On cupcakes, grandmas, and architecture.

Approximately six years ago, I drafted this post. I am publishing it now, on my grandma's 99th(!) birthday. This is still the way I remember her best.

...

Approximately one year ago I wrote about an architectural exhibition I helped with, called TIMEless. It was primarily Spencer's project, though it took a lot of work, and effort, and talent from numerous, numerous people. One of these talented people was Spencer's friend Taylor. She is an extraordinary event planner from Salt Lake City who came to LA for the week to help.

While there, Taylor and I baked 300+ cupcakes for the opening night of the exhibition, at my grandma's house, ten miles south of Los Angeles. (This is the grandma I lived with while attending Claremont, not the granny whose dress I wore.) Every 11 minutes or so, the buzzer would ring, signaling that the latest cupcakes were finished. And every 11 minutes or so, my grandma would jump, being startled: "What was that?!" Taylor would want to answer, but never did, "Just our 23rd batch of cupcakes!" It was pretty funny.

Sometime during the baking process Taylor and I had talked about childhood and how we loved to lick the beater. My grandma wasn't there for this part of the conversation, but brought up the same theme later when Taylor was getting ready, and after all of the cupcakes were finished. She asked if I had licked spoons and beaters when I was a child. "Yes, we had just been talking about that!" In her grandmotherly wisdom, she replied, "And not just for little children!" About this time, I walked out of the kitchen. Thankfully for me, I turned back in time to catch the most beautiful sight I may have ever seen: my 92 year old grandmother, 4'11" in height, picking up the wooden spoon, and then the giant bowl, to lick them both clean. When she finished, she looked up and grinned: "That was a pleasure, takes me back."

When it is her time to depart this life, that will be how I remember her, standing in her kitchen, licking that spoon and bowl, and smiling so big.

That night she was able to attend Spencer's show in Beverly Hills at the Pacific Design Center. Over 500 people came, making it much more successful than even I gave it credit for, though I saw all of the hard work and planning that went into it. Every cupcake got eaten, so I felt proud. I also got to see my grandma revel in Spencer's accomplishment: "He's so successful!"

Life's a Pizza!

Another National Pizza Month is about to come to a close.

This October did not find me eating pizza every single day (or even every other day) like in October's past. I believe only twice all together, but those two times count for a lot, because each one was shared with good people, and conversations with those good people.

I leave you with this song. (It is quite charming.)



Adieu, and happy pizza!

Spend a lazy Sunday

In my arms.

(I won't take, anything away.)

Also, when you live in Southern California, you can have evening picnics any day in October. And because your husband is with you (when he is spending lots of days and nights and weeks in Utah this autumn), you have them as often as you can. Backyard picnics. Schoolyard picnics. Etc., picnics. They are a delight.

For the beauty of Tala Stone jewelry: A Giveaway.

There is a woman in my life, who I love, that makes jewelry I also love. Because I love you too, I am introducing both, via a giveaway.

The woman's name is Pegah. She is the mother of these dark haired darlings, and one of my most cherished friends.

© Skye Blu Shoppe

When I finished school in Boston, poor, and heart-bruised, and uncertain of my future, she welcomed me into her home while I tried to figure out my next steps. It was a healing time for me, largely because she and her children are healing. We went on walks together every evening, played in parks, and occasionally got our nails done. When I was sick she shared her juice with me, and bought me sushi. Many days we just talked. The good kind of talks that you don't want to end, that are about things of consequence.

I treasure every moment I have with her. The lasts were during Spencer's dream graduation week, and were perfect. But how could they not have been, filled as they were with "so many bubbles" in the words of her oldest, and cuddle time with her youngest? That littlest's middle name also happens to be part of the inspiration for Pegah's jewelry, which is just as lovely as she is a person.

The middle name is Tala, which means gold in Farci. The shop is Tala Stone, and the necklace up for grabs is the very delicate and classic "Tiny Gold Circle Necklace." I ordered my own earlier this week, and am already dreaming about wearing it every day. (Especially every day I wear a dress.)

