LoriLoo

I Can Make Myself Flowers

August 9, 2026

Asheville Living, Books, delight

A friend recently said, “Your life is like a graduate school degree in electives – all the things you wanted to take but never had time.” And it’s true. I’m exploring so many things I never made the time to do while I was working or caring for Mom.

This afternoon I took a “Make Your Own Book Art” workshop at one of my new favorite galleries, Village Artist Market. I’ve admired Eileen Bos’ work from afar, and was so excited to take a class with her.

I was somewhat horrified to desecrate a book. Books are living things to me. The words, that share stories, that create memories, that create connections. And, I know that so many books are tossed, are trashed each day. What better way to upcycle them than to turn them into art?

Eileen is an excellent teacher. She explained every step of the process and encouraged each of us, especially when we struggled. She told us that the first piece is the hardest, and that it gets easier with each subsequent work. She encouraged us to make the process our own, stressing that there were many “right” ways to create art. And emphasized that what is right for one person may not be right for another.

She was absolutely right. The first flower I made was a struggle. I fought with the hot glue gun. There were strands of hot glue on my dress, in my hair, on my fingers. The flower was larger than it needed to be. I took a deep breath and started on my second.

It came easily. I found myself in a state of meditation. The petals attached easily and blossomed naturally. I finished my second bloom in a third of the time it took to make the first. I was able to chat casually with my classmates as I made it. It was beautiful.

I still have feelings about repurposing books. It’s so hard to cut pages. Eeeeek! And, I’d rather create something magical than have books die in the dumpster.

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Pushing the Envelope

August 2, 2026

delight, gratitude, Holidays, Travel
Stationery definition: materials (such as paper, pens, and ink) for writing or typing (Merriam-Webster)

Stationery etymology: In Medieval Europe, monks transcrbed by hand at scriptoriums, also known as “stationaria” or “stations,” derived from the Latin word “stationarius,” meaning “a stationary position or place.” (OriginOne)

Last year, my dear friend Kayla sent me a postcard from the LA Independent Stationery Store crawl on Stationery Store Day (yes, there is such a thing). I immediately committed to flying to Los Angeles for this year’s event. Which was yesterday.

I arrived to LAX on Friday afternoon. Over dinner, we mapped out our route for the next day (well, Kayla mapped it out and I watched; I have no concept of Southern California geography). There were 16 stores participating, in multiple neighborhoods in Los Angeles, Culver City, Hermosa Beach, Pasadena, and Santa Monica. Kayla estimated the time to travel between locations, and the ideal amount of time to spend in each store. We debated whether our goal should be to attempt to visit every store (there was a passport, and raffle prizes to be won depending on how many store stamps were collected) or to enjoy the journey (and still try to visit as many stores as possible). We opted for the latter.

We left shortly after 10 am on Saturday morning – bottles of water, snacks, sunscreen, and enthusiasm in tow. Giddiness enveloped us. We were on a stationery adventure! Kayla and I write to each other regularly (really write, not email) and we were excited to see what we might add to our stashes. All of the stores were independently owned, and most were tiny, and with bespoke collections of all manner of stationery: cards, paper, pens, ink, journals, stickers, and so much more! In many of the locations the owners were there, and the people working there were delightful. We had conversations about letterpress and printing methods, cardstock weight, pen silkiness, graphics, postage. We ran into many of the same shoppers throughout the day. We geeked out on how much we love stationery – the tactile pleasure of choosing just the right card for someone, of slowing down and taking the time to write a message, knowing that you won’t receive an immediate response (or maybe no response, and that’s okay), of picking just the right stamp, of physically dropping it in a post box.

Many of the stores had free treats or giveaways. Grab bags of individual cards or card sets or paper. Pens in various colors. Stickers. A Plinko token for a game to see what prize you might win.

