All Write

These Recipes are “To Die For”

The comfort of a bowl of slow-simmered chicken soup.

A whiff of cinnamon from snickerdoodles just out of the oven.

The tang of homemade ranch dip on a crunchy chip.

Food is the gateway to memory. A bite of rich chocolate Texas sheet cake can evoke your favorite aunt, who brought that dessert to every family gathering and church potluck.

A new cookbook features recipes for all of the above and more, sourced from surprising locations – cemeteries around the globe.

“To Die For: A Cookbook of Gravestone Recipes” (HarperCollins, 2025) features 40 recipes, along with interviews and full-color photographs. What began during author Rosie Grant’s digital archives internship at the Congressional Cemetery in Washington, D.C., became a viral sensation when she started cooking real gravestone recipes and sharing their stories via TikTok.

“I was finishing my master’s in library in information science at the University of Maryland and started a TikTok channel (@ghostlyarchive) about what it’s like to intern at a cemetery,” Grant said.

She came across other social media accounts that featured recipes carved on headstones.

“I love to cook and I love to eat, so I tried three of the recipes and posted them,” she said. “People started reaching out.”

The first recipe she tried came from Naomi Odessa Miller-Dawson’s grave in Brooklyn, New York. Miller-Dawson’s gravestone resembles an open book with her spritz cookie recipe etched in the stone.

While the monuments list ingredients, they don’t often include instructions. Thus, Grant didn’t realize that she needed a cookie press to make spritz cookies.

She laughed and said, “I made pretty much every recipe incorrectly! I now own multiple cookie presses.”

When she’d gathered 20 recipes, publishers expressed interest in a cookbook.

Eventually, Grant ended up with 40 “To Die For” recipes.

The author didn’t just make the recipe; she visited each cemetery featured in North America and photographed the gravestone. She interviewed family and friends of the deceased and often cooked with them, whether in person or via Zoom.

“I made spritz cookies with Naomi’s family,” she said. “They were so generous with their time!”

Gravestone recipes are rare, but the author discovered one right here in Spokane County.

You can find Marty Woolf’s recipe for ranch dip on his headstone at Saltese Cemetery in Greenacres.

An avid golfer, Woolf grew up in Spokane Valley. After graduating from dental school, he and his young family relocated to New Mexico to work alongside his brother and his best friend.

In 2022, he fell ill unexpectedly and died a few days later. His obituary in The Spokesman-Review read, “There are few people in this life that when you meet once, you never forget them. Marty was the sweetest husband, most loving father, and best friend to countless people.”

Grant contacted his sister-in-law to learn more about Woolf. She discovered his nickname was Dr. Death, and he loved to share recipes.

“Dr. Death’s Ranch was something he loved to make,” said Grant. “When I visited his grave, someone had left a can of Mountain Dew beside it.”

When staging the food pictures, photographer Jill Petracek took care to add subtle nods about the deceased. In the photo of the ranch dip, a glass of Mountain Dew sits nearby.

Surprisingly, a few of the recipes in the book came from the living.

“These women were preplanning,” Grant said.

Before Peggy Neal’s husband died, they prepared their headstones together. As an avid hunter, his side featured game animals.

“What do I want to be remembered for?” Neal thought. “Well, I am darn proud of my cookie recipe!”

So, the recipe for Peg’s sugar cookies was etched into the marker, and the book features a photo of a smiling Peg next to it.

“I got to cook with Peggy in Arkansas,” Grant said.

Likewise, Cindy Clark Newby’s recipe for No-Bake Cookies is on her headstone.

“I thought about what my family would feel when they visited my grave,” she said. “I pictured them laughing when they saw I’d put my cookie recipe on there.”

From a chocolate chip cookie recipe on a book-shaped headstone with “Cookie Book” on the spine, to a marker featuring a handwritten chicken soup recipe, Grant uncovered the stories of ordinary people remembered for the way they fed and gave to others.

She urges readers to document their own recipes and food histories and included resources to assist them.

Traveling to cemeteries throughout the country and recreating cherished recipes allowed Grant to understand the role of food in preserving memories, as well as fostering a deep appreciation for the loving legacies etched in stone.

“It’s a testament to who these people were in life – generous and giving.”

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.

Columns

#ThingsMyHusbandSays, Father’s Day Edition

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

Dementia sometimes changes the stories, but Mom’s humor is forever

Almost a year has passed since my last Mom update.

