Congraduation!

(Also known as backtracking x 3 weeks.)

The most beautiful part of Spencer's graduation week is that he graduated. The second most beautiful part is that his mom was there, watching him graduate. (It was a true, true miracle.) The third most beautiful part was seeing other lovely lovelies that I don't get to see very often, including my parents, sister, sister-in-law, niece and nephew, and so forth. The last most beautiful part was watching my father open a special book (of which I will write more later).

Pictures pleased:

Southern California Institute of Architecture:
recently named the #1 architecture school in the world.

Dedicated with love.

In the midst of his presentation to a jury of world class
architects. Plus family and friends.

Thesis=finished!

This is how happy we were during S's graduation!

This is S graduating!

Spencer and very supportive sisters. (Plus one more
who is still supportive, but too, too pregnant to attend.) 

Her presence is a treasure. 

The Happiest Place for my mama's birthday bash.

I took the carousel.

All tuckered out.

A time to remember.

This post is the post where I record a handful of things I want to remember about Spencer's mamma, mostly for Spencer, and myself, and any children we might have one day, who I will want to help remember this grandma that they didn't get to know here. She will be part of them, as she is most certainly part of Spencer.

• She was born in Salt Lake City.
• She lived in Missouri when she was a little girl. 
• Her family was part of the first LDS branch in Liberty. They met in the (in)famous jail.
• She also lived in New Zealand when she was a little girl.
• She loved the culture, and the poi ball dancing, which she apparently had great skill at.
• She loved Christ, simply and straightforwardly.
• She had/has a testimony in the atonement, which for her meant that we didn't need to be perfect, we just needed to tap into Christ's grace as perfectly as possible.
• She met her husband in high school. (They went to rival schools.)
• When he got home from his mission she asked him when they would get married. When he said, "Oh, about two years," she answered, "Okay, then I think I will go on my own mission."
• And she did. To Norway.
• She and her husband were sealed in the Salt Lake Temple, by President Thomas S. Monson.
• (Thomas S. Monson was also influential in her not extending her mission, so she could come home. It is a pretty good story.)
• She loved her five children dearly, and rumor is that they were her crowning jewels.
• She also loved her grandchildren dearly. Their laughter and play brought her some of her sweetest moments when she was sick, sick, sick.
• She had great respect and admiration for other cultures, and tried to learn all that she could.
• She also welcomed several individuals from other countries to live with her family. I think in part because she wanted her children to have an international perspective. It has rubbed off on S big time.
• Because of the above at least three women refer to her as their "American mother."
• She was her mother's favorite child. (Or so says all of her surviving siblings.)
• She cared deeply about education. It was probably her lifelong mission.
• She loved her students. And they loved her.
• She was so proud of Spencer for finishing his (very hard) masters. Everyone thinks the hope of attending his graduation kept her alive.
• She was a better cook than everyone says.
• She'd wake people up on their birthdays by singing to them. And she would decorate the table just for them, special. (I think children were allowed to open their gifts in the morning, but I could be mistaken.)
• She loved Christmas, but she (or her husband) made everyone dress formal. Even for opening presents.
• They did the Christmas Eve new pajama tradition.
• Her birthday is my dad's birthday, May 26.
• She spent her second to last birthday with Spencer and I in LA, helping Spencer with his architecture exhibition, TIMEless. (As I recall she even swept and cleaned the huge exhibition space, cheerfully.)
• She had a beautiful smile, even when laying in her last bed.
• When one of her daughters asked her what she wanted to do before she passed, she answered, "Climb a mountain."
• She did that too. A summit to the top, with help and love from others.
• More.

(If you are Spencer, or one of his sisters, or his brother-in-laws, or someone else who knew Janice, please write me stories and memories, so I can keep them safe. Thank you in advance.)

Update (on an update).

Even in the midst of these hard weeks and days there have been sweet moments, too. One was seeing some of my old Provo and Provo family, both of whom I love. I also feel closer to Spencer's family, which I'm sure he loves.

Zeke and Bing, pre-work.

Nana and Eden, post E getting a tad bit hurt.

My horse whisperer.

Myself.

Pretty. Grumpy.

Just pretty.