And the inventory in each store! Oh my! Artistic cards. Funny cards. Beautiful cards. For birthdays. For bar/bat mitzvahs. For sympathy. For engagements. For weddings. For anniversaries. For new arrivals to the family. For new homes. For friendship. For giving thanks. For holidays. And then all the blank ones that you could send for whatever occasion you wanted. Gift tags. Stationery sets. Envelopes. Journals. Loose paper. Bound paper. Pens in the entire rainbow of colors and more. Ink wells. Pen holders. Pen stands. Pen pouches. Stickers, and stickers, and more stickers. Washi tape. Special Stationery Day merchandise (bags, journals, pencils, notepads, postcards). And the aesthetic was different in each store. I was surprised that we didn’t see much overlap.

We arrived home around 7:30 pm; a full day of all things stationery, lots of giggles, and priceless friend time. We were tired, but the good kind of tired, the kind where you’ve spent hours doing something you love with someone you love.

A recent fortune in a fortune cookie I received said, “Collect experiences, not things.” While there were some things collected on this trip from the 11 stationery stores that we visited, it’s the experience of making a somewhat crazy plan (flying to LA for 36 hours for a stationery crawl), seeing virtually all of Los Angeles in a day, and spending the day with a dear friend that will be forever etched into my memory.

Now, time to write some letters!

Stop 1 – Shorthand in Larchmont Village. Where a man asked us if we were at a bachelorette party….

Stop 2 – Landis

Stop 3 – Flax Pen to Paper

Stop 4 – Sugar Paper

Stop 5 – Lundeen’s

Stop 6 – HighTide Store DTLA

Stop 7 – Shout and About

Shohei Ohtani mural – I think I’m in love

Stop 8 – The Social Type

Stop 9 – Parchment Paper

As soon as we left, they hung the “closed” sign on the door …

Stop 10 – Shorthand, the original store

Stop 11 – Be Nice Have Fun

Our completed passports!

Stores we visited:
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Whimsical Bathrooms

July 31, 2026

Asheville Living, delight, gratitude

There’s something that surprises me about whimsically decorated bathrooms. These are usually very small spaces that have very big personalities. Sometimes they are at friend’s houses, sometimes hotels, and the most recent was at a local restaurant, Tall John’s.

From afar, it appeared like a floral pattern. But then I stood closer and noticed all the nudists tending the garden, with strategically placed flowers. And was delighted with all the details that weren’t at first glance noticeable. The unexpected whimsy delights me!

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Getting High

June 27, 2026

gratitude, Travel

Less than an hour to fly from Lima to Cusco. From sea level to over 11,000 feet. When we stepped off the plane, my head was spinning. My legs were heavy and I had difficulty walking. It was as though the air was thick, and I couldn’t quite make my way through it. Our guide picked us up and told us we would make our way to The Sacred Valley, enjoying a few stops along the way.

At the first stop I continued having difficulty walking, and had to stop to rest several times. They offered us coka tea, which we readily accepted. At the second stop, the guide asked us if we wanted to walk further. I was still spinning. We gave each other furtive glances, and shook our heads in unison.

We arrived to our hotel in The Sacred Valley, 3,000 feet lower than Cusco. My head wasn’t spinning anymore, though I was tired. I slept well, and erroneously assumed I had licked altitude sickness. Oh, the hubris.

After exploring Machu Picchu, our guide drove us back to Cusco. We were exhausted. We’d been up since 4:30 am, hiked the majority of the day, and arrived to our hotel around 8:30 pm. We showered and went straight to bed.

I woke up around 5:30 am, struggling to breathe. My head felt like it was going to explode, like someone was enthusiastically beating a timpani drum inside of it. I was shaking and shivering uncontrollably, while simultaneously feeling like I was on fire. My travel partner asked me if I was okay. I eked out a weak “no….” before tumbling out of bed to the bathroom, violently throwing up.

I laid on the cold bathroom tiles, unable to get up. I eventually crawled back to bed, groaning. I thought to myself that I’ve lived a good life, although thus wouldn’t be my preferred way to die. It seemed like it would be long and drawn out process.

She said the hotel was bringing oxygen and I would feel better immediately. I didn’t believe her. She said she was a mom and knew what to do in these situations.

