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!"

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.)

Utah is lovely this time of year.

Something about the mountains, and the snow, and a dark green home by the lake, and another with a large front porch, and the public library with its ballroom, and hot chocolate at the hospital, and the people that I care about so deeply. I was filled with awe almost immediately upon landing in Salt Lake. During the drive to Provo I kept thinking, "The mountains are so beautiful. The mountains are so beautiful." Then when I arrived in Provo I was filled with love. So much love. Eden heralded my arrival by running up and down the stairs informing each person individually, "Rachel's here!" before proceeding to request my presence during every meal, every car ride, every dance, every watching of videos, every everything. Her commentary during the wedding may have been my favorite part (as sweet as the wedding was in itself). Mostly she would ask questions like, "Are they going to kiss?" and then add (when they did), "Oh, and they're hugging too." There was also something about how she hoped there would be music. Which there ultimately was. (Plus tea. Plus cake. Plus pastries. Plus yummy little sandwiches. Plus photobooths. Plus my nieces alternately running around as princesses and pirates. Plus toasts. Plus Charity catching the bouquet.) Both my brother and his new wife looked supremely happy. This made me happy, and grateful too. I am also thankful for my other siblings and siblings-in-law, who I do not get to see nearly enough, as well as for the wonderful traveling companions I had in my favorite architect and my favorite 92 year old grandma.

Thank you, Utah, for feeling like home.

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!

To sleep in the house your mother was raised in

There is something amazing to me about this, and I am doing it everyday for a week. As we drive my mom points out the schools she went to and the houses she knew and visited, telling me the things that stayed the same and the things that changed.

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!