Fall is HERE!

(Hear the yell.)

I also love this painting by Brian Kershisnik, titled "Fall Coming Like Three Sisters." It might be because I have three sisters, and I like the idea of anything coming like them. Or maybe it is just because it is beautiful.

Brigham Young on Zion.

I have Zion in my view constantly. We are not going to wait for angels, or for Enoch and his company to come and build Zion, but we are going to build it.

Dear Eunice,

You are the winner.

A sincere congratulations to you, and an equally sincere hope that you will love the Tala Stone Tiny Gold Circle Necklace as much as I. (I really have worn mine happily every day since it arrived.)

And a sincere thank you to all those who participated. I'm sorry that there could only be one winner. xo

Le petite prince. Le petite fox.

"Here is my secret. It's quite simple: One sees rightly only with the heart. Anything essential is invisible to the eyes." ― The tamed fox. Also, Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, the new C.S. Lewis.

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!

Sometimes a gold medalist writes a book and dedicates it to your dad.

The gold medalist is Dan O'Brien, former World Record Holder in the decathlon. The book is Clearing Hurdles: The Quest to be the World's Greatest Athlete. The dad is my dad.

To be fair, the book is dedicated to 31 people, 3 towns, and 2 dogs. My dad's name is listed near the top, and is the very first person under the rubric: "The coaches who made the difference." This is likely because my father, Larry Hunt, was Dan O'Brien's first track coach. Or, because he was the first person to suggest that he could be a great decathlete. That he should even try the decathlon.

Because of this, Dan O'Brien was a part of my childhood. Even a substantial part. He would eat at our house sometimes when I was very small, and when I was a little bit bigger, and he was competing in more world class meets, I would travel with my dad to watch him. Those drives from wherever we were living in Oregon to Eugene, or Sacramento, or etc., gave me some of my most cherished memories with my dad, and those meets gave me some of my most cherished memories in general.

They enabled me to be introduced to many of my childhood heroes, many times, including Carl Lewis and Jackie Joyner-Kersee. Plus, Dan O'Brien always paid me and my siblings special attention. Once in 1992 after winning his 100 meter dash, he walked over to where my little brother and I were standing and gave each of us one of the rectangular stickers with his lane number on it. I still remember that it was the number 2. And stranger's cameras flashing. And feeling special inside.

The day! The day! (Featuring little Rachel and little Sam
wearing his "Ran with Dan" shirt.)

Earlier that same year, a whole city spent a whole day honoring him. The small city was Klamath Falls, Oregon, the place of my birth and his growing up. The day was dubbed "Dan O'Brien Day," and it began with a mile run. Each participant received a shirt that said, "I ran with Dan" (which shirt I still own). Not every participant was invited to ride with him in his limo to subsequent events. I and some of my siblings were the very lucky few.

Later when I was in high school and participating in track myself, I had a signed poster of him hanging on my bedroom door that read, "To the Hunt kids, don't just do it, do the best!" I read it every single day. He would also call our house sometimes to get ahold of my dad, back when people called houses for such purposes. Whichever kid lucky enough to answer the phone would beam for weeks. (Or at least I would.) One such call came the week or so before my junior year's district track meet. I got wished "Good luck!" by the very best.

My sophomore year I got to accompany my dad to the US Olympic Track and Field Trials in Sacramento (where I would later serve my LDS mission). We had seats right in front of the finish line, on the third row. Dan was past competing by then, but was watching too. He gave me a big hug and kept saying, "You were the littlest Hunt girl! You were the littlest!" More feeling special. More flashes from strangers photographing me with Dan O'Brien. (And thankfully at least one coming from my dad.)

Sixteen in Sacramento!

Great day. Great beard.

Which brings us to this year, when my mom told me about his book and title page. I asked her if my dad had it yet, and, for whatever reason, he didn't. I made her promise that he wouldn't buy it for himself, and ordered a copy right away. I was able to present it to him when he came to California for Spencer's graduation. It was a tender, tender moment. The most tender of all was me asking him if he had seen the title page yet, and him saying that he hadn't, then him turning to it, and seeing his name there for the first time. I think we both might have gotten a tear in our eye, and he certainly made the slight wooshing sound/sigh he is famous for, when experiencing something particularly sweet or holy.