She also has a tiny heart necklace that I love. And a little skull one. And some very pretty raw brass, geometric earrings. And etcetera.

To enter, simply leave a comment with your email and a note about your favorite piece from Tala Stone. To enter twice, simply do the first two things, plus share this link on your social media outlet of choice, then let me know that you did. Also, please be a US resident :) (as the giveaway is open to US residents only). The winner will be selected randomly a week from Sunday. Best of luck!

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.

Finished!

Remember that one time I chose to go on two trips in the middle of my finals? Oh, me too. Let's just say I have never been more excited to finish a paper. And also that tomorrow begins the slow recovery of my life.

Conference Weekend.

I missed Utah, and bike rides, and picnics, and waffles, and front porches, and kites, and not having an almost 30 page paper due that Saturday.

I liked President Uchtdorf's talk and knowing that many people I care about were hearing the same messages and songs I was, albeit in different cities, states, and countries. I liked watching the Hunger Games Saturday eve.

The Napping House.

My 93 year old grandma encourages people to take naps. In fact, one of the first things she says to people when they walk into her home is, "Oh, you must be so tired! Why don't you take a nap?" It doesn't matter what time it is. You got there at 10 am, and only had an hour drive? "Oh, you must be so tired!" You've been there for three days, and are reading a book? "Oh, you must be so tired!" And because I often am tired, I tend to take her up on the offer. 

Thus it is possible for Spencer to ask me after church, "Are you going to take a nap?" And when I answer, "Yes, how did you know? Because it is Sunday?" it is possible for him to say, "You took a nap every day you lived here! You've taken a nap every day since you've been back! The fact that it is Sunday only increases the likelihood!" 

It is also possible for me to remind him that he fell asleep yesterday on the couch, one hour after waking, and that my grandma teetered over to him with her walker, to carefully lay a blanket on his resting form. (It was a sweet sight.)

I said this on a Sunday.

(In Vienna, early fall.)

James 1:27 states, "Pure religion and undefiled before God and the Father is this, To visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction, and to keep himself unspotted from the world." The first time I remember hearing this scripture, I was in high school and was running around the local track with my father. We ran together often, and as we ran our conversations frequently turned to things of the spirit. He told me that this verse extended to everyone who was lonely, and everyone who was in need, including the poor and the destitute. Because of this, I am going to include those things as well.

President Dieter F. Uchtdorf spoke about the Welfare Program of the church in this last conference. Among many important things, he said, "Sometimes we see welfare as simply another gospel topic--one of the many branches on the gospel tree. But I believe that in the Lord's plan, our commitment to welfare principles should be at the very root of our faith and devotion to Him."

There are three main points that I would like to impress upon each of you. The first is that we are all beggars. The second is that we are all responsible. The third is "why" we give. I would like you to think about these things as I talk with you.

One. We are all beggars. There are probably times when you have needed help. The help that you have needed has probably varied. At times it may have been an answer to a temporal need, at other times a spiritual one. Perhaps some combination. I hope that that help came, in whatever form you needed it.

There have been times in my life that I have needed help. One of these instances occurred last year, after I finished my Master's degree in Boston. I wanted to stay there. I looked and looked for a job. I had done well in school. I had work experience in my field. I met with professors and advisors regularly to seek help in fine tuning my resume and cover letters. All to no avail. It was a very demoralizing time for me, to work long hours every day, with nothing positive to show for it. The weeks passed. And the months. And I was still unable to secure employment. I couldn't afford to stay in Boston very much longer. Around that time, my oldest brother called me and invited me to come live with his family in California. He asked me to nanny my nephew for a few months, before his wife went on maternity leave for their second child. It rescued me. It instilled my life with new purpose. That purpose was to love a 2 year old child with curly, black hair--to read to him, play with him, and feed him. I was able to help my brother, but even more, he was able to help me, and do something that I could not do for myself at that time. He was able to give me a place to sleep and a car to drive, among many other generous temporal things. There were also many spiritual gifts given to me at that time, including love and encouragement. Because of those things, I was also able to use that time to apply to PhD programs, and ultimately got into my dream school. Then there are the kindnesses of my sister-in-law. There was one unfortunate month during that stay that I was very ill, and could barely leave the house. I was sick and she more than visited me. She bought me juice. She shared her meals with me when I was too tired to cook food for myself. I remember one particular evening when she ate sushi with me and talked with me.

