s just like falling off a bicycle,” Derek said.

• On my way to the grocery store, I called to ask if there was anything he wanted me to pick up.

“Yeah, get a buttermilk squash.

“You mean Butternut?

“Whatever,” he said. “Buttermilk is probably easier to cook.”

• When venting about a business contact who’s difficult to communicate with Derek said, “It’s like my texts go in one eye and out the other!”

The world according to Derek

• In the Costco parking lot on a wintery evening, he fumbled through his vest and pants pockets getting more frustrated by the second.

“I can’t find my car keys! Where are my keys!?”

I slid my hand into his sweatshirt pocket and pulled out the keys.

“CLOTHES HAVE TOO MANY DAMN POCKETS,” he bellowed. “TOO MANY POCKETS!”

• A woman brought two dogs into the movie theater in a baby stroller adorned with pink ruffles. “And that there is why she’s single,” Derek said.

• “I may be over 50, but I’m just saying when the zombie apocalypse comes, I’m totally going to outlast the man-bun, high-water pants dudes.”

• Hval family dinner conversation:

Sam: I’ve got chest hair now and I don’t like it.

Derek: You’ve got Chet’s hair?

Sam: CHEST hair. I’ve got CHEST hair!

Derek: Big deal. I’ve had chest hair since I was 5. Heck, Thor’s (our cat) had chest hair since birth.

Married life

• I was in the kitchen baking while Derek searched Netflix. He settled on a foreign language film.

Me: I didn’t know you spoke Spanish.

Him: I don’t. It’s Japanese. (He doesn’t speak Japanese, either.)

• When my husband hurt his back, I offered to tie his shoes.

Dismayed, he looked down at my handiwork.

“You tied double knots? What do you think I am, a little kid?”

“I always tie my tennis shoes with double knots,” I explained.

He shook his head.

“Great. Now, everyone’s gonna know my wife tied my shoes.”

• I bemoaned the lack of time to get my eyebrows waxed.

“I’ll do them for you,” Derek offered.

I raised my bushy brows.

“I don’t know if I trust you with hot wax.”

“Wax?” he said. “I was going to use duct tape.”

• Him: How come you’re doing laundry on a Wednesday?

Me: I dunno, but for some reason I was running out of underwear.

Him: Me too! That’s why I’ve been wearing yours.

• Derek had a headache the other day, so I told him to look in the cupboard for the migraine relief pills. Later, I asked him how he was feeling.

“Great!” he said. “That Midol works wonders!”

“What?” I replied. “I said take migraine tablets.”

“You said, ‘Look for the bottle with a ‘M’ on it,’ and I did!”

Bottom line? He felt better and was a lot less moody!

How could I not be crazy about Derek? He’s not only a wonderful husband and a great provider for our household, he’s also an endless source of column fodder.

As my friends say, “He’s a keeper.”

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.

All Write, Columns

Things My Husband Says

Cindy Hval

This column has been 38 years in the making. In fact, it’s been brewing so long it’s hard to know where to begin.

By now, most readers are familiar with my semiregular compilations of #ThingsMyMomSays – the hashtag I use to keep track of my mother’s amusing musings. But far more voluminous, due to 38 years of close proximity, are #ThingsMyHusbandSays.

Derek has often been cited, quoted and otherwise featured in the 18 years I’ve written in this space. When his buddies ask if he minds being mentioned in such a public format, his standard response is: “As long as she gets paid for it, I’m good.”

Fingers crossed that holds true after today’s column because honestly, he’s provided enough material for a novella-size memoir. See, I’m married to an extrovert who processes almost all of his thoughts audibly – even when he’s sleeping. So much so, “He’s Been Talking in His Sleep” is a category of its own. Other categories include, “Derek’s Malapropisms” or “Dadisms” as our sons call them, “Life According to Derek” and “Married Life.”

I’m sure there are more categories, but I’m already running out of space, so without further ado, here are #ThingsMyHusbandSays.

