The Travel Organizer – Limited Quantities

I published this chapbook, The Travel Organizer several years ago, and I was reminded recently that I still have some copies available for sale. I have a limited number that I’m offering on a first come, first serve basis. What that means is that I would need your name, postal address, email address, and payment, and I will send them out within a few days. Please note: DO NOT put this information in the comments box. Comments are public and will be seen by the wider audience. Please use the payment button below and follow the instructions. Your information will not be shared or sold to anyone.

The Travel Organizer

Sample photos below cut:

Celebrating Tomie dePaola

As I mentioned briefly in yesterday’s Mental Health Monday post, September 15th would have been writer/illustrator Tomie dePaola’s eighty-ninth birthday. Sadly, he died in 2020 from complications to a bad fall he had at his studio. He wrote over 250 children’s books, writing full time after retiring from teaching in 1978.

His books were a staple in my classrooms over the years, often having parts of the curriculum built around specific books and themes that he wrote about. Two of my favorites were Strega Nona and Charlie Needs a Cloak. Legend of the Indian Paintbrush was something I brought out during November and the Thanksgiving lessons to build around true Native American mythos rather than the stereotypical Pilgrims and Indians tropes that continue to be taught. The Tale of Rabbit and Coyote was another one that brought another culture alive for the children in my classes. He wrote many books on holidays, primarily Christmas.

Tomie was a devoted Catholic. One of my favorite houses to visit on retreat has a mural in their chapel that he painted in 1958 (he was 24 years old!), depicting the Blessed Mother with some Dominican friends: St. Rose of Lima, Blessed Jane of Aza, St. Catherine of Siena, St. Catherine de ’Ricci, St. Mary Magdalen, and St. Maria Goretti.

I never get tired of sitting with it, praying, and thinking of Tomie and his stories.

Visit his website, which lists all of his books as well as offering his biography. There is also a link to The Tomie dePaola Art Education Fund.

Recently, Tomie was honored with a series of US Postal stamps, seen below. You may find them at your local post office.

Mental Health Monday – Time

I’ve mentioned before my writing planner – the calendar where I schedule topics to write about. Some just happen, and others reflect items on the calendar. For instance, I’m working on something for All Saints Day as well as my two writing classes (with prompts), although I’m not sure that those will be going off this year. We’ll know soon enough.

Friday was the birthday of children’s writer and illustrator, Tomie dePaola and I had planned a reflection on his work as well as a personal connection.

Friday was also the first night of Rosh Hashanah.

As I was getting ready for Rosh Hashanah, Tomie dePaola was still on my radar. After each mundane task, I would think to myself (or even say aloud) that I needed to write and post the Tomie dePaola piece. I shouldn’t say “need;” I wanted to.

I took my son to work, I got groceries, I picked my daughter up from school, I started dinner, I picked my son up from work, I continued with dinner: roast chicken with sweet potatoes if anyone was wondering.

And as it drifted towards sundown, I knew that I was going to miss Tomie dePaola’s birthday.

I just couldn’t make the time stop. Dinner was nearly ready, my oldest was coming over for dinner, and I still had to clean off the table and vase the flowers.

I could have gotten frustrated.

I could have gotten angry (at a whole host of things).

I could have assigned more tasks to my family, who had also worked all day, stepped aside, and wrote what I wanted to, shared the photos that I wanted to, and it would have been done.

However, it wouldn’t have been done right.

It wouldn’t have been done with the reverence that Mr. dePaola deserves.

I let the time pass, and I decided to be okay with that.

I spent the holiday with my family, reading, sitting prayerfully with G-d, and knew that tomorrow is another day, and I can celebrate Tomie dePaola tomorrow.

Which is my plan.

Stay tuned.

Cougar Shadow at Superstition Mountains

Twice a year this shadow of a cougar appears in Arizona as the sun sets. The next time it will appear is next week, so here is your heads-up to look out for it, or if you’re in the area of Apache Junction, Arizona, east of Mesa, visit and see it for youself.

It appears the third week in September, and the best time, according to those in the know is about thirty minutes before the official sunset.

This links to an older article, but the facts and timing directions are still accurate, so check it out here.

Some other attractions nearby include:

Superstition Mountain Museum

Circlestone

Apache Trail Arizona

Lost Dutchman State Park

Providence

Fate. Coincidence. Providence.

Are they real? Really real?

Thinking about them happening, they might be far off and existential and not as real as touch, but when they happen –

BOOM!

The slight increase in heartbeat, a hitch in breath, the exhilaration of being aware as something remarkable happens right in front of you.

I’ve been aware of the spiritual, the extra-natural, and they are few and far between. Sometimes they travel to my consciousness after the fact, but when they happen within the moment, in the context, they become something special, something extraordinary, something to be held close for all time, and beyond time.