I have not only been blessed by family members in times of need, but by ward members, including those in our shared ward family. Two days after our arrival in Vienna, my husband and I were still without a place to stay. We happened to meet a sister from the ward. A kind sister. She asked my husband how we were, in a very genuine way, and he told her we were fine. Probably also in a very genuine way. I however, who am not quite as adventurous as my husband, was not fine. She asked me how I was, and I started crying. She listened as I told her our story--how we were married one month before, how the day after that, we were hit by a semi-truck, did an aerial through the sky, and landed upside down in a deep ravine, how because of that we were unable to leave for Europe as early as we had planned, how despite that, we had spent the last two weeks in Europe, bicycling across Slovenia and Croatia, and how (for the time being) we had only those things we had been carrying on our bikes, how we spent our first night in Vienna at a hostel and the second night sleeping beside a campground, because the campground itself was unfortunately closed for the season (unbeknownst to us), and my knee was too hurt and too injured to ride any further.

When I finally stopped talking, this sister did what sisters do. She gave me a hug, and invited us into her home. And after bicycling many days in the wilderness, her house truly was the land of milk and honey. And even more wonderful, it was the land of herbal tea and American peanut butter--which two things I had been desperately missing.

We were strangers, and she took us in. We were hungry, and she fed us supper. I was dirty, and she let me take a shower in her bathroom. She handed me a towel. She showed me where the shampoo was. The conditioner. She let us wash our clothes. I think she did these things, because she knew, like King Benjamin, and like others, that when she did these things to us, she was doing them to Christ, and was, in a very real way, "merely in the service of her Lord."

These original kindnesses extended into deeper kindnesses. One of my first thoughts was that we would never be able to be as nice to this couple as they were to us. Then I realized that on one hand, there might come a day when we would be able to be that nice to someone else. We could as it were, "Pay it forward." But, on the other hand, I realized that that wasn't really the point. It wasn't really the point that I couldn't repay them deed for deed, because while that is still true, my current status does not make me exempt from service or from giving. I am still responsible. Right now. Regardless of my circumstances. I can still share meals with those who may need nourishment or company. I can still give of my time. Etcetera.

None of us are exempt from this pure gospel of giving. And indeed, each of us is responsible for everyone else, which is my second point, confirmed by President Uchtdorf: "Please do not think that this is someone else's responsibility. It is mine and it is yours. We are all enlisted. “All” means all—every Aaronic and Melchizedek Priesthood holder [and I would add every Beehive and Relief Society sister], rich and poor, in every nation. In the Lord’s plan, there is something everyone can contribute."

My third point concerns why we serve. President Uchtdorf reminded us that we visit the orphans and widows, feed those who are hungry, and clothe those who are naked because all things are spiritual to the Lord. He said, "The two great commandments--to love God and our neighbor--are a joining of the temporal and the spiritual. It is important to note that these two commandments are called "great" because every other commandment hangs upon them." He went on to lament, "Unfortunately, there are those who overlook the temporal because they consider it less important. They treasure the spiritual while minimizing the temporal. While it is important to have our thoughts inclined toward heaven, we miss the essence of our religion if our hands are not also inclined to our fellowman."