He’s been talking in his sleep

• In the middle of the night, Derek said something I didn’t quite catch.

“What?” I asked.

“The whole town disappeared,” he said.

“What town? Where?”

“I dunno. I think it was Deer Park.”

At this point, I realize he’s asleep.

“Do you think it was the Rapture?” I asked.

Then came his emphatic reply: “God. Does. Not. Rapture. Zucchini.”

He rolled over and started snoring, but I was awake most of the night worrying about all the zucchini being left behind.

• I was awakened shortly after dawn by Derek’s garbled screaming. I poked him awake. “Are you having a bad dream?” I asked.

“No,” he mumbled. “Winning a prize.”

“A prize for what?”

“Loudest scream,” he says, and rolling over he added, “Now, I don’t know if I won.”

• Around 1 a.m. on a different night, I woke up to him singing “Happy Birthday.”

Laughing, I nudged him. “Why are you singing ‘Happy Birthday?’ ”

“Because it’s nice,” he said.

Then he sang it again.

Derek’s Dadisms

• “I wouldn’t feed that to a dead horse.”

• “I almost bit the farm.”

• “He looks like an uncle I never met.”

• Him: “Don’t forget we need to go to Mad Dog.”

Me: “Where?”

Him: “Angry Dog. The Brewery!”

Me: “You mean Laughing Dog?”

Him: “WOOF!”

• Derek: “I told him I’m tired of you poo-haing me.”

Me: “What did you tell him?”

Derek: “I said, I’m sick of you poo-haing me!”

I think he meant poo-pooing.

Life according to Derek

• While discussing insecurities, my husband confessed, “I’m insecure that my ninja skills have deteriorated.”

“I didn’t know that you even had ninja skills,” I replied.

“See? This is why I’m insecure,” he said.

• Derek had a buddy over to discuss home improvement projects. This is what I overheard.

“Dude, did I ever tell you about the time I got beat up by a blind guy?” Derek asked. “All those fights in middle school and I get taken out by a blind guy in my 40s!”

P.S.: It was at a Bob Dylan concert.

• Read this headline to my husband, “Surprised nun gives birth”.

“Is she surprised she’s a nun?” he asked.

• Potty training our twin grandsons proved educational.

Me: “It’s so cute that the boys wave goodbye to their poop when they flush the toilet.”

Him: “Doesn’t everyone?”

Married life

• I dreamed I had another baby boy. I was in the hospital and looked down and there he was!

“Did you see that?” I said to Derek in my dream. “The baby’s already here!”

In the morning, I recounted my dream to Derek.

His response?

“I hope we got a discount for self-delivery.”

• I got what I thought were aftershave samples in the mail.

I gave them to Derek, who liberally dabbed himself before we went out to dinner.

“How do I smell?” he asked.

“Oh no!” I said. “That is definitely perfume!”

“But you GAVE it to ME!”

“I’m so sorry! I guess I don’t read French very well,” I said.

He shook his head.

“Don’t blame me if dudes are hitting on me all night.”

• Him: “I was trying to replace the toilet paper when the spring shot out, and I dropped the brand-new roll in the toilet.”

Me: “Are you attempting to explain why you never replace the toilet paper?”

Him: “It was a mega roll. It made a BIG splash! Toilet water everywhere!”

• The first thing my husband said to me this morning: “Hey honey, check out this headline, ‘Journalists drink too much, are bad at managing their emotions and operate at a lower level than average, according to a new study.’ ”

This conversation prompted a new hashtag #wearestillmarried.

Let’s hope that remains true after this column!

Columns

First Valentine’s Day Deflating

Cindy Hval

My husband and I have reached the time of life when downsizing seems prudent. No, I’m not talking about selling our home or offloading possessions, I’m talking about reducing our waistlines.

Keeping track of things like blood sugar looms ever more important as we age. That’s why, when Valentine’s Day approached, I suggested we skip the usual exchange of chocolates.

Derek agreed, but I could tell by the twinkle in his eye he had something else in mind. More on that in a minute.

