On homelessness and pioneers.

Kristus er som en lilje på marken og fuglen i luften.

Christ is like the lilly in the field and the bird in the air. How so? Because he has nowhere to lay his head. In Philosophical Fragments, Kierkegaard's pseudonym, Climacus, wonders if this made Christ unable to understand the essentially human, as humans tend to care about home and head-laying and things of the morrow.

Inspired by these same passages, my dear friend, Deidre, pointed out (first while sitting on couches in her temporary living room, and second while standing at a Mormon pulpit while I sat on a Mormon pew) that in the very same scriptural breath that Christ mentions some of these things, he asks his followers to do the same, by simply saying, "Come follow me." She mentioned that he says other strong words, about the dead burying their dead and son being against father.

It may not be surprising, then, that early Latter-day Saints were asked to follow Christ in homelessness, by giving up everything familiar and comfortable to follow the dictates of their conscience and their new faith. What may be more surprising is that they were repeatedly asked to build temples (i.e., houses) for the Lord, amidst personal poverty, uncertainty, and external persecution.

Plans were made for temples that could not be finished due to the third of those "amidsts." Others (the Kirtland and Nauvoo) were completed, following great acts of sacrifice, time, and belief. Nauvoo took at least 5 years to build. And still they were pushed Westward. Still they were without a home.

When some of the saints arrived in Utah, it was announced prophetically that it "was the right place." Notwithstanding this, I wonder how much faith and hope and love it must have taken to be willing to work so carefully and painstakingly on a new temple, a new home, that they did not know for sure that they would get to enjoy. It makes the already impressive 40 year figure that much more impressive, and helps me feel greater gratitude for this building that means so much to S (as it meant so much to his ancestors who helped build it).

One of my friend's points in her inspiring speech is that many (if not most) of the things that we try to do in life fail, or don't last. We might lose a job or have trouble finding a job in the first place. We might anything. But (and this is a big But), we just build again. We just try again. We just work to have a (Christ-centered) home again, or to feel at home (my personal crisis).

This makes it even more beautiful that the Nauvoo Temple was rebuilt, and makes me feel honored to have been married by the architect who designed it.

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.

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.")

I was a music video.

Or, more truthfully: I was in a music video. More truthfully still: I was in two music videos! Both belonging to the wonderful Drew Barlow Danburry.

The first was filmed at the old Meg Space, and shows me standing in a corner talking to Davis, and then sitting on a couch, talking to Jordan.



The second was not, and does not. Here I am mostly standing in a corner of the yard talking to Becca and Kyle, or pretending to learn how to play croquet from Kyle. (Which documented instances lead me to believe that I am often standing in corners talking.)



Drew's songs never get old. And because I am thinking about it, my favorite Drew memory is from the very week that I went on my mission. I had gone to my Oregon home for one month before coming back to Utah to enter the MTC. I was already set apart, which means that I was already expected to act like a missionary and do some missionary things. It also meant that I had to have another person with me at all times. My mom would act as that person for the few days of interim. My sister had called me sometime during our long drive across states, telling me that Drew was playing at Cafe Sol and that I should come. I wouldn't be able to go inside because missionaries don't go to concerts, but I did want to go outside and say hello to all of my friends. The question was: would my mom be willing to come with me? She was tired and we got in late, but the ultimate answer was yes. With some coaxing, yes. And I am completely grateful. So many people I loved were there. So many hugs from the girls. So many handshakes from the boys. (I remember Davis hugging my mom since he couldn't hug set-apart-me.) The one person I didn't get to see was Drew himself, because he was playing inside. My friend Kristina suggested that maybe he would play a church song so I could come in. I wasn't sure it would work, but she disappeared to test it out. Soon after, I heard my name over the microphone, calling for me to come inside. Kristina and Meg each held one of my hands as I went in. The room was full of hundreds of indie kids. Francesco (who was born this very day, some years ago) was one of the first people I recognized. In true Francesco fashion, he started clapping, and in true how-everyone-acts-around-Francesco fashion, the rest of the room followed suit. They were clapping for me, for a long time. These hundreds of kids. Some whom I knew, some whom I didn't. It felt like a dream. The best dream. Then, in the midst of this applause, I was escorted to the very front so I could shake Drew's hand. Once I got there, he played the following song, for me, on that most beautiful night.



I cannot thank him enough for that memory. This song is still sweet to me, and the times I get to hear it the most are when I'm Utah home, from miss Eden. I love her renditions too, because whenever she sings it, she prefaces it the same way: "This is a song my mom sings me to help me go to sleep at night." Way to go Eden's mom (and Eden). Way to go Drew. You are champions.

Pizza Month: the most wonderful time of year.

As spoken by Mrs. Elizabeth Bevington-Seawright, and as agreed to by me.

For the third year in a row, October will find me eating pizza every day (or nearly every day), as per a combination of National Pizza Month and friend traditions (however East to West coast spread those friendships may be).

First pizza was CPK in Palo Alto with the Gallaghers. Second pizza was at a cheap, nondescript hole near Abby's San Francisco abode. Third pizza was sadly nonexistent as it was Sunday and I was a. unprepared and b. on the road for a majority of the day/night. Fourth, fifth, and sixth pizzas were homemade in Rich family fashion: fresh mozzarella, fresh basil, spinach, tomatos, sauteed onions and garlic, oregeno, already prepared dough, etc. When in line at Trader Joe's purchasing said items, the cashier smiled and asked, "Pizza night?" to which I smiled and answered, "Pizza month." He laughed, but I wasn't joking.