Her 94th birthday is approaching, and while she’s a bit frailer, she still knows us and has a story or two to tell most weeks.

Like many seniors with dementia, she tends to repeat the same tales. But every now and then, she adds an unexpected twist – like telling me I was born in the Philippines (that was my sister). Or recalling how she used to push my brothers in a stroller all the way to NorthTown Mall (that was my sons).

I just roll with the stories, happy when she’s engaged because sometimes she’s not.

Sometimes, she’s scared and confused, and all I can do is sit with her, hold her hand and tell her that I love her.

Her funny quips a few and far between now, but I can still make her laugh. I’m glad because her sense of humor is probably the best thing I inherited from her.

March 2018

I picked Mom up for an early birthday celebration.

“You look pretty in your pink sweater,” I said.

“Thank you,” she replied. “I put it on to look less dead.”

April 2018

As we neared the sidewalk at the dentist’s office, I steered her away from the curb.

“You don’t want to see me jump the curb?” she asked

I shook my head.

“That’s OK. I left my racing walker at home.”

April 2019

Mom on friendship: “My best friend Bonnie and I were so close we shared everything, even a Kleenex.”

April 2019

“How are you doing with all those men?” she asked.

“Which men?”

“Don’t ask me! You’re the one responsible for them!”

(I really hope she was referring to my husband and sons.)

May 2019

On personal appearance: “I don’t wear makeup anymore, except on Sundays I wear the lipstick you gave me. Why? Because I’m 88 and makeup doesn’t help.”

June 2019

Mom’s anxiety was pretty bad today, but she did perk up when talking about high school sweethearts and had this word of advice for single gals.

“Men don’t like it when you flirt and carry on. Boys liked me because I ignored them.”

March 2021

I went over the weekly schedule with Mom and informed her about an invitation to a drumming session the next afternoon.

“I don’t drum,” she said.

“Well, you can learn,” I replied.

“First I need to find out WHAT or WHO we’re going to drum ON, and then I’ll decide.”

April 2021

Me: Oh, look! You’re having quiche Lorraine for dinner.

Mom: What a fancy way to say scrambled eggs.

November 2021

“When we got married, he was going to be the breadwinner, and I was going to be the bookkeeper,” she said.

“How long did that last?” I asked.

“Oh, it took about a week for him to realize I entered everything under miscellaneous.”

March 2023

Mom was in top form today. As I struggled to help her on with her coat, a gentleman walked by. “You’re not leaving me already!” he said.

“Don’t worry, I’ll bring her back,” I replied.

“Shush!” she said. “Don’t give him any advance warning!”

July 2023

Since Mom always calls our youngest son her “Sam Baby,” I thought it would be fun to get a photo of him sitting on her lap. We tried, but he’s 6-foot-2 and can no longer fit on Grandma’s lap.

“That’s OK,” she said. “I’d rather be able to walk.”

January 2024

Mom asked about my day, and I told her I interviewed a fly fisherman.

She leaned forward and put her hand on my arm.

“You do know they don’t actually fish for flies?”

January 2024

I read the retirement center’s weekly newsletter to her. The director again reminded residents to be kind and patient with the dining room staff.

“Gosh, I don’t want to be a mean, cranky old lady when I grow up,” I said.

“Me neither,” Mom replied. “I’d rather be a silly, crazy old lady.”

I assured her she was absolutely that.

“I WIN!” she said.

Yes.

She does.

All Write, Columns

A room of my own

For many years, I posted the same cartoon on social media every December. It features a woman sitting on Santa’s lap, reading her Christmas wish list. “… And I also need a gripping opening sentence, help with my 14th and 28th chapters, an agent with excellent connections in the publishing world, and a home office with a door.”

I didn’t share it this year because, after 17 years as a freelance writer and author, I finally have a home office with a door.

I’ve spent my career working in our unfinished downstairs rec room. The boys called it the playroom because that’s what they did there. They built gigantic Lego creations, set up Hot Wheels tracks and played video games. It’s where they hosted sleepovers and movie parties.

Meanwhile, I sat at a battered hand-me-down desk that once belonged to my father-in-law, next to an old filing cabinet snagged from my husband’s business.

