Cynthia Taggart

ESTHER FOLLMER was hardly more than a shadow beneath her pink blanket at Sylvan House. At 95, she had one foot over life's finish line. Her race would end at any moment and Alice Thibau's heart would break. Alice, 43, considered Esther one of her best friends.

It was 8 p.m. when Cy the Rottweiler started nonstop vomiting. Brigitte Westbrook, Cy's owner, knew her veterinarian had gone home for the day. Cy was seriously sick, so Brigitte called her vet's office anyway to leave a recorded plea for help. Instead, she heard a message with a Post Falls phone number to call for immediate emergency pet care. Brigitte called the number. North Idaho Pet Emergency answered, encouraged Brigitte to bring Cy right in and gave her directions to the storefront clinic.

NOTHING DRAWS a crowd like food. So, when Charlie Knudtsen asked Beach House executive chef Tim Heinig if he'd like to raise money for Coeur d'Alene charities with his gourmet creations, he didn't hesitate. " 'Yes!' I said, 'We want to help.' We want to do this every year," Tim said last week, as he filled a chafing dish with huckleberry ribs on Charlie's massive deck overlooking Lake Coeur d'Alene. "This is cooking for a cause."

Mary Ann Mattson says repeated miscarriages and one stillbirth were not enough to stop her from wanting another child. But when her body finally came through with her son, Nicholas Ashby, Mary Ann didn't find peace. She gave birth to Nicholas one month before his due date in 2001. She was ecstatic, relieved and grateful to feel her newborn son's heartbeat as she clutched him to her chest. But eight hours after his birth, Nicholas was orange and it was clear to Mary Ann that a new, more ominous chapter of her life had begun.

Ronnie Sullivan stood and stared through his first few karate classes, but instructor Diana McRae wasn't rattled. She didn't know what to expect from the students at TESH, which teaches life and work skills to people with disabilities. A growth disorder slightly slows her son, but she'd worked with him to adapt actions to his body. She applied the same idea to the karate students at TESH. Ronnie came around, as Diana was certain he would. "Now, when Wednesday comes around and I ask him what he's doing, he's shoots his hand up and says karate," says Carol Norris, Ronnie's mother. "Diana truly and genuinely cares and she believes in them. People just don't understand that people with handicaps can grasp things, but Diana does."

IT'S THE WOMEN and kids Keith Wolter needs to reach. Gay men know how to avoid AIDS and HIV infection. Health providers, the media, volunteers, society and experience have hammered that lesson into the population devastated by the killer virus. The message of prevention is as important as ever, but it needs to reach the people who don't consider themselves at risk.

Joy Waters' salvation is pastel and addicting. Its hold on Joy is complete. It drives her past exhaustion and pain, sorrow and hopelessness. Her violent childhood and young husband's death, her alcoholism, spinal cord surgeries and absent daughters fade in Joy's consciousness while she draws with pastels, then fine-tunes her artwork with her fingers.

THE CRESCENT MOON AND STARS sculpted in the milky foam that tops lattes is the first sign, if the nose isn't clogged, that Café Doma isn't a run-of-the-mill coffee shop. For those paying attention as they walk through the door – that is, not chatting with friends, counting change or worrying that everyone is looking at their puffy morning eyes – a rich, nutty aroma embraces them in warmth like a St. Bernard welcome after a day of skiing.

LAURIE OLSON-HORSWILL'S face sags in dismay as her husband, artist Michael Horswill, points to "Archive," an artwork hanging on their kitchen wall. The piece with old library file cards, strips of rawhide, slices of bamboo, wood and rugged, rocklike plaster is heading for the Art Spirit Gallery in downtown Coeur d'Alene for a monthlong exhibit. It's for sale and Laurie knows the chance "Archive" will hang in her home again after October is slim. Michael's intriguing, three-dimensional wall-hangings are popular.

Dottie Papuzynski's son not only could read at 3, he could read words upside down. By kindergarten, her boy, Bernie Woller, read like a college-educated adult. Family and teachers loved the little genius boy. He was bright, well-behaved and quiet – unnaturally quiet. But the boy teachers viewed as a model student was a weirdo to other kids. As early as first grade, kids were so uncomfortable with Bernie that they tried to run him over with their bikes or bullied him on the playground.

THREE YEARS after Bob Campbell died, his wife, Barbara, is ready to deposit his ashes for eternity. Bob chose the style and site – a columbarium at his church, St. Luke's Episcopal on Wallace Avenue. When Bob came up with those ideas, though, he didn't know he was planning for himself.

WELCOME TO Coeur d'Alene, a city of stunning scenery, quality performing and visual arts, and people dedicated to enriching their minds and the minds around them. Honest. Deep thinking is not restricted to Boise, Moscow or Spokane, where universities attract a steady stream of public speakers with great minds. Coeur d'Alene has had its share, thanks mostly to North Idaho College. In fact, the Idaho Humanities Council this year promoted Coeur d'Alene to full-fledged intellectual status and is bringing presidential scholar Robert Dallek here next week as initiation into the higher rank.

TAMARA WELLS GAVE Sandy Patterson a gift Sandy never imagined wanting or needing: the ability to smile at her reflection. "I haven't totally lost my hair. It's just thin and fine," Sandy says. She's undergoing treatment for her second bout with colon cancer. "Tamara colors it with non-chemo altering color. It makes me less depressed when I take off my wig at night."

Three strokes knocked Scotty Paterson into a wheelchair, and life in his home changed in unexpected ways. Household problems he once fixed stayed broken, such as window latches and loose hand railings. Scotty's wife, Joan, had no experience with home repairs. She mentioned her dilemma in conversation once at the Aging and Adult Services office in Coeur d'Alene. A day later, her home was repaired.

OPERA IS MORE than the weight-challenged lady singing or the shrill Viking maiden in waist-length braids and a horned helmet. It's Romeo baring his love to Juliet. It's Othello wooing Desdemona. It's murder and jealousy, heroism and hedonism in costume to music on a stage adorned as historical Europe or Asia.

KOOTENAI, IDAHO – The paving equipment outside Maggie Mjelde's house groans and rumbles, but Maggie hears the "Rocky" theme and wild cheers. There's nothing wrong with Maggie's ears or her mind. She's the mayor of Kootenai, a tiny town a javelin throw east of Sandpoint, and she's determined to stick with the job until every street in her town is paved. She's held the office since 1988.

Tyson Frazier was such a good worker at Glenn Vaughn Restoration Services in Post Falls a few years ago that his boss, Glenn Vaughn, can't imagine him as a methamphetamine addict, down and out and suicidal. "He was a good kid. I just loved having him around because he was so willing and such a hard worker," Vaughn says. "I hope to hell he just ran away."

Every time Saundra Dorosh beats her brother, Doug Grace, at Trivial Pursuit, he's reminded of life's nasty injustices. He doesn't mind losing regularly to his sister. She's smart and focused, definitely a bright star in his high-achieving family. She also depends on a ventilator to breathe and can't move her body below her neck – the result of a freak accident last year.

WALKING AWAY from family is not what Julie Meier expected of herself. But on Nov. 19, that's just what she'll do. After 23 years as the director of the Coeur d'Alene Public Library, Julie is leaving.

The subdued lighting and wild bird calls appeal to Sue, so he wanders toward a butter-yellow wall, curls comfortably on a carpeted perch and tucks his golden head under one paw. "He's a boy named Sue," Tony Petillo says, referring to the Johnny Cash song and chuckling. He hoists the furry cat into his arms and scratches him on the neck until he purrs.