We’re in our second year as empty-nesters, and we continue to adapt.

During the years our sons lived at home, Valentine’s morning was special. They awoke to a lace-topped table filled with heart-shaped dishes of cinnamon, cherry and conversation heart candies. A card and a box of chocolates waited at each place and, when they opened the refrigerator, they discovered that Cupid had magically turned the milk pink.

Even after the older boys moved out, they stopped by to get their cards, candy and hugs from Mom. With the departure of our youngest last year, for the first time in 25-plus years, Cupid skipped our frig, and the heart-shaped dishes and lace tablecloth remained tucked away.

We were back to where it began – just the two of us.

That’s not to say our first Valentine’s Day as man and wife was especially romantic, but it was certainly memorable.

As newlyweds, we attended college full-time and worked three jobs between the two of us to keep our Love Boat afloat. I knew we couldn’t afford to go out on Valentine’s Day, but I did my best to make it special.

When Derek arrived home late on that fateful Feb. 14, I’d roasted two tiny Cornish game hens with potatoes and herbs and set our wobbly card table with a vinyl cloth and our wedding gift stoneware. I’d placed a small box of chocolates and a red enveloped card at his place.

“This looks nice,” he said, kissing me.

Then he noticed the card and heart-shaped box.

“Oh! It’s Valentine’s Day?”

At that, I burst into tears, ran the six steps to our bedroom and collapsed on our waterbed, heartbroken.

“Don’t cry! I’m sorry I forgot! I’ll be right back!” Derek yelled, slamming the apartment door behind him.

I was still face-down on our now-soggy bed when he returned.

He switched on the bedroom light and announced, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Babe!”

Sniffling, I sat up.

That’s when he thrust a helium-filled balloon into my hand. I tugged the attached ribbon, looking for the card.

There was no card.

No candy.

No flowers.

Just a Pepto Bismol-pink balloon.

Our waterbed got even waterier. My bewildered and exhausted husband went back out and returned with a card. We ate cold game hen and potatoes and made up the way newlyweds do.

Our sons know this story well, as I’ve shared it as a cautionary tale (future daughter-in-laws will thank me.)

Yet this year, when I suggested skipping the exchange of chocolates on Valentine’s Day, Derek nodded.

“But balloons are OK, right?” he asked.

Columns

Not Bored in Florida

Cindy Hval

A few months ago, Derek came home from work and sighed.

“I have to go to Florida in October for a business convention. Do you want to come? We could fly to Ohio after, to see the grandkids.”

He said this like he would totally understand if I didn’t want to go.

My shriek of excitement clarified my response.

“I’ve never been to Florida!”

He pulled up the convention location on his phone and handed it to me.

“I’ll be in meetings for two full days and you’ll be on your own. I hope you won’t get bored.”

I scrolled through the resort description. It’s set on 230 acres and features a golf course, sand volleyball court, tennis and fishing. Those amenities failed to impress, but the nature trail, 15 restaurants, spa and three seasonally heated pools in a lush tropical setting certainly did. I quickly booked a spa day.

We worried when Hurricane Ian struck the week before our departure. Thankfully, Orlando was spared any significant damage and we landed in Florida on a balmy Sunday evening. We checked in and explored the expansive grounds, followed by a fabulous meal.

Bright and early the next morning, Derek headed out for his busy day while I rested up for my own excursion.

After a leisurely breakfast, I meandered to the spa. Wearing the spa-issued robe and flip flops, I curled up with a novel in a comfy chair in the “Whisper Room” to await my appointments.

A pair of voices disturbed the quiet as two ladies chatted.

“So, then I just shaved his back and mixed oil and sugar and rubbed it in,” said the first voice.

She did not whisper and I regretted not overhearing the opening of their conversation.

Whose back was shaved? Why the oil and sugar rub?

Her monologue continued with a long list of what everyone in her family died of. Then I learned she has two sons and no daughters, so no one will point out when she has long whiskers on her chin.

It was like eavesdropping on my future.