The one I love.

And again. (On the very day of loss.)

This field love day-of-days, the Autumnal Equinox was brought up, and someone in my family asked me how I used to celebrate it, when I used to celebrate it a lot. I explained our old rituals of jumping over flames, chanting/dancing, the one-at-a-time circle sharing of our favorite thing about the season, and/or a quote, poem, song, or drawing to go along with it. I also explained some of the more specialized rituals involving eating part of a nut and letting the other one go in the water, representing what we want to keep about our lives and what we want to change, or seeds planted with tiny letters written on them, of what we want to grow (which was actually more Spring), or folded paper boats with our secret wishes to be released into the same water (which was actually more Summer). After my telling, my family humored me in sharing their favorite part of fall. I was a tad bit surprised that they would be willing to do that for me, but they were, and it was quite touching--particularly on that holy, sad day. My favorite thing(s): family dinners with baked apple desserts, strolls through fields, feeding horses in those nearby fields, crisp, cool air, dreaming about more apple things (including fresh cider pressed from fresh fruit), and squash--all kinds of squash. (Plus reds and oranges and yellows if I lived somewhere where leaves could be those colors. And a special emphasis on temperatures below 100, wishing I lived somewhere where I could feel those temperatures.)

What are are a few of your favorite fall things?

An update (on a downdate).

I have been back in California for two days, and I am still exhausted, in almost every single way that a person could be exhausted: mentally, spiritually, emotionally, physically, etcetera. I also bore my testimony at church today, which I wasn't expecting. But, that may have been because I wasn't expecting it to be Fast and Testimony Meeting. I forgot that next week is October, and hence General Conference, as well as the fact that that can expedite an opportunity.

There was a baby blessed today, and afterward my heart started doing that pitter patter thing, where you know you are going to get up, even though you don't know what you are going to say. Perhaps unsurprisingly, I shared my sentiments on birth and death, and then even less surprisingly, I started to cry, and then I sat down and cried harder. I couldn't stop, for what felt like a long time. At least until the end of the meeting. A friend of mine, sitting in front of me, turned around to give me a package of kleenex. It was a small gesture in such a time, but it was a gesture, and I was grateful. Strangers were kind to me after, which I guess is one of the reasons we sometimes say something out loud in church. Or maybe it is just why I do, and on a day like today, when I needed kindness.

The services for Spencer's mother happened on Wednesday (which happened to be Yom Kippur, the Day of Holiness or Atonement). They were I think, just what she wanted, that is: simple and based largely on the Savior. One of her brother's spoke, the other sang, and her sister read the eulogy. Each of her children also spoke briefly, as well as her husband. Everyone's remarks were sweet and brave. Her grandchildren are mostly small, but they sang "I am a child of God," and one of my little nephews blew me a kiss during it, after I blew one to him. (Which means that maybe I shouldn't have done that, but it warmed my heart.)

There was a viewing the night before, and that is where I cried the most, aside from the night of the actual passing, or the days preceding it, when we knew it was immanent. What made me cry so hard? A conversation with one of Spencer's closest friends, wherein he asked me how Spencer was really doing, because he wanted to know, and also understood that most people in Spencer's situation just nod and say that they are fine, when they are really not fine. I was grateful that someone was that caring towards my husband in one of his greatest times of need.

The other moment of vast tears was when I noticed a bouquet of flowers that was not like the rest. It was vibrant and beautiful, but made out of some material, rather than living leaves and buds. I soon found out that it was from her students, and that each flower contained a note written in a unique child's hand. I started to read them, and there was no way that I could not cry. One child expressed gratitude to Mrs. Steenblik for teaching her how to read and write, another for teaching him how to speak English, still another for teaching her her multiplication. Each child mentioned Janice's smile and kindness. Many mentioned specific moments when she showed her smile or kindness to them. Many more told her that she was the best teacher that they had ever had, and that they missed her.