I had two times this week that something like that occurred.

Fate?

Coincidence?

Providence. All the above.

—

Several months ago, my memoir teacher recommended a book to me – one of many – The Cartographers. I presumed it was about maps or map-making, and I wasn’t able to find it in the library app on my Kindle. In the meantime, I read a bunch of other books. On Monday, I decided it was time to try again, so I checked the library app, and there it was: The Cartographers. I checked it out and began to read. Even in the pre-table of contents pages, I wasn’t sure about it – there was a warning of suicidal ideation and self-harm and to take care reading it. I burrowed on.

The main gist is a high school graduate who is lying to her mother about going to college; she lives in NYC with two roommates, meets an odd boy and just shows us her life and gives us some insight and lessons along the way. This did not seem like a book my memoir teacher would be drawn to, but I was definitely drawn to it. I couldn’t believe how much the main character, Ocean, resonated with me in very familiar and emotional ways, sometimes painful. I really related to her, the existential crisis that was continually her personality – I feel that in my bones. As Queen sings, “Is this the real life; is this just fantasy?” Or a simulation on some alien being’s computer. As Ocean asks, “Are you dead too?” I don’t feel that despondency, but it’s a good question.

Are the fate moments real and everything else is fluff? Or the opposite: all the misery and doldrums are real, and the fate moments are the fluff – the golden fleece, the silver lining, the gold at the end of the rainbow.

About halfway through the book, I suggested to my daughter that she would really like this book. She’s seventeen, and it seemed like her kind of style and subject that she might enjoy. She told me to text her. I searched for the book on Amazon to give her the link, so she’d know the title and the author, and I told her to borrow it from the library. It popped up on Amazon: The Cartographers by Peng Shepherd, but the cover seemed different. I thought it was the difference between hardcover and softcover editions, and then I realized that I was reading The Cartographers by Amy Zhang.

Not the same book at all.

My teacher had recommended a book about maps and murder and mystery – all in my wheelhouse, and I was reading a book about teen angst and friendship (and loving it by the way), and I suddenly realized that I was reading the wrong book.

Although was it really the wrong book?

It was the perfect book for me, at this moment in time.

Is that fate?

I don’t know, but it was perfect.

—

Then today. This morning, I had time to attend mass. The homily was about the poor. Blessed are the poor. But not just bless them but look at them. See them. We all come to the poor and houseless with preconceived notions and judgments; even me. Some of the things my priest said resonated with me, and tears welled in my eyes – I felt seen. I wasn’t, and haven’t been at a poverty level, but I understand not being able to move up, not being able to break even, being embarrassed and isolated. I was seen, but that’s not why I’m writing this.

While my priest was talking about seeing the poor and understanding how difficult it was for the poor to rise from their circumstances, I was wishing that a friend of mine could have been there to hear this homily. This friend is a good and decent person. They do so much for so many without asking for anything in return; it is just in their nature to give more; to volunteer; to be Christ in the world. I’ve witnessed that and have been the beneficiary of that. But I’ve heard them talk about people helping themselves and wanting to do more to get people back on their feet, and I wished they were there in the church this morning, listening to this homily that I thought was something they should hear.

The mass goes on, we say the Our Father, and offer peace. I turned to acknowledge the parishioners behind me with a hand wave of peace, and there they were – the one person I wanted to be there listening to the homily – they were there in the pew a few feet behind me listening to the homily.

I smiled.

I was pleased with how the world works.

And I guess that’s how the world works: being where you’re supposed to be when you’re supposed to be there.

Providence, maybe.

The Cartographers by Amy Zhang

The Cartographer by Peng Shepherd

September 11th

In our travels, I’ve been touched by how other countries have commemorated 9/11. We saw a tree that had been planted on the grounds of Belfast’s City Hall with an adjacent plaque that touched me deeply.

In our recent tour of the Mohawk village of Kahnawake in southern Quebec, we learned quite a bit about the Mohawk people of the area and their history, including their history of building many parts of New York City. One of the things our tour guide brought to our attention was the primary economy of Kahnawake; it’s easy to see once entering the village boundaries that cigarettes are one of the dominant businesses for the tribe. The second largest career for the Mohawk of Kahnawake is ironwork. This began long ago and continues to this day with many Mohawk men traveling each week to New York City to work as ironworkers, and then returning to their families on the weekend.