I tried to delve into my book, but then the other lady spoke up.

“All this industrial tool drama! It’s so ‘Peyton Place!’ ”

Now, I wondered exactly what kind of convention my husband was attending, but a massage therapist called my name before I could discover more.

That evening, I accompanied Derek to a meet and greet which included a trivia contest. Mercifully, the questions didn’t involve industrial tooling and I earned my keep when our team took third. We would have placed higher if any of us could have named all five members of NSYNC. Every person at our table was over 55 and all we could come up with was Justin Timberlake and Joey something.

Also, none of us knew Orlando’s nickname is “The City Beautiful.” Since I didn’t exactly see the city, I’m going to take their word for it.

The president of the business hosting the event was on our team and he was most impressed that I knew nappies are diapers in Great Britain. I may not know my boy bands, but I excel at diaper trivia.

The following day, I planned to walk the nature trail. The hotel’s backdrop is Shingle Creek, one of the headwaters of the state’s scenic Everglades. The trail promised towering grasses, graceful Spanish moss trees, dramatic pine tree stands and blooming flowers. But after a late breakfast and time spent reading in a cozy lobby nook, I discovered it was already 88 degrees outside. That’s much too hot for hiking, so I changed into my swimsuit and surveyed my choice of pools.

The lap pool? Too vigorous.

The family pool? Too splashy.

The cabana pool? Just right. The sign on the gate advertised it as the “quiet pool” and unlike the Whisper Room; it lived up to its moniker.

I nabbed a chaise with an umbrella and spent the afternoon gliding through the sparkling practically empty pool, sunning on the lounge, reading and sipping chilled beverages, delivered poolside. Time slipped away and before I knew it my phone buzzed.

“I’m headed to the room,” Derek said. “Are you ready for the awards dinner?”

Alas, all cabana pool days must come to an end.

My inaugural visit to the Sunshine State left me refreshed and ready for a week’s worth of wrangling our toddler twin grandsons.

Turns out, my husband’s version of boring is my version of heaven.

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 on Amazon and bookstores nationwide.

Columns

Home Alone is Risky Business

Cindy Hval

Our youngest son’s move to Texas earlier this month offered me an unusual opportunity – six days home alone.

Sam’s overloaded Oldsmobile meant his road trip would be a father-son-only adventure. Also, I don’t think they wanted to hear me sobbing in the backseat for 1,767 miles.

I’ve never been alone in my house for more than a weekend. When Derek was in the National Guard, he was out of town frequently, but I always had a houseful of boys to wrangle. Honestly, I was looking forward to some solitude.

Here are a few excerpts from my Home Alone journal:

Day one: Knowing I’d have an emotional morning, a friend treated me to lunch. I ordered a large sandwich and put half of it in a to-go container for dinner. Everything was lovely until I forgot it at the restaurant. “It’s Derek’s duty to make sure I don’t leave my leftovers behind!” I wailed. My friend expressed concern about my ability to survive alone.

Needing to shop for some single-lady food, I headed to Trader Joe’s. My purchases may or may not have included a box of wine and three ginormous chocolate bars, but I definitely bought a salad.

Once home, I eyed the two huge zucchini that Derek didn’t have time to grate before he left. I decided to worry about that tomorrow.

Day two: I purchased a food processor because those zucchini weren’t getting any fresher, and there was no way I was going to grate them by hand. Then I went to visit my mom. We had a nice chat until I showed her the picture of Sam in front of the U-Haul the morning he left. Then we had a nice cry.

I might have spent too much time away from home because Walter, our cat, went feral. He slaughtered a fly and ate it in front of me.

This reminded me it was dinner time. I considered the salad I’d bought but opted for making nachos in the microwave. Dinner in hand, I settled into the recliner to watch a movie (you can do things like this when you live alone). That’s when I realized I hadn’t turned on the TV since the guys left and I didn’t know how to find the movie on my watch list. I made it almost 48 hours without a call to tech support (Sam).