We had a one hour drive before us, just he and I. Just like the old times when we would journey to far away meets. He asked me to read to him from the book, and that was tender too. While standing in my church parking lot he had already discovered at least one story about himself, having to do with him getting to tell Bruce Jenner that he beat the World Record. It was a story I had never heard, but I soon got it from the horses mouth. (He said Dan got some of the details partially wrong.) On our drive, I began at the beginning. It was written remarkably well, and I can't wait to read the rest of it.

Upon being gifted.

Father/daughter/book. As it should be.

The tenderest moment.

The coach who made the difference.

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.

A time to remember.

This post is the post where I record a handful of things I want to remember about Spencer's mamma, mostly for Spencer, and myself, and any children we might have one day, who I will want to help remember this grandma that they didn't get to know here. She will be part of them, as she is most certainly part of Spencer.

• She was born in Salt Lake City.
• She lived in Missouri when she was a little girl. 
• Her family was part of the first LDS branch in Liberty. They met in the (in)famous jail.
• She also lived in New Zealand when she was a little girl.
• She loved the culture, and the poi ball dancing, which she apparently had great skill at.
• She loved Christ, simply and straightforwardly.
• She had/has a testimony in the atonement, which for her meant that we didn't need to be perfect, we just needed to tap into Christ's grace as perfectly as possible.
• She met her husband in high school. (They went to rival schools.)
• When he got home from his mission she asked him when they would get married. When he said, "Oh, about two years," she answered, "Okay, then I think I will go on my own mission."
• And she did. To Norway.
• She and her husband were sealed in the Salt Lake Temple, by President Thomas S. Monson.
• (Thomas S. Monson was also influential in her not extending her mission, so she could come home. It is a pretty good story.)
• She loved her five children dearly, and rumor is that they were her crowning jewels.
• She also loved her grandchildren dearly. Their laughter and play brought her some of her sweetest moments when she was sick, sick, sick.
• She had great respect and admiration for other cultures, and tried to learn all that she could.
• She also welcomed several individuals from other countries to live with her family. I think in part because she wanted her children to have an international perspective. It has rubbed off on S big time.
• Because of the above at least three women refer to her as their "American mother."
• She was her mother's favorite child. (Or so says all of her surviving siblings.)
• She cared deeply about education. It was probably her lifelong mission.
• She loved her students. And they loved her.
• She was so proud of Spencer for finishing his (very hard) masters. Everyone thinks the hope of attending his graduation kept her alive.
• She was a better cook than everyone says.
• She'd wake people up on their birthdays by singing to them. And she would decorate the table just for them, special. (I think children were allowed to open their gifts in the morning, but I could be mistaken.)
• She loved Christmas, but she (or her husband) made everyone dress formal. Even for opening presents.
• They did the Christmas Eve new pajama tradition.
• Her birthday is my dad's birthday, May 26.
• She spent her second to last birthday with Spencer and I in LA, helping Spencer with his architecture exhibition, TIMEless. (As I recall she even swept and cleaned the huge exhibition space, cheerfully.)
• She had a beautiful smile, even when laying in her last bed.
• When one of her daughters asked her what she wanted to do before she passed, she answered, "Climb a mountain."
• She did that too. A summit to the top, with help and love from others.
• More.

(If you are Spencer, or one of his sisters, or his brother-in-laws, or someone else who knew Janice, please write me stories and memories, so I can keep them safe. Thank you in advance.)

Update (on an update).

Even in the midst of these hard weeks and days there have been sweet moments, too. One was seeing some of my old Provo and Provo family, both of whom I love. I also feel closer to Spencer's family, which I'm sure he loves.

Zeke and Bing, pre-work.

Nana and Eden, post E getting a tad bit hurt.

My horse whisperer.

Myself.

Pretty. Grumpy.

Just pretty.

The one I love.

And again. (On the very day of loss.)

