Picture this. Lisbon. A mall in a tourist neighborhood. On the bottom floor of a bookstore chain, FNAC, enveloped by a slightly musty smell. A Portuguese class colleague and I were standing in the children’s book section. We saw a copy of “The Very Hungry Caterpillar” by Eric Carle, or, as it’s known in Portuguese, “A Lagartinha Muito Comilona.” She opened to the first page. We took turns reading in Portuguese, then translating to English. We were reading! We understood the words! We understood the story! There was a joy difficult to describe. That of understanding. That of discovery. That of knowledge.
She then had to leave.
For almost an hour I picked books off of the shelves of books appropriate for 3 – 6 year olds. I slowly turned pages and interpreted words on the page. I was reading! In Portuguese! There’s something magnificently satisfying about understanding. About being able to communicate. In another language, no less! It’s unlike any other achievement. It’s unlocking another world. I giggled as I read each book, delighted that I understood what I was reading.
I chose two books to purchase, so that I could continue to build my vocabulary. Junior level books of questions and answers, so basic; however, unlocking many levels of understanding. I was beyond happy.
I rarely have a window seat, and I relished not only seeing Lisbon as we approached, but recognizing landmarks, my favorite neighborhoods, and the park outside my hotel.
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.
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 – LandisStop 3 – Flax Pen to PaperStop 4 – Sugar PaperStop 5 – Lundeen’sStop 6 – HighTide Store DTLAStop 7 – Shout and AboutShohei Ohtani mural – I think I’m in loveStop 8 – The Social TypeStop 9 – Parchment PaperAs soon as we left, they hung the “closed” sign on the door …Stop 10 – Shorthand, the original storeStop 11 – Be Nice Have FunOur completed passports!
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!
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.
“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 traveledDancing and celebrating The engine – right there!!
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 poolsWorker making sure the aqueducts are working properly Salt almost ready for harvesting
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?
LoriLoo 