Day three: No bacon. Derek usually makes breakfast on the weekends and that usually includes bacon. I eyed the chocolate bars but decided to scramble some eggs, instead.

Then I took a long walk and scheduled a pedicure for later. Weekend days can drag when you’re alone, so I was thankful I had a happy hour with a friend on my calendar.

“How are you doing?” she asked.

“Great!” I replied. “But I am talking to my cats. A lot.”

I gave her some zucchini (small ones) and when I got home I took the food processor out of the box. It had several pieces and a large instruction book. I decided to go to bed early.

Day four: Labor Day. It’s officially OK to drink pumpkin spice coffee now, so I indulged. Then I labored in the yard, the responsibility of keeping everything green and blooming weighed heavily. I miss Derek.

Moving inside, I cleaned the house, which took 10 minutes. That’s a benefit of single life I could get used to. Despite my sparkling home, something smelled funny. I checked the zucchini. They were fine. Then I remembered with Sam gone, I’m responsible for the litter box.

I really miss Sam.

Day five: I interviewed a lady about her rock collection and worked my way through my overflowing inbox. In the afternoon, I went out to the shed and got out the leaf blower to clean off the deck and gazebo. The battery was dead. I called Derek and he told me to take the battery out of his drill and use that. By golly, I figured it out!

That’s not the kind of risky business I envisioned for my week alone. Thankfully, it was time to meet a friend for dinner.

Day six: I hosted my writers group in the gazebo and when they left I decided to water the lawn. I turned on the water and got a blast in the face. I texted Derek, “A leak! The house sprung a major leak!”

It’s hard to text with wet hands, so Derek was relieved that the hose was leaking and not the house.

With his return imminent, I returned to the food processor. I wanted to get those zucchini taken care of. Then I read another bold print section, “Warning! You can be killed or seriously injured if you don’t follow these instructions.”

If I’m going to die or be dismembered, I want my husband with me.

When I picked him up at the airport the next morning, he asked how I enjoyed my week.

“Home alone is fine,” I replied. “But home with you is better.”

Then I handed him the food processor instruction book.

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 on Amazon and bookstores nationwide.

Columns

Spokane Summertime Fun

Cindy Hval

I’m an unabashed hometown girl.

I love Spokane (except for the potholes), and in 40-plus years of living here, I’m still finding new things to do.

In July, Derek and I attended two quintessential outdoor Spokane events.

First, we finally made it to a Sunday summer concert at Arbor Crest. Though we’ve visited the winery many times, we’d never made it to an outdoor concert. When we saw one of our favorite local bands was scheduled for July 10, we quickly bought tickets.

The Sara Brown Band plays R&B tunes with a soulful edge that usually gets us out on the dance floor at least for a few songs.

At Arbor Crest, you can bring a picnic or buy a meal there. We opted to picnic and while I packed a cooler with salamis, cheeses, olives and chocolate, Derek fetched our folding camp chairs.

We arrived early to find a good spot. That’s when we discovered Derek had accidentally grabbed our bleacher seats instead of chairs.

No worries. The winery provides plenty of plastic lawn chairs.

With our spot staked, we sampled a wine flight and purchased a couple of bottles of Fume Blanc – one to enjoy with our picnic and one to take home.

The evening proved spectacular. Just enough sun to make us welcome sunset’s arrival, fabulous music and fun chatting with fellow concert goers.

A kiss at Arbor Crest.

The following weekend, we attended the final night of Crave! Northwest a three-night foodie extravaganza showcasing the best of the area’s food and drink. The event offers an opportunity for chefs, breweries, and winemakers to connect with each another while serving fantastic food to the public. It’s also a great way for attendees to discover local chefs and restaurants.

Saturday’s “Fire and Smoke” night at Spokane Valley’s CenterPlace quickly sold out, and no wonder. Billed as a “culinary adventure of smoked and fired foods,” my home-grilling king only stopped smiling long enough to chew and swallow.

Derek and Cindy Hval at Crave!

