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.

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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!"

From Minnesota with Love.

Minnesota has been lovely (albeit a tad too hot for me, with a tad too many mosquitos). I fly back to LA this evening, and while it will be good to no longer have to talk to Spencer through the interwebs and phone lines, I will miss this calm, pretty place. I will miss the green fields and green trees. I will miss the quiet. I will miss the safe feelings I feel here. I will miss the ivy covered brick buildings. I will miss the library. I will miss the track a small jaunt away that helped me feel happier (and more myself) than I have felt in a long time. I will miss hearing snippets of Kierkegaard conversations everywhere I go. I will miss being with one to two good friends everywhere I go. I will miss my Danish classmates and my Danish class. I will even miss the fact that the majority of Kierkegaard scholars are as (socially) anxious as Kierkegaard. I will miss. I will miss.

I will/do look forward to Spencer, taco trucks, the ocean, two little dark haired darlings who I love, their angel mother, my grandma with (and without) her always abundant avocado and lemon trees, and the weather that is very nearly always perfect.

xo

(pictures and follow ups to come)

On sickness.

I think I threw up 20 distinct times today. The latest being not that late ago. As a direct causation of that, my heart is still a little racy and my body is still a little sweaty. And I want my mom. Or I guess anyone to hold back my hair, wipe my forehead, encourage me to take tiny sips of water, feed me bland food (and/or popcycles) when I'm ready, and tell me it will be okay.

Spencer has been at school all day, so I have held back my own hair, wiped my own forehead, encouraged myself to take tiny sips of water (which I promptly threw back up), mustered all of the courage I had to again get out of bed and take a (thankfully) soothing bath, climbed on top of a chair to reach the Ritz crackers (which was the blandest food we had, and was, unfortunately like the water, not bland enough), and told myself it would be okay, despite the continued vomiting. I also managed to read several excellent articles from old dialogue issues. My favorite was by Claudia Bushman, and was on her "short happy time at Exponent II."

I am praying I will a. be able to fall asleep, and b. not feel wretched tomorrow. It is supposed to be a big day.

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.

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.