Sometime later I noticed a woman in line to pay her respects, that I recognized. She was the teacher who subbed for Janice, when she was on her 6 months of sick leave. I met her because the very first day that Janice had to return to work she was still sick, and exhausted, and nervous, so Spencer and I accompanied her, and helped her teach for part of the day. The teacher was so kind then, so I greeted her now. She was hired full time and teaching the next grade up, meaning the same students Janice had last year. She had them make the flowers, and told me that they needed it for themselves, they were so distraught. One of the students, a girl, was standing in front of her with her dad. At class that day she begged her teacher to bring her, and convinced her father instead. She wanted to be there. I watched as this little girl looked at the body of her former teacher, and could not help but feel for her and with her.

Many others gathered together that day and the next to show love, and also to mourn with many others who were mourning, as well as to rejoice in Janice's life.

In picture form:

Love notes from children.

Love notes to each other.

Post-crying eyes.

Pretty flowers designed by S's oldest sister, Aunika.

In peace.

Friendship.

Maybe this is my child's namesake.

Nephews x 2.

Nice niece.

I'll fly away, oh glory.

Farewell car ride.

When I was in New York, I met a woman who didn't look at herself in the mirror for one year.

For an art project slash life project. When she first looked at herself in the mirror, she wept.

She showed me the video, and told me that there is something very powerful about looking at yourself when you are weeping, or when you are mourning. She said it allows you to feel empathy for yourself: it allows you to love yourself. "Double pain, and double relief too."


OYP_VIDEO IN THE BOX N˚2 from Anita Sto on Vimeo

Maybe because of this, I documented S and I, seconds after finding out last night's heavy news. I wanted to know what our grief looks like. Suffice it to say that today is another day for pictures and mirror looking.

On cancer.

What do you do when one of your family members tells you that their cancer came back, that it is agressive, and that they have mere weeks (to months) to live?

This happened just moments ago. I feel paralyzed.

The disaster.

One to two days ago my sister's parents-in-law were confronted with a disaster: A fire, roaring across their Colorado Springs-town. They were given 45 minutes to evacuate. Both thought it was merely a safety precaution. Both thought they would be back within two days. These shared thoughts showed in their packing—two changes of clothes and two dirt bikes from the father, and two changes of clothes, a few pictures, and food items from the fridge to take to my sister's from the mother. That was (nearly) all.

Where their home of 24 years stood now stands ash and a scattering of bricks. There is one tree, half green, half scarred, and another tree, standing resilient. The mother-in-law is in mourning. (Very, very understandably in mourning.) What does she mourn for the very most? That she didn't pack anything of her mother's—that every physical remembrance is gone.

I would mourn that too. One hundred times over. One million times. I do mourn now, for this family member of my family member. I cannot even comprehend what their loss would be like, or how their loss must feel. I realized that they too could not comprehend it. It must be why she grabbed small things—temporary things. A French philosopher I read and loved, named Blanchot, wrote a book about how "the disaster" could not be written. This disaster could not even be thought of.

And the thing that happens after natural or other disasters is happening to me now. I am thinking about my sister's family, and my sister, and myself. I am thinking about the things that I value. I am thinking about the losses that may come, and the losses that have come. I am thinking about how to best be prepared. I am thinking about what I would have grabbed.

Spencer was asked this on a little questionare for my bridal shower. "What would you take in a fire?" He had to answer, and then I had to guess his answer. I got it wrong, because he said his piano. Jokingly. Not comprehending the reality that sometimes there are fires, and you have to take things from them if you want to keep them safe. If you want to keep them. I asked him again, this week, these days. We talked about our answers together: Each other. Our computers. Our passports. Our important papers. Pictures we might have (though we try to keep them backed up).

If I could, I would take my white bike, but it is resting in my grandma's garage. If I could, I would take my off-white wedding dress (that belonged to my other granny), but it is resting in my parent's home. (I wonder if I am safer, with my things divided, or if there is more of me to lose.)

I think again of the fragility of life, and how it can change in a moment. How it can be defined (or redefined) in a moment.

I think of my own disaster, that I tried to write about, because I needed to get it out of me. I needed the words down on paper, so I could be grateful, and so I could remember in a way that heals. Almost every day I notice the scars on my legs and wrist that weren't there before. One day when I couldn't keep from looking at them, Spencer reminded me, "Everyone has scars." I pointed to the biggest one. I touched it gently, while whispering something to Spencer about its size relative to the others. He told me that I had a bigger one, one that I hadn't noticed. He was hesitant to tell me, but told me anyway: it was on my back, where I had laid in a pool of glass and blood for hours. Of course it was. How could I have forgotten?