We sampled smoked ribs with apple chutney from Tracy Rose of the Coeur d’Alene Casino, smoked steelhead, from Peter Froese of Gander and Ryegrass, and beef and pork wood-fired meatballs with charred Pomodoro sauce, from Aaron Fiorini of Market Street Pizza.

Then we tasted pork shoulder, smoked tri-tip, grilled jalapeno poppers, and more!

Of course, there was plenty of swill to wash it all down with. We saw our friends from No-Li Brewhouse and Barrister Winery and grabbed ice-cold bottles of water upon entry.

We needed the hydration, as it was a sizzling evening, but the venue offered some shady spots and a cool misting fan or two.

Two back-to-back, action-packed weekends made us perfectly content to enjoy our own backyard the following week, but we’re so glad we got to partake of some of the best fun our area has to offer.

While I enjoy all four seasons in the Inland Northwest; Spokane truly shines in the summer.

Columns

Love in bloom

Cindy Hval

I don’t like dirt. Not one little bit.

When friends speak of the delight they feel when plunging their hands into rich, dark soil, I shudder.

But I love flowers – their blooming beauty feeds my soul. I also adore fresh berries, juicy tomatoes, tender green beans, and tasty zucchini, things that aren’t possible to grow without getting your hands dirty.

“You can wear gloves, you know,” a friend advised.

That’s certainly an option, but I took another route–I married well.

Once our four sons were mostly grown, Derek eyed our backyard and decided to raise something other than boys.

While I can’t even keep a houseplant alive, my husband’s green thumb, along with his strong back, keen mind and building skills, have created a backyard oasis. Each year, he tweaks his creation and finds new ways to add beauty.

The result?

Pansies, petunias, geraniums, impatiens, in red, yellow, purple and pink, bloom in boxes around our great gazebo. They spill from window boxes along the delightful deck that Derek built.

Bleeding hearts, daisies and star flowers blossom in well-tended bark beds.

Derek spent a couple of summers building a lovely brick retaining wall and walkway around his garden shed. He tossed a packet or two of wildflower seeds along one side, and this year tall blue and white flowers line the path.

Wildflowers

Behind the shed, purple and lavender clematis creeps up the twin trellises he installed on the fence he built, and begonias burgeon in planters throughout the yard.

Crowds of pansies cluster in giant oak barrels. The barrels are new this year, anchoring a sun shade that sails from the great gazebo and is affixed to two towering redwood posts. Derek filled the bottom of the barrels with concrete to ensure the posts would stand firm in our windy weather, and keep our sun shade from soaring off into the neighbor’s yard. Then he topped the barrels with soil and planted the flowers that thrive in their cozy containers.

Also new – redwood boxes for our berry bushes. Our blueberries and strawberries have done well in their containers, but our raspberries have grown wild along the fence line, as long as we’ve lived here. When my sister-in-law gave us a blackberry bush, Derek decided it was time to corral our fruit.

He built three 2-feet by 6-feet boxes along the fence, one for each type of berry. If there’s room, he may transfer the strawberries, too.

Despite its late start due to these other projects, Derek’s raised bed vegetable garden is growing well. We’ve already spotted a couple green tomatoes, the green beans are ready to climb, and our first zucchini is peeking out from beneath its leafy lair.

Each year I shop for annuals with him, and place the flowers where I’d like them, but he does the planting. I weigh in on what veggies I’d like, and once again Derek gets his hands dirty.

When things bloom and ripen, I don gloves and do the deadheading and harvesting, but mostly I just enjoy the fruits of his labor.

Each day after work, I start dinner, and then head to the gazebo. I let the sun warm my legs, I listen to birdsong. I watch butterflies and bumblebees flit among the flowers. My husband has created place where I can let the cares of the day fade, and feast my eyes on loveliness.

FTD coined the motto “Say it with flowers,” but I’m so thankful I don’t have to wait for a floral delivery service to show up at my door to hear what Derek has to say.

Every spring and all through the summer, I’m surrounded by countless beautiful blooms, and each one seems to whisper I love you.