Cindy Hval

It’s that festive time of year. Holiday lights twinkle from the garland on our banister and glow on the Christmas tree. The Play-doh nativity set sits once again in the place of honor atop the piano. The delicious aroma of Christmas baking fills my kitchen – and emails from The International Parking Institute fill my inbox.

A little girl’s letter to a Riverside High School drama teacher spawned an annual tradition that’s been delighting students, teachers and parents for eight years. The letter read, “Dear Mrs. Skoog, I am Tonya Ballman and I am eight-years-old. I am very interested in acting and I would like it if you and the bigger kids would teach smaller kids to act.”

Victor Richardson, 3, gripped a plastic pony in his hand and galloped him into the barn, while Kerri Baldwin flew a brightly colored rooster over his head. “He fly!” Victor squealed. It may look like play, but Victor and Baldwin, his speech therapist, were working hard at RiteCare Spokane, on Thursday.

The statistics are bleak. According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, one out of 110 children is now diagnosed with autism. Four out of five of those are boys. Studies estimate that the lifetime cost to care for an individual with an autism spectrum disorder is $3.2 million.

The East Central Community Center was awash in teddy bears recently. Mrs. Claus, aka longtime volunteer Phyllis Daily, sat on a sofa surrounded by the cuddly toys. Daily and many other Santa’s helpers are getting ready for the center’s annual holiday event. For 30 years, the center has hosted Toyland, providing toys and treats to children who might not have much of a Christmas otherwise. The East Central Neighborhood Wellness Association sponsors the celebration. “Last year we served over 800 individuals,” said the center’s acting director, Kathy Armstrong. “All children were given toys and goodies and the families were entered in a holiday raffle.”

Wearily, I dumped my briefcase in the corner and shrugged my overnight bag onto the bed. I’d been away from home working on my book. As I sat down on the edge of the bed to shuck my shoes, a flash of glitter caught my eye. A sparkling tiara rested on my pillow.

Lorraine White loves hats. Red, pink, purple, green and gold. Cowboy, fedora, boater, and cloche. Since 2006, White has collected 50 of them in all shapes, sizes and colors.

Nicole Deitrick, 14, and Kayleigh Elliott, 11, circled the ice, landing jumps and executing dizzying spins with ease. For spectators it was a brilliant figure skating performance. For the girls it was just another day of practice at Eagles Ice-A-Rena. The two local figure skaters recently qualified for the U.S. Junior National Figure Skating Championships in Lansing, Mich., Dec. 10-14. Both are part of the Lilac City Figure Skating Club.

Wayne Best is clear about who is to blame for a union that’s spanned 69 years. “It was all Clara’s fault that we met!” he said. From their north Spokane apartment, the couple recalled their first date on July 4, 1941. Clara had been invited to accompany friends to Coeur d’Alene, but her boyfriend had to work. Wayne, 96, said, “But I was footloose and fancy free.”

A northerly blast rattles the windows and threatens the few leaves still stubbornly clinging to our apple tree. The russet and amber brilliance of autumn is fading fast. Seasons change.

Not every bride dreams of a flower-studded, white-gowned, church wedding. Karen Fell got married in her running shoes at the Bloomsday starting line. Carrie Olsen wore a black evening gown with a sequined bodice which complemented her groom’s stunning spiky mohawk. And Sheryl Redding wore a traditional gown and elbow-length evening gloves, but chose to be married on a deck overlooking the greens at the Spokane Country Club.

A pocket-size New Testament. A lighter, embellished with the POW/MIA seal.

I’m in the midst of my annual identity crisis. Every autumn when area gardens burst with bounty, I toy with the idea of turning in my carnivore card and embracing vegetarianism. Crunchy carrots, tasty tomatoes and succulent squash please my palate. After gorging on garden goodness, I have no room for meatloaf or chicken cacciatore.

The sweet sound of Mozart echoed through a ballroom at the Spokane Masonic Center recently, as members of the Spokane Youth Symphony Orchestra prepared for their first concert of the season. Dozens of young musicians concentrated on the score while keeping watchful eyes on the swaying baton of their new artistic director, Julian Gomez-Giraldo.

Sometimes you get another chance to nab “the one that got away.” Wes Scott did. In 1949, his sister, Charlotte, introduced him to Shirley, her classmate at Colfax High School. “I thought she was cute,” Wes recalled.

I used to make fun of them. The people who walk through grocery stores, animatedly chatting with invisible friends. The folks at movie theaters with winking blue lights behind their ears. The self-important ones who cannot disconnect from their Bluetooth devices while dining out, visiting the library or exercising at the gym.

Arms outstretched like an airplane, Trey Henning, 6, beamed as he rode around the paddock. He sat astride Monte, a beautiful brown American quarter  horse, looking like he’d been born to ride. As Monte began to trot, Trey tipped his head back in bliss, savoring the movement and the September sunshine.

What she can do: Compete in the Wonder Woman Triathlon in Medical Lake, keep her class of fourth-graders at McDonald Elementary engaged and on task, supervise the busy schedules of her two teenagers. What she can’t do: Read a paperback, drive a car, see the top line on a standard eye exam chart.

Hog butchering might not be your idea of a great first date, but it certainly leaves a lasting impression. When Wayne Hull met a pretty girl named Karen at a Grange dance in Cheney in 1949, he knew he wanted to see her again.

The roses were gorgeous. I buried my nose in the pale pink blooms displayed in the floral department at the grocery store. Each blossom and bud burst with sweet aroma. I pictured them overflowing in my favorite crystal vase.

The corn is high in Harold Rooks’ garden in south Spokane. A rooster crowed from the chicken coop as Rooks checked the status of his ripening tomatoes. A shiny red tractor sits just outside his back door. “My wife would never let me buy one,” Rooks said, and chuckled. “When I get there she’s gonna kill me!”