The last few days have found me glancing at my scars in gratitude. They are reminders that I am still alive.


Their house before the ravaging:

Their house after:

The first day of Spring

brought a new little niece to me, and a new little daughter to my brother Joe, and his wife Sarah. We knew for a short while that today would be the day, because my sister-in-law was going to be induced, but it was still a delight and surprise when I got the message that she came. It was also a delight and surprise when I woke up today and realized that it was officially Spring. Really, what better day to be born? What better way to begin this perfect season than with a birth? The season itself exemplifies all things life, all things hope.

I still remember a day in Utah that was an in between Winter/Spring day. It was cold outside. And I was walking to school. And there was snow on the ground. When I got to the campus and was walking up the dreaded hill (the one on the South side, near the duck pond), I saw daffodils springing forth out of that cold, hard ground. I was still. I was still because things that look dead aren't really dead, and Spring is the best time to remember that. On other blustery days I would consciously remind myself, "There is Spring. There is hope." The reminder soon became a mantra to me. Or perhaps a prayer. I would think it so often and so sincerely. It may have been the only way I made it through those short days and long nights.

I also remember other Vernal Equinoxes, when there wasn't a baby to celebrate. Just the season itself, and its accompanying promise of warmth and light. That was enough. And so we gathered together, to eat, and drink and share. There were multiple go around the circle activities, where persons present could read a poem or scripture, or perhaps pass around a picture. We would also say our favorite thing about Spring, just as we previously sat (or danced) in a circle sharing our hopes and joys of Winter. And Summer. And Fall. Sometimes during Spring Equinox we planted seeds carrying wishes written in very small hand. Other times just scraps of paper. Twice we dyed eggs naturally with onion skins (and other things). Once they came out the deepest red. Another time they looked red in the water, but came out a warm yellow.

The next year I read a little book, called "The Tree that Survived the Winter," because my year had been a very hard year. One that felt like winter.  (It is really a marvel that I survived.) Someone inevitably talked about symbolism. I probably also talked about Persian New Year. There were always candles. There was nearly always flute playing and jumping over those candles. There was always chanting. Quiet to loud, with strands of words that meant Spring to us. I don't remember them now, except "Verdant" and "Green," but there were so many. One for each person.

This year my word would be "Scarlet." And if I were given three words, they would be, "Scarlet Rose Hunt," the babe's whole name. If I were given four, I would add, "Hope," because that is what Spring signifies for me the very most. One more fact about the baby: she is just a few ounces short of 7 pounds (which I suppose is not a very complete fact, but it is the best I can do). Also, I love this picture my brother posted.

I think it is something about Scarlet's big sisters peeking in at her, with curiosity mingled with awe, mingled with hesitation. And I love these old Boston/Equinox pictures. And each person/memory associated with them.

Circa 2011 (don't let the time stamps deceive you):

Circa 2010:

Circa 2009:

 

198x.

I love old pictures. And remembering that at one time I was a baby, and then a toddler with blonde hair.

What do you love about old pictures?

Nicknames I have been given over the course of my life.

(In approximate order.)

+Ray Charles
+Rach E. Bob
+Bobbie
+Little Tiny Girl
+Little Peanut
+Rapunzel
+Squanto
+Rach
+Rachie
+Rackel
+Rachel "Radiation" Hunt
+Ray Ray
+Eighteen
+Precious Rachel
+Patience Rachel
+Yellow Bird
+Baby Girl
+Baby G.
+Dear Heart
+Rachel the Elder
+Pocahontas
+Madam Librarian
+Mademoiselle
+Rachie-Rach
+Rachie-pup
And so forth.

