Terri Qualls
Even though my cousin and I weren’t close in recent years — with the birthday and holiday texts being our lifeline — Vonnie always held a special place in my heart. There’s something about growing up hearing the same family stories carried down from grandparents, aunts, and uncles, and getting the latest news through the family phone chain that keeps a quiet connection no matter how much time passes.
Every summer as a kid, our grandparents would come from Bismarck, North Dakota, to go fishing in Westport. Grandpa and the uncles would fish, and other relatives from across the Midwest often came to fish as well. Meanwhile, Grandma made her incredible glazed, deep-fried donuts — huge, perfectly uniform, and absolutely delicious. When they visited Tacoma, they rotated between their three kids’ homes — my parents’, Vonnie’s parents’, and Carla’s parents’.
All of us cousins — and I’m speaking of us four girls who were the youngest and close in age: my late sister Susan, Carla, Vonnie, and me — would secretly hope it would be our turn, because that meant the donuts would be made at our house. The odd thing is, I don’t remember where the older boy cousins were — like Darla in The Little Rascals, “You boys stink!”
The donuts were shared with everyone, of course, but the magic was in seeing them cooling on every counter and table — rows and rows of them — while we cousins snuck by for “just one more.” It’s a memory I’ll always treasure — the laughter, the smells, and the feeling of family that seemed to fill every inch of the house.
P.S. Uncle Fred always had — and shared — his Doublemint gum! He’d show up at our house to pick Vonnie up from a visit in his mail truck, and you know what… he always looked so important wearing his mailman uniform!
Terri (Kraft) Qualls
