Unto us a child was born.

Unto us a daughter was given. And her name shall be called:

Club PB&J.

Or: why my (Los Angeles) life is beautiful.

One reason my life is beautiful is because when I went to BYU I had the good fortune of becoming good friends with two boys named Spencer and Davis. They were both from Camarillo, California, and were the sincerest of the sincere and the funniest of the funny. (This Spencer is not to be confused with my Spencer, but is a very, very good Spencer nonetheless.)

A second reason my life is beautiful is because when we were at BYU they started a club called Club PB&J. Like the Mormon Women Oral History Project of which I am so passionate, the title is indicative of the objective. I.e., it entailed friends coming together, from all walks and areas of campus, to eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and to talk about them. There was a president, vice president, secretary and official motto: I eat PB&J all day everyday. This was recited at the beginning of each meeting. Club members also had the opportunity to share what type of jam they were eating, what type of peanut butter, and what type of bread. Minutes were taken.

A third reason my life is beautiful, is because the president (Davis) and vice president (Spencer) both live in Los Angeles now, with their wonderful wives (who happen to each be named Kim). The fourth reason my life is beautiful is because even though LA has the tendency to swallow people whole, I get to see them sometimes, and hear their jokes, which remain golden after all these years. The most recent time was for my birthday(!). We ate delicious pizza and made big (art) plans for the future (that I am crossing my fingers actually happens). And one day last May we sat on the grass under a sunny sky and ate PB&J together like old times (minus Spencer but plus another old Provo favorite: Chris Duce and his equally beloved wife Natalie.)

So many other good people are here now (The Coy's, Rogers, famous Dave Peterson, etc.). It makes a city that is not that easy for me to live in easy. And occasionally even wonderful.

Provo, 2005.

LA, 2011.

Happy birthday, Søren Kierkegaard.

May 5, 1813. You are favorite.

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!