This field love day-of-days, the Autumnal Equinox was brought up, and someone in my family asked me how I used to celebrate it, when I used to celebrate it a lot. I explained our old rituals of jumping over flames, chanting/dancing, the one-at-a-time circle sharing of our favorite thing about the season, and/or a quote, poem, song, or drawing to go along with it. I also explained some of the more specialized rituals involving eating part of a nut and letting the other one go in the water, representing what we want to keep about our lives and what we want to change, or seeds planted with tiny letters written on them, of what we want to grow (which was actually more Spring), or folded paper boats with our secret wishes to be released into the same water (which was actually more Summer). After my telling, my family humored me in sharing their favorite part of fall. I was a tad bit surprised that they would be willing to do that for me, but they were, and it was quite touching--particularly on that holy, sad day. My favorite thing(s): family dinners with baked apple desserts, strolls through fields, feeding horses in those nearby fields, crisp, cool air, dreaming about more apple things (including fresh cider pressed from fresh fruit), and squash--all kinds of squash. (Plus reds and oranges and yellows if I lived somewhere where leaves could be those colors. And a special emphasis on temperatures below 100, wishing I lived somewhere where I could feel those temperatures.)

What are are a few of your favorite fall things?

An update (on a downdate).

I have been back in California for two days, and I am still exhausted, in almost every single way that a person could be exhausted: mentally, spiritually, emotionally, physically, etcetera. I also bore my testimony at church today, which I wasn't expecting. But, that may have been because I wasn't expecting it to be Fast and Testimony Meeting. I forgot that next week is October, and hence General Conference, as well as the fact that that can expedite an opportunity.

There was a baby blessed today, and afterward my heart started doing that pitter patter thing, where you know you are going to get up, even though you don't know what you are going to say. Perhaps unsurprisingly, I shared my sentiments on birth and death, and then even less surprisingly, I started to cry, and then I sat down and cried harder. I couldn't stop, for what felt like a long time. At least until the end of the meeting. A friend of mine, sitting in front of me, turned around to give me a package of kleenex. It was a small gesture in such a time, but it was a gesture, and I was grateful. Strangers were kind to me after, which I guess is one of the reasons we sometimes say something out loud in church. Or maybe it is just why I do, and on a day like today, when I needed kindness.

The services for Spencer's mother happened on Wednesday (which happened to be Yom Kippur, the Day of Holiness or Atonement). They were I think, just what she wanted, that is: simple and based largely on the Savior. One of her brother's spoke, the other sang, and her sister read the eulogy. Each of her children also spoke briefly, as well as her husband. Everyone's remarks were sweet and brave. Her grandchildren are mostly small, but they sang "I am a child of God," and one of my little nephews blew me a kiss during it, after I blew one to him. (Which means that maybe I shouldn't have done that, but it warmed my heart.)

There was a viewing the night before, and that is where I cried the most, aside from the night of the actual passing, or the days preceding it, when we knew it was immanent. What made me cry so hard? A conversation with one of Spencer's closest friends, wherein he asked me how Spencer was really doing, because he wanted to know, and also understood that most people in Spencer's situation just nod and say that they are fine, when they are really not fine. I was grateful that someone was that caring towards my husband in one of his greatest times of need.

The other moment of vast tears was when I noticed a bouquet of flowers that was not like the rest. It was vibrant and beautiful, but made out of some material, rather than living leaves and buds. I soon found out that it was from her students, and that each flower contained a note written in a unique child's hand. I started to read them, and there was no way that I could not cry. One child expressed gratitude to Mrs. Steenblik for teaching her how to read and write, another for teaching him how to speak English, still another for teaching her her multiplication. Each child mentioned Janice's smile and kindness. Many mentioned specific moments when she showed her smile or kindness to them. Many more told her that she was the best teacher that they had ever had, and that they missed her.

Sometime later I noticed a woman in line to pay her respects, that I recognized. She was the teacher who subbed for Janice, when she was on her 6 months of sick leave. I met her because the very first day that Janice had to return to work she was still sick, and exhausted, and nervous, so Spencer and I accompanied her, and helped her teach for part of the day. The teacher was so kind then, so I greeted her now. She was hired full time and teaching the next grade up, meaning the same students Janice had last year. She had them make the flowers, and told me that they needed it for themselves, they were so distraught. One of the students, a girl, was standing in front of her with her dad. At class that day she begged her teacher to bring her, and convinced her father instead. She wanted to be there. I watched as this little girl looked at the body of her former teacher, and could not help but feel for her and with her.

Many others gathered together that day and the next to show love, and also to mourn with many others who were mourning, as well as to rejoice in Janice's life.

In picture form:

Love notes from children.

Love notes to each other.

Post-crying eyes.

Pretty flowers designed by S's oldest sister, Aunika.

In peace.

Friendship.

Maybe this is my child's namesake.