Seventh pizza will likely be from one of the places recommended to me by a new friend, by way of this list:

Happy Pizza!!

Bless, pt. 2.

Bless returning to Boston and sleeping in my own bed for the second time in one month. Bless subsequent sleepovers and shared futons, courtesy of the pup house. Bless journal clubs, private cello/mandolin concerts, and morning dance parties in that same house. Bless waking up to snowflakes and the whistling of a tea pot. Bless out of state visitors, planned and unplanned. Bless back rubs. Bless birthday girls, birthday breakfasts, birthday parties, birthday dinners, birthday cake. Bless MLK and the interwebs for allowing us to watch his speeches--he has been to the mountain top. Bless bubble tea and catch-up conversations. Bless family homes and family traditions.

Pizza month.

The tradition began last November, when my friends Max and Elizabeth had a dream, a dream of eating pizza every day for an entire month. They made their dream a reality, and while I wasn't a full participant, I did join them for a lot of pizza, and discussions about pizza.

They decided to move this year's Pizza Month to October, a. to align it with Official Pizza Month, and b. because that month fell sooner, and they love their pizza.

I chose to join them in this delicious undertaking, as did our friends Quinn and Courtney. The rule is simple: pizza every day, at least once a day, for the month of October. I have been following the afore mentioned rule for the last 29 days, and will follow it for two more. It has been a fine mix of homemade, Zing Pizza, Veggie Planet, and Trader Joe's. I am not tired of this pizza eating. To the contrary, it is still what I want to eat, generally more than any other food. And while National Pizza Month may end, thankfully eating pizza will not.

Our Autumnal Equinox.

Spring we jumped over flames while miss Klemm played a pan flute. Summer we danced along the esplanade with abandon, chanting our gratitude and longing for summer's sun and its silent promise of a return to warmth. Fall was more somber. Perhaps rightly so. Perhaps different seasons require different ceremonies. And so we found ourselves on summer's dock, sitting in a circle, enclosing a single pumpkin candle. Each person expressed gratitude for one thing: Katie for water cycles, Austin for the great poets, Julia for circles and their inclusiveness, Jared for his ears and the joy of sound, me for kindness and sincerity, others for still more. Next we shared poems, or scriptures, or drawings signifying what autumn means to us. There was a lot of talk about harvests and preparing for winter, but also about returning to the center of ourselves, and handling this transition with solace. Elizabeth made an interesting point that while winter and summer are steady--you look out the window and things look the same from day to day--fall and spring are somewhat transitory. And it is true. We stood at the water's edge with a pistachio in hand. Katie asked us to reflect on our last year, and those aspects we wished to preserve and internalize, as well as those aspects we wished to discard, before we placed the meat portion in our mouth and cast the shell aside. The symbolism was simple, but meaningful. There was still chanting, and even jumping over the solitary flame (just for good measure), but it was quieter, less complex. The chanting grew softer instead of louder, and our leap was not backed by flute.

I am still a little afraid of winter.

Picking apples, making pies.

Yesterday day was fall time bliss in all its forms: gold leaves, orange leaves, red leaves, taking the scenic route, Northborough, Cambridge friends, apple orchards, apple cider, apple donuts, apple pie, apple everything, as well as hay rides, smiling children (including baby Søren), pumpkin patches, and freshly made kettle corn. Delicious. To wrap up this perfection, yesterday night was the RS broad cast and a night bike ride to and from Belmont with Katie, which inspired me to say, "Assuming we don't die, this will have been a really good idea," and inspired Katie to answer that she likes any sentence that begins that way. Thank you, New England for being so lovely.

NYC

I got into NYC Monday night to see Becca. Last time we were in that city together we were both visitors--I on my spring break from Simmons, and she, interviewing at Columbia for film school. Thankfully she was accepted, and now as of last Wednesday, is an NY resident. I like that permanence and the shortened distance to Boston.

On this visit, we spent the first night traveling to Brooklyn's Ikea with Lee and walking so many steps. Becca had to balance how much she could purchase to furnish her as of yet unfurnished apartment with how much the three of us could carry on the long ride home. We came away with an odd assortment of things: a blanket for a bed that has yet to arrive, three rugs, two lamps, dishes, three pairs of colorful scissors, a scale, and hazlenut chocolate.

Becca had to work on a new draft of a script, so my second day was spent with Bronson, riding bikes from South Street Seaport, up the west coast along Riverside Park to 96th. It made me hot and probably dirty, but happy. We witnessed so many of those small, but beautiful moments that make up a life. Picnics, basketball and baseball games, children playing in water, parents watching nearby, etc., etc. After this we made my second trip to Brooklyn in two days. Bronson wanted to see the botanical garden. It was pretty, and worth wanting to see. Next we had good pita sandwiches at a place called Pita Pan Cafe--which name admittedly made me like it even more. At nighttime we heard Regina Spektor play for free at a Barnes and Noble. There I met back up with Becca and Lee, who were found in the chess section. We ate dinner together, along with Tyson's cousin who just moved to the city the day before, for her own grad school program.

This day Becca and I just slept, and woke, and took turns straightening our hair to take silly matching pictures in response to our friend Jendar's. They are funny--if only to us. Then we ate our daily pizza at Pinnacle with Lee, before boarding separate trains.

Now I am on a bus headed back to Boston, where I will sleep in my own bed precisely one night before flying west. Salt Lake and Provo first, then a road trip to LA the next day with Meg and Abby to celebrate Abby's birthday and also to meet baby Henry and see Pegah and Hyrum. It should be a dream.