There was a knock at the door, and a man entered with an oxygen tank. In a calming voice, he instructed me to relax, and to try to breathe normally. He placed a plastic tube in my nostrils, and wrapped it around my ears before hooking it to the oxygen tank. He told me to relax and he’d return in 15 minutes.

I laid as still as I could, though my body continued to convulse, breathing as normally as I could, although I still gulped for air, my eyes closed and doubting this would help.

After five minutes I stopped shivering. After ten minutes my breathing was becoming regulated. He returned after fifteen minutes and said I could use more time. I continued to breathe pure oxygen, feeling better with each breath.

He was satisfied with my progress upon his return, and advised me to rest and take it easy. As much as it pained me to stay in bed while in a new city, I heeded his advice. As I laid there, I marveled at the human body and the balance of input and output. Why had I experienced altitude sickness, and my travel partner had not? How had minutes of oxygen restored my well-being? Where was the line between my body functioning normally and not?

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Templo San Pedro Apóstol de Andahuaylillas

June 26, 2026

delight, gratitude, Travel

In all my travels, I’ve never felt so much awe when I entered a church. Not in Spain, not in Italy. From the outside, it appears to be a modest Catholic church. Stone foundation, adobe walls. Smooth river stones arranged mosaic style to create a pleasing patio in the front. Symmetrical blocks, circles, and ribbons in muted neutrals.

I stepped inside and was overwhelmed by the icons surrounding me in the large, long rectangular sanctuary. There were life sized Marys in elaborate dress, lace and gold and flowers. There were saints, draped in robes, eyes cast towards the heavens, some appearing pained, others appearing touched by the divine, exuding reverence. I was staring at their realistic faces when my eyes wandered upwards.

The entire ceiling was painted in a way that was simply breathtaking. The most gorgeous slate blue dominated the palette, with sunlike ovals creating a repeated pattern that was mesmerizing. Our guide explained that the church was built in 1590 by the Spaniards; however, they hired Andean artists to paint the interior. The pattern of the ceiling was based on Incan iconography. The solid wood beams were covered with a plaster mixture then painted fresco style, taking 15 years to complete. I wanted to just stand and stare at the ceiling. I felt such a sense of calm and peacefulness. My breathing slowed. Pictures were not allowed inside the church, so I stared at the ceiling, searing it into my memory.

The guide led us to the retablo at the front of the church. It covered the entire back wall, floor to ceiling. At first glance, it was difficult to look at. The entire structure was covered in 22k gold leaf. So bright! So shiny! As my eyes adjusted, I marveled at the intricate details of each section. Niches for saints. A stunning sun at the top, reminiscent of the icons in the Incan temples. Stars. Flowers. Baby animals. Angels. I could have sat for hours taking in the magnificence. I think what moved me most was the care that had permeated the construction. So much attention to detail. In every icon. In every mural. In every fresco. The result was not gaudy, but welcoming. A place you wanted to stay.

I’m thankful pictures were not allowed. There’s no way photos could have captured the essence of the sanctuary. I’m grateful to have had the opportunity to stand and soak it in, to remember it in my mind’s eye.

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Fiesta in the Club Car

June 23, 2026

delight, gratitude, Travel

“Passengers in Car A please make your way to the club car for entertainment and observation.”

We were so tired. We had awaken at 4:30 am and spent the day at Machu Picchu. It’s winter and it’s hot once the sun rises. We were going to stay in our seats. Passers by encouraged us to join the party. Porque no??

We walked through three other cars before arriving to the club car, where a mini big band-esque quintet played, slicked back hair, suspenders, and retro microphone. At the end of the car, we stood in the open air next to the engine. The atmosphere was full of energy – people clapping, dancing, and generally celebrating. Passengers danced in the aisles (myself included). Strangers spun each other. Smiles were exchanged freely. What an amazing ending to an amazing day.

Crooning as we traveled

Dancing and celebrating

The engine – right there!!