Nephews x 2.

Nice niece.

I'll fly away, oh glory.

Farewell car ride.

A time to mourn.

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: 

A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; 

A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;

A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;

A time to cast away stone, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing.

A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;

A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;

A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace. -Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

For ones I love, these days are mourning days. And weeping days. And laughing days. And loving days. And embracing days. And sometimes dancing days. And for one among us, today was a dying day.

The one was Spencer's mother, Janice, who passed away this morning, at 2:00 am, after a year of mornings, and afternoons, and evenings of battling cancer. Spencer was with her, holding her, as were nearly all of his siblings. I had slipped downstairs five minutes before to read about Zion, but bounded back up when Spencer called my name.

His mama's breath was no longer labored; it was no longer breath. Before or after, her strong heart beats beating in her strong heart quieted, until they too were silent. Everyone hugged each other for a long time, gently weeping. This passing was expected, but still painful. Despite that, it was still peaceful. So very peaceful.

Throughout this hard but tender week, I have frequently found myself thinking, "Death is holy. It is sacred. Mourning is sacred." It was sacred to watch Spencer's sisters flutter around their mother, administering care with a combination of grace, gentleness, and skill. It was sacred to sit beside Spencer as he sat beside the woman who bore him, who is his exemplar in almost all things. It was sacred to hear him speak to her, and tell her firmly that he will see her everywhere: in his sisters, in himself, in his father, in his next building, etc.

It was equally sacred to hear him tell her that, he "will remember her, okay?" because remembering those who have died is one of the purest works of love that we can give. (If you don't believe me, just ask Kierkegaard.) It was sacred for me to spend yesterday morning dancing with Spencer and our baby nephew across the living room, before spending the afternoon cleaning it. It was sacred to see Spencer's maternal uncle enter the home earlier in the week with the purpose of making every meal, so his younger sister's family would be both nourished and free to spend their time with their beloved matriarch. It was sacred to weep and pray and sing when there was nothing else to be done. When stories were told, it became sacred to laugh.

Again, death itself, is sacred. I believe this, because I believe that birth and death are the opposite sides of the same coin, and that that coin is life, or "the plan of salvation," or whatever you want to call it. Part of me wondered this week if heaven's words for death and birth might be reversed. I can picture spirits in heaven mourning the loss of one they love, prior to that individual's birth into our world, as we mourn the loss of them after they return to theirs. Regardless, I am glad that there is always rejoicing, on at least one side, and that Janice's deceased loved ones can welcome her back again in a new birth.

I also thought of my favorite story, with the Little Prince I love so much. When it was time for the small prince to return to his rose, on a planet, on a star far away, he asked the aviator narrator not to come, saying, "I shall look as if I were suffering. I shall look a little as if I were dying. It is like that. Do not come to see that. It is not worth the trouble..." His friend could only repeat: "I shall not leave you. I shall not leave you." He did indeed, come anyway. At that new moment, the Little Prince said, "It was wrong of you to come. You will suffer. I shall look as if I were dead; and that will not be true..." When his friend said nothing, he continued, "You understand...it is too far. I cannot carry this body with me. It is too heavy." When again nothing, "But it will be like an old abandoned shell. There is nothing sad about old shells..."

And there isn't. (Or there is, but it is still okay.) What looks like dying isn't always dying. Or it isn't always permanent dying. It wasn't when Christ was crucified, and it isn't for us.

The veil between earth and heaven is so thin. I can feel its thinness.


This is the way I remember her best:

(Mis)diagnosed?

Today I visited a doctor, which is something I do not do very often. I visited him for a few reasons. 1. Because I have had a near constant sore throat for the last two years. 2. Because I have had a more severe sore throat, nose issues, and cough that I cannot kick for the last three or so weeks. 3. Because I promised my mom I would.

I described my symptoms (including length of symptoms) as best I could, and he ran some tests, which largely consisted of looking in my ears, nose, and mouth, listening to my hoarse voice and cough and heart, and asking me to do various breathing exercises while placing a device on equally various parts of my back (I think to measure my lungs?).