The following video has many gems, as those who have watched it well know, but one particular gem/piece of wisdom concerns the fact that you can't give yourself a nickname. Rather, they are something that must be bestowed upon you. I think that is why I am so fond of them. Each one ties you to someone else, and invokes a memory of place or time or whole groups of persons. I still remember being a small child and opening up presents on Christmas day addressed to 'Rapunzel' 'Rach E. Bob' and 'Bobbie,' and knowing that they were just for me. From that same period of life, I can still hear my dad call me 'Little Peanut,' and my mom: 'Little Tiny Girl.' From high school I remember running by the pole vault pit during a race and having my friends shout, "Rackel! Rackel! Rackel!" at the top of their lungs, and being able to push harder with their encouragement. Then there is the fact that Meg and Kristina still call me 'Baby Girl' on occasion, like they did when we were 19, and Francesco (and his wife) still call me 'Precious.' It sure makes a girl feel loved (and also known).

'Rach' and 'Rachie' remain my favorite nicknames, because they are almost always spoken by a family member or best friend.




What are some of your nicknames? Favorites/least favorites? What do you wish were some of your nicknames? (I have one that I wish was on my own list, and that I definitely tried to make myself. I was always sad when I was small that we were called Mormons and wanted to be called Nephites, so distinctly remember writing my sister a note during sacrament that said, "Love, Rachel, the Nephite Princess.")

Los Angeles, I'm yours.

I have an answer now.

I am 99% going to spend this interim living at my grandma's house in Los Angeles. I decided one night while talking to my oldest brother, who lives in southern California too. Maybe I was just happy to have reached a conclusion, but it was the best I have felt about anything in a long time. When I told my younger brother he responded that he feels like living at grandma's after college is a rite of passage for Hunt children that he somehow avoided, which is perhaps why he doesn't feel like an adult yet. And it is a passage for Hunt children, but only some. I will be the third to do it, following my two older brothers. This is not completely surprising, as I similarly followed them on serving a mission and attaining an advanced degree.

I simply feel that a home surrounded by avocado and lemon trees may be the perfect place for me to be right now. And also, I may or may not have prayed that the Lakers would win the championship as confirmation for my decision. Sorry, Celtics fans!

Dear everyone,

I haven't written for awhile. I am sorry. I have been tired, and a little bit busy--attending book readings, crafting papers, preparing presentations, other general finishing of my term, playing nanny, meeting Danny Ainge, visiting New York, flying across the country, and eating pizza.

Of my fall semester the truest thing I can say is that it was hard. The second truest thing I can say is that it was good: I liked my classes, my program, and my classmates.

Now after boarding a plane, and being in far too many cities in one day, I am in Provo, and have been for a little while. I am currently sitting on a couch in my family's home, where there is a picture of me in a frame, in the entry way, and where a 3 year old girl runs down the stairs in the morning yelling my name.

Since my return, my sister Charity has called me Pocahontas, my niece Eden has called me Charity, I've read 3 1/2 books, watched 2 movies, seen a small handful of friends, failed to settle Catan, had numerous kitchen and living room dance parties with my sisters/niece, admired the lights at Temple Square (though I was cold and maybe hungry), remembered that the Broadway is my favorite movie theater in all of the US and that Ritter Sport Marzipan is my favorite candy in all of the world, watched more sports in a single night than I watched in an entire year (Go Cougs/Lakers!), passed my 3 year mark home from my mission, and delivered cookies/Christmas caroled with my family.

I can feel how good it is to be here.

Sincerely,

Rachel

My grandma is 90 years old.

This feisty little lady turns 90 today, all 4'11" of her. I think its the water aerobics and the good karma. Anyhow, I hope that I can stay as healthy as her. I love her best for being a convert, and that when my grandpa told her, "If you join the Mormon church, I'm going to join the Catholic church," she joined anyway, because she felt like it was right. And then when he saw that she was determined, he decided to learn more, and was taught by the sisters. That became particularly important to me when I was a missionary.

I also remember her for her lemon trees and avocado trees, trips to Disney Land and the Ocean, and the general good fact that she lives somewhere sunny. I also remember her for her bright red dress at Cumorah's wedding, and saying, "Well somebody's gotta wear red!" Then there is parking. I cannot find a good spot and not think of her. My mom related that whenever our grandma found a close space she'd exclaim, "I must be living right!" and she would say it too. Some of my sisters and I started saying it to tease our mom, but now we really just say it.

Happy birthday, Grandma!