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Mara Salt Mines

June 21, 2026

delight, Travel

We rounded the corner high on the mountain and our guide told us to look out the window. We were staring at a patchwork quilt of whites and ecrus and beiges and tans and caramels and lattes stretching the length of the valley. It took a moment for me to understand what I was seeing. When our guide told us we were going to salt mines, I envisioned descending deep into the earth. And here we were on top of a mountain, at almost 11,000 feet above sea level.

Maras Salt Mines from above

After a few more twists and turns we arrived at the entrance. Our guide explained there is a salt spring that originates inside the earth, and has been flowing for 3,000 years to this spot. People’s before the Incans created shallow natural pools filled by the spring. Once full, they blocked the flow of the water, and over time the sun evaporated the water, leaving three layers of salt: white salt on top, pink salt in the middle, and brown salt (inedible, used for medicinal reasons) on the bottom. Once harvested, they filled the pools again and started the cycle anew. The Incans added more pools, and in modern times even more pools have been added, though the harvesting process remains the same.

The mines are collectively owned by about 400 families. Only family members work the mines, still using wooden hammers and shovels to harvest the salts.

It was awe inspiring to view the beauty of the thousands of pools, and even more fascinating to learn that the harvesting process has changed minimally over thousands of years.

Looking down on the pools

Worker making sure the aqueducts are working properly

Salt almost ready for harvesting

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June Nights

June 10, 2026

Asheville Living, delight, gratitude

I try to appreciate every day, every month, every year, for what it is, and yet some months in particular ring more special. June is one of them.

June is my birthday month (cake! frosting!). June is swimming in the outdoor pool. June is the month of the latest sunsets. June is warm, humid nights. June is planting month. June is rocking on the front porch at dusk after working in the garden all evening. June is fireflies and crickets.

Fireflies. Those magical creatures. I can’t not be at peace with life when I watch fireflies light up and attempt to attract a mate. As dusk falls, my eyes dart from spark to spark as they light up. It’s impossible to see the full glow. And each time I see a spark, I’m cheering for them. “Find your mate! You can do it! There is a firefly out there for you! Have faith!”

The male fireflies fly high. They emit a light pattern, and the female fireflies, if interested, mirror that pattern from lower down. This is why I purposely don’t cut my grass as often during the month of June. I want the females to have a comfy spot to attract a mate. The pattern matching isn’t as obvious at the beginning of the night (so many fireflies!) but towards the end of the night, it’s magical to see a male emit a signal, and a female copy it. It gives me so much hope. “Yes! You’ve found your mate! Go forth and be happy!”

And the crickets. The beautiful symphony of the crickets. The gentle chirping as background music. I give thanks for how lucky I am. To be rocking on a porch, on a hot, humid night, listening to crickets and witnessing fireflies. How could life be any better?

8 comments on June Nights
It’s Okay

May 27, 2026

Asheville Living, delight, Food

I wish there was a smoke alarm setting for “I know there is a lot of smoke in here and it’s okay.”

I was at the butcher’s today, and I noticed they had Wilkes County country ham. When I saw that, it immediately took me back. Back to the days when Mom and Dad were building our cabin in Ashe County. And Ashley and I thought we were helping. Back when we would have communal dinners at Greenfield Restaurant, now closed, sadly. Back when I would gorge on the saltiness of country ham and biscuits.

I bought a pound. I didn’t need a pound of country ham. But that seemed like the right amount.

After working in the garden for hours, I wasn’t hungry, but I wanted a little something. I fried up a piece of country ham. It sizzled. It curled up in the pan. It smoked. The smoke alarm went off. Beeping, beeping, beeping. So much beeping.

I waved sturdy magazines back and forth in front of the smoke alarm, hoping the additional air would dissipate the smoke. No such luck. I opened all the doors and windows. I set up a floor fan directly below the smoke alarm. Nothing helped.

So I simply sat down at the table, and enjoyed my slice of country ham. Eventually, quite some time after I finished, the smoke alarms abated. It’s okay.

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The Most Beautiful Flower

April 29, 2026

Asheville Living, delight

It’s that time of year. The peonies are starting to bloom. I simply want to sit outside and watch them all day long. Their beauty only lasts a few days and then their petals start to drop, creating memories of color where their blooms once were.

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