He ruled out bronchitis. And allergies (which I suspected 1 was). And a few other things. And then told me what he thinks it is, and it is something I would have never guessed: HEARTBURN. I was so skeptical of his diagnosis that the first thing I did when I left his office was google the symptoms of heart burn. And sure enough, chronic sore throat and cough are among them. And there is a type of heart burn that predominantly strikes at night, leaving the poor sufferer to wake up with a sore throat in the morning. Which has been my fate for much, much, much of my last few weeks, and months, and years. It is something about the lying down flat combined with gravity that makes the stomach acid not stay where stomach acid is supposed to stay.

My one concern now is that I went in while I actually do have a more real (i.e., traditional) sore throat, because I am pretty sure that he entirely ignored that aspect, or the fact that as part of this particular multi-week bout, I had also had a very runny nose. Now I think that he may have conflated my hoarser than usual voice and more constant than usual cough as the very long term sore throat issue, when really I need help with both.

The bummer news of the heartburn news is that apparently lots of foods that I like and believed to be healthy (tomatoes, onions, garlic, citrus fruits, chocolate, etc., etc.) make heartburn worse. :( What ever will I do?

Spencer's thesis is making me tired.

More tired than I can say. I am thanking the heavens that it will be over in a few short hours.

A tiny bit of fall, and a big decision.

There are still summer temperatures here, but there are fall smells of ginger carrot soup wafting in from my kitchen. Why? Because despite the summer temperatures and summer season that does not quite want to let go, I am still sick sick sick, so soup (as well as sleep and the ability to breathe) happens to sound, and smell delicious.

I am back to school tomorrow after a whirlwind summer. But it is not as simple as it sounds, and not only for the sickness. Spencer graduates in exactly 6 days, and will be headed to Salt Lake City after that to work and be by his (much-much-more-sick-than-me) mama. I am having trouble deciding whether I should stay California and school as planned, or be Utah/family/break-time too.

On sickness.

The worst part of being sick is that you're sick.

The best part of being sick is that you may* lay in bed all day, watching Downton Abbey, drinking Naked juice, and eating tomato soup.


*If you are very lucky. And three days away from going back to school.

Sometimes when it is your first anniversary, you arrive in Copenhagen, Denmark while your husband is laboring away on his thesis in Los Angeles.

Happy Anniversary, dear Spencer.

If you would like to read something very, very beautiful,

read this.

It is the story of a woman, who was once a girl, who listened to Hellen Keller speak in the Salt Lake Tabernacle about learning to read and type and speak. I did not even know that that Salt Lake Tabernacle circumstance happened, but it did, and it is moving.

(As a note: one of the best things that happened during my Boston Library Science days was getting to go on a class field trip to the school where Hellen Keller learned. It was just down the road from my house, so I passed it sometimes, without knowing quite how special it was. And then I knew. Just like that. I saw shelf after shelf and row after row of books and tapes filled with pretty dots, in pretty patterns, that mean something important to the people who use them. I saw the recording rooms where volunteers come and read books out loud, as clearly as they can, so still more words may be accessed. I learned that Boston's main library, the BPL, is one of the best libraries in the world for people who cannot see, in large part because of Hellen Keller's presence in the city, and I felt deep feelings, of admiration and gratitude for her legacy that she paid forward in very real ways. End note.)

On the radio.

Once upon a time, a friend of mine from Kierkegaard class (not to be confused with Kierkegaard Camp), invited my husband and I to discuss some of the tenets of our faith on his radio show. I said yes before having a clear conception of his objectives, which may have been a slightly brave or rash thing to do.

As some communication passed between us, I learned more of what the personal and professional objectives were. As it turns out, the radio station my friend Sam works for (found at apologetics.com) is a conservative, mostly Evangelical, Christian station, "challenging believers to think, and thinkers to believe." During this campaign season they have been inundated with emails and phone calls from listeners wondering if it is okay for them to vote for a Mormon.

Because of this, they knew that they wanted to have a segment on Latter-day Saint beliefs, so their listeners could learn what we believe, and make their decision for themselves. Initially, the producers wanted to have a round table discussion about our faith, without any members present to defend or clarify. Sam understood that even with good intentions that could easily slip into a bashing session, so he suggested that he be in charge of finding Mormons to interview, by saying, "I go to Claremont [aka: the only graduate university in the world with a Mormon Studies program]. I can find me a Mormon." And he did.