Because this is the Lord's principle, the Lord himself taught it when He was on the Earth. It explains why, time after time, He took care of people's physical needs first, whether by feeding them loaves and fishes, or by healing all manner of their infirmities. One important time, he even encourages the Nephites to go to sleep. It is in 3rd Nephi, after he visits them and teaches them. He said, "I perceive that ye are weak, that ye cannot understand all my words which I am commanded of the Father to speak unto you at this time. Therefore, go ye unto your homes, and ponder upon the things which I have said, and ask of the Father, in my name, that ye may understand, and prepare your minds for the morrow, and I come unto you again." I really appreciate these verses, because I know myself when I am hungry, and I know myself when I am tired, and know that during those times I don't see reason, let alone the soft, gentle guidance of the Spirit. Christ wanted to teach the people. He wanted to nourish them spiritually, but He also knew that not even He could do that effectively until their physical needs were met, which in this case meant sleep.

I recently saw something very beautiful, and because it is not only beautiful, but relevant, I am going to share it with you. It was a short video, showing a Brahmin man who knew these same truths. In his own words:

I was working for Taj Group of Hotels Bangalore. I saw a very old man. He was eating his own waste for hunger. I thought what is the purpose of my life? What am I going to do? In a star hotel, I feed all my guests. But where in my hometown there are people who are living, even without food. I quit my job, and I started feeding all these people from 2002... We feed the homeless, mentally ill, destitute, and the old people who have been left uncared for of the society. People are suffering for food. They don't have food to eat. If you don't give them food to eat, they will die of human hunger. I cut their hair. I give them a shave, I give them bath. For them, to feel psychologically that they are also human beings, there are people to care for them, they have a hand to hold, hope to live. Food is one part. Love is another part. So, the food will give them physical nutrition. The love and affection which you show will give them mental nutrition.

Being a Brahmin community and an orthodox family there are a lot of objections. Brahmins are not supposed to touch these people, clean these people, hug these people, feed these people. Everybody has got 5.5 liters of blood. I am just a human being. For me everybody the same. There are thousands and thousands, and lots and lots of people suffering. What is the ultimate purpose of life? It's to give. Start giving. See the joy of giving.

I especially love his testimony that, "Food is one part. Love is another part." It is true. It is also that same linking of the temporal and spiritual that President Uchtdorf talked about. And while we are told that "the poor will always be with us," we must still work toward zion now. We must still work towards becoming a people of "one mind, one heart, with no poor among us" now. This is our duty. This is our call. Of this I testify, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Car wreck(ed).

This might be a sad post, but it is necessary for me to write. I want to remember what happened, so I can be thankful for the miracle that I am still alive and Spencer is still alive. It happened the day after we were married. The very day. We saw my family that morning. We ate crepes. We opened gifts. We prayed because we were about to drive to our home in Los Angeles, from my parent’s home in Provo, Utah, and while it was a drive we were familiar with, my parents taught me to pray before going on long journeys. We got in our car. We drove past St. George. We were in Nevada, near Mesquite. Spencer was driving. It was my car. Our only car. Things were fine until they weren't: we had good snacks, good tunes, and a good book to read. The unraveling of the fine began with a large semi-truck appearing in the mirror. I saw it first, from the passenger side. It seemed dangerously close, and was dangerously getting closer. In sudden urgency I asked Spencer if he saw it too. He did, but there was little he could do. There was another semi in the right hand lane, so his initial effort to steer that way also had to be accounted for. He turned again toward the left, and that is when we were hit from behind, on the left rear side. The car spun, went off of the freeway, did an aerial in the sky, rolled down a hill, and landed upside down in a deep ravine. We were still intact, but barely.