My desk faced wobbly 1970s-era faux pine paneling. Lighting consisted of a series of cheap gooseneck desk lamps that teetered precariously atop the previously mentioned filing cabinet.

Without a door and no drawers in my desk, I’d leave the room and return to find my carefully arranged notes scattered across the room and my pens AWOL.

Cats enjoy few things more than knocking things off flat surfaces.

I churned out thousands of articles and columns from that room, but thankfully, when it came to pen books or bigger projects, I had kind friends who offered me private, quiet spaces for work.

As our family grew, other projects superseded my longing for an actual home office. My husband had a deck to build and a shed to create, the boys’ rooms needed finishing, the living room needed new flooring, and a second bathroom was vital.

Derek completed each job with great attention to detail, and every project turned out fantastic.

Our youngest son accepted a teaching job in Texas nearly three years ago, and Derek hoped to finally build an office for me because he truly loves home -improvement projects – and me. Unfortunately, his osteoarthritis limited his mobility and energy, and hip replacement surgery loomed.

So, reader, I took matters into my own hands. A friend referred me to a contractor, and I made an appointment for him to meet us at the house. Then I told Derek.

Though disappointed he wouldn’t be able to do the project himself, he agreed to talk to the contractor with me. They hit it off like I knew they would.

Almost a year later, work began. I chose Zachary’s former bedroom for my office. The ceiling hadn’t been finished since an earlier remodel, and the blue indoor/outdoor carpet had been there since our oldest two sons shared the space.

It also had a window facing our backyard. Finally, I’d have natural light and an office with a lovely view!

Work began in August, and when I dithered over choices that came up, wanting to defer to my husband, the contractor gently reminded me, “This is your office. You get to decide.”

And I did. I chose soft gray paint, white trim and a laminate floor that mirrored the warmth of the pine tongue-and-groove ceiling. Honestly, I would have been happy with any ceiling, but Derek lobbied for the upgrade, and I’m glad I listened.

In late September, he put together the desk I’d purchased years ago in anticipation of my new digs. Its L-shape offers plenty of room for notes on the smooth black surface. When I tire of sitting, I can use its stand-up option.

I had a matching bookshelf delivered, chose a cozy chair and a lamp for the corner, and hung art I’d saved just for this space.

Every morning, when I take my mug of coffee to my desk, I smile. My notes are right where I left them the night before – my pens and paperclips, present and accounted for.

The view from the window feeds my soul no matter the weather. When the sun beats down, I lower the blinds, but usually, I leave them up. I’ve watched the leaves swirl down into the garden. I’ve seen the rain drizzle or pour and watched snow slowly shroud the deck.

I love everything about this room, but my favorite thing might be the newly painted white door with its shiny gold knob. When Derek’s home and I have phone interviews or looming deadlines, I shut it with a satisfying click. Unlike our cats, Freya and Walter, he doesn’t stand outside and scratch and whine until I open it.

My 60th birthday may be approaching, but I finally have a room of my own, and oh, it was worth the wait.

Columns

Things my husband says: new and improved edition

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

From the courtroom to the emergency room

Recently, I had a week that began with jury duty and ended in a catastrophic car crash. I swear, my headlines write themselves.

Let’s start with the courtroom.

Unlike some, I’ve always been eager to serve on a jury. I own a copy of “Twelve Angry Men,” I ask questions for a living, and my note-taking is level expert. Yet, I’ve never been picked.

Honestly, I wondered if the court system has some kind of media bias.

That changed on Sept. 3. I reported to Spokane County Superior Court with 40-plus fellow residents as required. After watching a couple of videos and listening to information about how to get my whopping $10 per day, I was issued a badge.

Farewell, Cindy Hval – hello Juror No. 6.

After a lunch break long enough for me to rush home and snuggle my new kitten, I returned to the courthouse for voir dire. That’s a fancy term meaning attorneys on both sides of a case question prospective jurors to determine if they can be fair and impartial.

We were given the bare bones of the case and told that a jury trial in a civil case is extremely rare in Washington.

Fascinated, I listened as attorneys from both sides asked pointed questions of prospective jurors.

Then the defendant’s attorney called on me and asked what publications I wrote for and what topics I covered.

When I described this column, the attorney asked, “So, once this case is concluded, should we expect a column about your experience?”

I looked at him and at the judge and shrugged.

“Well, I’m here. This is my life.”

Despite that, I was included in the jury.

