At the Huntington Library, Just Outside of LA

Going to visit Grandma was always a treat as a kid. Whether we went as a family or if I went on my own, the happy, casual ways we spent our days are among my favorite memories. I loved leafing through boxes and books of old photos--my gorgeous grandma in her youth, my beautiful mom and her sisters, pictures of my great grandma (everyone called her MorMor- Swedish for grandma). In my mind's eye, I can still smell my grandma's house, see the San Gabriel mountains from her front window and taste the white bean chili she loved to make.

My great grandma, Vivian's mom, worked as a maid for Henry E. Huntington, the millionaire railroad tycoon, in the 1920's. When he died in 1927, he left money for all his employees and MorMor bought a little house with that money and raised my grandma Vivian there.

The Huntington Mansion in 1915

Now his mansion and gardens comprise the Huntington Library. As a child, I considered this a must-do visit while at Grandma's. I loved walking around the grounds, imagining MorMor in these most elegant and beautiful surroundings. It felt like part of my own personal family history, with a serious connection to place.

In April, when Vince and I were in LA, with Benbo in belly, I convinced Vince to squeeze in a visit to the Huntington Library on our way out of town. And you know when you're flooded with memories so vivid you could swear you're 12 again? And you can hear your Enya tape, circa 1989, echoing from all those years ago? And in our whirlwind visit (we had a plane to catch), I felt so connected to the girl I was, to the grandma I adored, and to MorMor, whom I never met but grew up hearing stories about.

The actual mansion is closed for renovation, (I remember thinking that next time I come, it'll be open again, and Benbo would be in tow!) but I still saw all my favorite things: The Blue Boy and Pinkie-- paintings I adore and was always eager to see as a child, the citrus groves and the intoxicating scent of their blossoms, bougainvillea, Breakfast in Bed by Mary Cassat, and wisteria hanging from a trellis that MorMor may have lingered under all those years ago.