Spencer was momentarily knocked out, making me momentarily believe that he was dead. One day after I married, I thought my husband was dead. I called Spencer's name. Some seconds passed before he came to. Anyone who has been in a similar situation knows that seconds in such instances feel like eternities, and eternities like seconds. And perhaps to thoroughly demonstrate that he was not dead, but alive, Spencer did what any alive person would do in his situation and climbed out a shattered window, before climbing back in. I think it was also to show me that he could breathe and that we could breathe, because for reasons I cannot explain, I was terrified that we would suffocate (and expressed such fears), despite the fact that every window was broken open, and therefore letting air in. For my part (and though very much alive) I was laying still in a pool of glass and blood. And would continue laying there for a long time, because when the EMT’s came, I told them that my neck hurt, because it did. And then they wouldn’t let me move after that. I regretted not telling them until after I got out of the car. One reason it took so long is that they were having trouble killing the battery, and understood the danger of the car starting on fire, so were themselves afraid to come in. I assure you that them telling me this did not make me any calmer. Eventually they did get me out, and onto a board.

Every act of movement tortured me. I have seen those boards before, but I didn't know how hard they were--I didn't know that they were hard. I thought that they would be soft and comfortable, comforting the injured. Instead, they are almost piercing in their firmness and inability to give. Being lifted up into the ambulance was a new kind of pain, and then having my head and neck secured against the board was another. Whatever they used was digging into the back of my head, and that became the pain I focused on. If I could have lifted my arms up (I couldn't, though they weren't strapped), I would have tried to rip that thing off of me. Spencer was in the ambulance, but not in the back with me. I couldn't see him for their rules. I kept calling his name, and pleading for him to hold my hand, hold anything. Do anything. He would call back to me, every time. He had dug my computer out of the wreckage, and opened it. I had been playing Ashley Mae's homemade video of our wedding, over and over, and now, in the ambulance on the way to the hospital, Spencer started playing it over and over too. Again, because he was apart from me, I couldn't see the screen, but listened to the words, and knew what was playing. That song, that video, was the single thing that could calm me and help me breathe simply again. In real ways it rescued me.

Once we got to the Emergency Room at the Mesa View Regional Hospital they examined me and x-rayed me. Everything felt long and painful. It was difficult for me to sit still for the x-rays, though it was equally difficult for me to move. They gave me medicine for the pain. Two pills of something. They made me throw up twice, when I stood up. (Maybe once for each pill?) And then soon after, they made it so I couldn't remember anything. One of the few things I do remember is a nurse saying that they needed to get me a top to wear, because my shirt was destroyed. I was confused, and didn't know what she was talking about. When I saw my shirt later, it was half covered in blood. There were so many holes where the glass was gouging my skin. That is what my back looked like. During this time Spencer had called his relatives. A cousin of his would be picking us up and taking us to his home in St. George. I don't remember the ride. I don't remember talking to my own parents on that ride, though Spencer assures me that I did. I don't remember the blessing I received. I don't remember the apparently constant question asked me at the hospital, concerning how much pain I was experiencing, on a scale from 1-10. Spencer told me about it sometime later, and that I always said 2. I thought it was strange and mildly funny that I would say that, on the night of the most physical pain I have ever experienced.

The next thing I would remember was not even waking up, but the part right after waking up. I was sitting on a stranger's stool at a counter. He was making me a smoothie. Spencer's dad and grandpa picked us up and drove us to LA. I slept most of the way. They flew back to Salt Lake, and we borrowed the truck for a week so we could do errands and finish moving-to-Europe preparations. It was very nice of them. All of those things, really. I would spend the next week recovering at my grandma's house, and Spencer would spend it driving into the city to try to expedite a new passport, and visa, and etcetera, since those things were lost in the wreckage. Spencer's parents and my parents would come to our much smaller reception in Claremont, to make sure that we were still alive. We were, despite sore necks, backs, and in my case knee. I was limping badly, which limp would remain through Milan and part of our bike trip, and sometimes now, when I walk up or down stairs (I am an old lady). It was so nice to see my parents. And my oldest brother. And my sister-in-law. And their very precious children. And my very precious grandma. And mine and Spencer's very precious friends.