When I sat down, the woman seated in front of me, asked, “Did you review my husband’s book?”

Indeed I had.

The trial commenced. It was a big business versus a very big business and the jury’s task involved assessing damages (if any).

As a courtroom drama fan, a few things stood out – mainly the lack of drama. The objection process seemed subdued. No one stood up and yelled “OBJECTION!” No gavels were pounded, and the judge never once called for “order in the court.”

Every time things got tense between the opposing sides, the jury got ushered out. I felt like a kid being sent to her room so the grown-ups could chat.

The jury room was nice and we had private bathrooms to prevent us from accidentally encountering any parties in the lawsuit. We also had snacks that were a bit better than airline snacks.

But there was sitting. A lot of sitting. We were relieved to learn our presence wouldn’t be required in court on Friday.

So that day, I drove to an interview in Otis Orchards. I almost made it.

As I neared my destination, I slowed and switched on my turn indicator. The next thing I knew, there was a terrific smashing sound – dust, gravel and glass flew.

I’d been rear-ended by a semi.

Shakily, I exited Ruby Sue (my Ford Escape) and surveyed the damage. My car was obviously totaled.

A witness saw the accident and pulled over to call 911.

In the adrenalin rush that followed I called my husband, called the couple I was supposed to interview, and answered the state trooper’s questions. I didn’t care to watch him cite the driver.

At the urging of responding firefighters, I let Derek take me to the emergency room. I was bruised and shaken but cleared to go home. It could have been so much worse.

If I’d been at a complete stop.

If I’d been making my left turn.

If the semi had been hauling a load.

It’s been a little over two weeks since the accident. My bruises have faded. The insurance companies are doing what they’re supposed to do. I’m following up with my physician as advised.

But gosh, I miss Ruby Sue. She was the first car that I got just for me. The only one I didn’t have to use to haul kids to school and sporting events.

“We’ll get you a newer and better Ruby Sue,” Derek said. “Cars are replaceable, you aren’t.”

So, I’m choosing gratitude. I’m thankful I’m here for our son’s wedding next week. I’m thankful that soon I’ll be in Ohio visiting our grandkids, and I’m grateful for seven years and lots of miles with my sparkly Ruby Sue.

It turns out she lived up to her model name – Escape.

As the witness stood with me at the accident scene, looking at the wreckage, he said, “I saw how hard he hit you. That little car saved your life.”

On the way to the hospital, I called the courthouse.

Being rear-ended by a semi is one way to get out of jury duty, but I sure don’t recommend it.

All Write

Note from a War Bonds Reader

Sometimes writing feels like slogging away in solitary confinement.
Since “War Bonds” was published in 2015, I’ve completed an as-yet unsold manuscript and pitched another full-length book that garnered some interest from agents, but not enough for me to commit to writing it.

And there’s my children’s picture book still looking for a home…

That’s why this note I received a couple of days ago was so encouraging. It reminded me (as do my tiny twice-yearly royalty checks) that people are reading and enjoying a book I wrote!

Maybe I can write and sell another one:-)

Dear Cindy,

I am halfway through your book.  It is so enjoyable.  I really enjoy biographies and autobiographies.   

It came at a perfect time.  Our married Grandson/ Wife are moving out to their own apartment shortly.  As a Grandmother,  I want to jump into action and provide for them.  Your book has reminded me that the best time is to “let go”.    Couples starting out need to have that struggle at the beginning. 

The book is delightful.  I was born in 1944 and my uncles went to war.  I can recall their visits. 

The title of your book is super appropriate.

Thank you, Cindy.

All the Best ,

Pam

All Write

Link to Chicken Soup for the Soul Workshop

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

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

This soup’s for you. Happy writing!

All Write

How to Get a Bowl Full of Chicken Soup

Publication credits can be hard to come by for budding authors, but The Chicken Soup for the Soul franchise offers a smorgasbord of publishing opportunities for writers to offer the world a taste of their work.

The franchise produces dozens of volumes each year, offering a paying market for novice and experienced writers alike

My stories have been featured in 13 Chicken Soup for the Soul books, and I’m delighted to share my recipe for a good soup story.

Learn how to get your writing published by this franchise and increase your publication credits on Saturday, October 29, at this free workshop sponsored by the Spokane County Library District’s 6th annual Spokane Writers Conference.

Sign up here today!