Earlier he had brought on one of our very atheist classmates to have a dialogue betwixt the two. One of his purposes during that conversation, he explained, as well as in the conversation we would have, was simply to model for his audience how it could be done--how you could respectfully talk with, and disagree with someone whose views are unlike your own. He wanted them to understand that "the other" could still be good human beings, and are worth engaging in a real way. It was worth it to him to let the atheist tell his own story, and to let Spencer and I tell ours.

In this, he did not want any of us to downplay our differences, or presume that they are not real or important, and in fact wanted to highlight our differences, but the real ones that matter, not the ones that are trivial or inaccurately portrayed.

When he told me these purposes, I felt full confidence in appearing on his show. Even when he sent us a list of the questions he would likely ask and it included many of those frequently repeated quips about "holy underwear" or baptism for the dead, because that list came attached with a very apologetic, and I believe sincere email explicating that he used the phrasing he did only that his questions might match what his audience members are likely to have heard or read.

I planned to go over the list with Spencer the day of, and at least begin thinking about what we might say. However, it didn't quite work like that. You see, because he had originally asked me for the 4th of August, which happens to be last Saturday. What I had missed in his initial email was the caveat that it was actually for Friday night, starting at midnight and going until 2:00 am, hence the 4th.

Thankfully I wrote him an email on Friday, saying, "I look forward to seeing you tomorrow," and he had the good sense to write back and say, "Tomorrow? I am trusting you mean today," with a renewed explanation about the date and time. More thankfully still, I had the good fortune to read his email at 10:40 pm, just a little more than an hour before we would be appearing live, on air, at his studio, a town or so over, when we are without a car.

Spencer looked up bus routes immediately, and told me that we needed to leave right then if we wanted to make it. We rode our bikes to the far away station, under and over passes, on quasi-highways, etc., etc. And let me tell you: if I have ever doubted that adrenaline is a real thing, I do not doubt now. I have never biked so fast, or felt so fearless on the road. For that 20 minutes I felt infinite. Or invincible.

And then we waited at the bus stop, and the bus didn't come. We waited some more. And still more. He checked the time of the bus again, and now it was telling us a new time. A later time. A time that would get us there fifteen minutes before we would be on. It would be cutting it close, because when I called Sam while we waited at that bus stop, he said that while he wanted to do the show on Mormons, he had two backup guests prepared to speak on the Problem of Evil, and that whatever program went on at midnight would need to be the program he stuck with.

We continued to wait, and continued to wonder if we would make it. Spencer checked to see how many miles away it was, to see if it was possible for us to bike there in time. We determined that it was only possible for Spencer--the still faster rider, adrenaline or no. The time came and went, and there was no bus. Ten minutes came and went, and there was no bus. Five more minutes passed. We called a taxi. And then the bus came.

We boarded. A little sadly. A little nervously. A little (or a lot) fearfully that we would not make it on time. It was still worth it to us to try, because even though the friend assured me that we could reschedule, it somehow felt like a now-or-never opportunity. I called him to tell him where we were. He told us he could give us a window of five minutes. No more. No less. He could say something about Mormonism by himself for that long.

I still felt scared, but our bus finally came to our stop. We dashed off and across the street to what we hoped was the correct building. We really had no time to waste. It was 12:04. We only had one minute. Someone was to be waiting at the door for us, to help us pass through the three clearance checkpoints. That someone was to have Sam's cellphone. No one was at door number one. Spencer ran to the other side of the building while I waited further. Then I saw them inside of the building, walking towards me.

We walked quickly through the building to the recording space, where it would all transpire. Miraculously we made the five minute window. Unfortunately, we did not have time to get a much needed drink of water, or use the restroom, or catch our breaths. Our seats were taken, our headphones were put on, and we were on the air.

The shortest way to explain the next two hours was to say that it was a remarkable experience. My friend Sam is very adept at what he does, and was more than knowledgeable about the LDS faith, as well as more than generous to us his guests, and to the religion that we imperfectly explained. Because of my mixup in dates, I was not able to prepare the way that I wished, nor Spencer, so we both winged it as best as we could.

And calls came from real listeners, which could not be planned for anyway. One question was very thoughtful and kind. Another was delightful and surprising for a different reason. The last was not quite as polite, but still relatively fine. It was a very fun and fulfilling opportunity and even more so because it was with Spencer.

Feel free to have a listen here.

(And if we made any egregious errors, please be a little bit kind to us. It was very late, and we had had a very wild ride getting there.)