We would make it to Europe a week or so later, despite the wreck, and despite the 6,000 canceled flights due to East Coast earthquakes/hurricanes. All it would take were some pretty terrible circumstances in Baltimore, Maryland (of which city I might be terrified, due to mine and my brother's love of The Wire), and some less terrible circumstances staying with Spencer's sister Kiersten in New Jersey before we could catch a flight to France. I would spend the next several weeks watching bruises appear and slowly disappear. They covered my legs, my hips, my torso. While bicycling Spencer would have to tell me if it was free to cross streets, because I could not turn my neck to check myself. I still have scars on both knees, and one on my right wrist, but am doing okay otherwise.

This is where we fell.

This is my broken car, frontside.

This is my broken car, backside.

This is my shirt.

This is some of my family, whom I love.

Love LA.

(AKA: the first of a flurry of belated blogging.)

Sometime in the summer, my lovely sister, Liahona, and her very precious daughter, Ede, drove S and I to our old home of Los Angeles. (We had driven our friend's car to Utah for her, and were semi-stuck.) Lia rescued us, in more than one way. Not only did she drive us the ten hours, she took our engagement pictures for us. The very day we got in. Pre-shower. Pre-unpacking. Pre-anything. We stopped by Spencer's house first, and walked down the street to the Disney Concert Hall, so he had the full gamut of what he could wear, but not I. How do I compete with a man in a tuxedo? :)

Thankfully for me, we took more photos the next day. Post shower. Post me seeing a pretty place in Beverly Hills, and asking if we could pull over. I am counting my lucky stars the answer was yes.

The last two are my favorite favorites. That Liahona, she is a champion.

I am from:

+Klamath Falls.
+Grants Pass.
+Baker City.
+John Day.
+Cottage Grove.
+Provo.
+Long View.
+Florence.
+Stockton.
+Fair Oaks.
+Cameron Park.
+Boston.
+Valencia.
+Pico Rivera.

Last week I drove through nearly all of them.

Dance Yrself Clean.

Who: S and maybe 10 to 14 others.
What: Dance Painting. (And Scratchboarding. And Spin Art.)
Where: Somewhere in the vast expanses of LA. (Heaven knows I do not know the name of the place.)
When: Last Friday.
Why: For fun!!!! (And a much needed break from philosophy paper writing.)

It was a most magical night, filled with many more beautiful and delightful things, such as crepe eating, new friendship forming, and dancing around a smallish room, while painting on paper, walls, and people (all sadly un-photographed). Let your imaginations run wild, and in the meantime, enjoy my humble art made pre and post dancing. It might make me overly proud--likely because it is the first art I have created since I was a (middle school) child.

Parking tickets will be the death of me.

Gotta get to the center. Gotta get to the concert.

Jenny Lewis opened, which was a) a nice surprise and b) reminiscent of NYC 4th of July two years ago, when she and Conor played in a park for free. She remains lovely, and he: darling. So, so darling. As many times as I have seen him play, this was the first time as Bright Eyes, thereby making my 18 year old self's dream come true(!) It was every bit as great as I imagined it would be, only happier. Who knew a Bright Eyes concert could be so happy? Not I. Not, I. I was strongly reminded of live music's power to endow energy. Somehow this is a big deal to me, because I'm not extroverted enough to get energy from other people all of the time. Only sometimes. Only close friends and small group times. Most of the other things that give me energy are the actual, physical things that are supposed to give energy, like eating and sleeping, bicycling.

I felt glad for days afterward.

The following things are in my car.

+Jug of water.
+Larabars.
+Flashlight.
+Bright yellow blanket.
+Kant commentaries.
+Two kites (Disney Princesses and Toy Story).
+Bathing suit/towel.
+Spark plugs.
+Air compressor.
+Crepe maker.
+(Frequently) a bike.

You know, all the necessities.

S finished putting my bike together last week.

And the quality of my life has gone up one hundred fold.