We were told about, and I subsequently read about a tribute that the ironworkers did for the 9/11 attacks on the World Trade Center, creating a replica that is kept in the chapel at the St. Francis Xavier Mission Church. With the WTC replica is a cross made from iron that came from the NYC site, and an artistic sketch showing the relationship of the traditional Mohawk with their older tools of their trade and the more modern Mohawk with their modern tools of the trade. There are also eagles and eagle feathers, both a symbol for the United State as well as an important symbol for First Nations/Native people, all set in front of the buildings rendered before the attacks on one side and the longhouse on the other, with both traditional and modern skylines reflected at the base. The visualization evokes many emotions and feelings for so many thoughts and for me, the pride depicted on the Mohawk faces supplants the sadness and creates a new somberness that dulls the pain and raises the heart.

Looking at the workmanship brings an emotion that welled in my chest: the work put into creating such a piece that is both simple and stunning while respecting the lives lost and the lives changed on that day.

When we returned to Quebec a couple of weeks later, we were able to tour the church itself and it was then that I took the pictures that I’m glad to share with you today on this twenty-second anniversary of 9/11.

Mental Health Monday – September 11th

Today is one of those days that needs some extra quiet.

I drove my son to work, and then sat in the car for over 30 minutes, discussing what I wanted to eat for breakfast with myself. Having not really decided, I just sat there. I knew what day it was, but it hadn’t imprinted on my mind yet. When it did, I at least understood my unexplainable melancholy.

In the interim between 2001 and today, I have met and befriended a few people who were there, in lower Manhattan when the World Trade Center fell, who were in one of the buildings when it was hit. We’ve heard stories of friends with near misses, where fate – or providence – kept them from being there that day, and others who found their way home, ghost-like.

I have pangs of guilt, feeling the strong feelings of Nine-Eleven when I wasn’t physically there, but in the ensuing years, I have come to accept and be at one with my own trauma. No, I wasn’t in attendance, but I had been affected more than a previous tourist, visiting once or twice. This was my home. Both of my parents were from the Bronx. I was born in the Bronx and grew up in Queens and on Long Island. At the time of the attacks, we had just returned from visiting my parents and my mother-in-law the day before, crossing the Throgs Neck Bridge, pointing out the New York City skyline to our four-year-old son. We viewed that sight not twenty-four hours before, the same perfect blue sky guiding our way north.

I resent out of state politicians using 9/11 as their fundraising, their inspo-porn, trauma-porn, and call to arms that they have no right to.

For more than a year after, when I traveled on our local highway to the state capital, I would shudder at the sight of a plane flying overhead, sinking lower and lower in the sky as it descended to the airport runway that I was passing. Our house is in the flight path of two small, local airports, and every time a plane flew low, I would have a visceral reaction. I felt that these reactions and feelings were not mine to have – I wasn’t there!

But in a way, I was.

This was my home. These were my people.

And I’ve decided to own my pain and my trauma of that day.

That’s my mental health Monday suggestion this week: don’t let others tell you how to feel. Only you know how you feel, and you should let yourself feel the things. It’s possible that the feelings can be too much, but if that’s the case, seek out a professional. Talking to someone who is a professional can do wonders for your mental health, not only today, but any day.

Have a peaceful, blessed, quiet, tea-filled day.

❤

Friday Food. Samosa.

We were staying in a small town outside of Belfast, in Northern Ireland. This was in 2017. It was our last night, and our cousins, who were hosting us had to tend to an emergency in Donegal, and so we were left to our own devices after their taking care of us so diligently, including feeding our brood of five. My husband had been adhering to a policy (and continues to do so) that he termed TSN – try something new – and with this in mind, we discovered a restaurant in town with Istanbul in the name, and chose a sampler of different fried foods that arrived in a pizza box. It was similar to a combo appetizer you would order at a restaurant.

This was my first time having a samosa. It is triangular, but not flat; three-dimensional, but not a pyramid. It is filled with, I didn’t know what then, but it was delicious. I have come to learn that they are usually filled with potatoes, peas, and spices.

My next taste of a samosa was at an interfaith Iftar I was invited to. Again, very delicious.

I’ve had various types of samosa, including a Thai version, which is yummy, although it has a softer outside.

While we were recently on vacation in Canada, we discovered and rediscovered a whole world of Indian, and southeast Asian foods, including butter chicken, naan, momo, as well as samosas. What I hadn’t expected was to see a sign in a mall food court (Pita Lite) in St. Catherine’s that offered samosas for $1.75 each. It came with a spicy tamarind sauce. (I did try it, but it was too spicy for me.)

I was so excited that I dug deep into my change purse for the exact amount, and sat at a table, waiting both for my family and to let this piping hot snack cool a bit. It didn’t matter – I still burned my tongue a little. And to be honest, it was well worth it.

When we returned to the States, and visited our local mall, I was not surprised but still disappointed to see that a simple samosa snack had not come here while we were away enjoying it. Perhaps, one day, but I can still savor the memory.

A Deserted Island

I was watching The Shuttlepod Show, hosted by Star Trek alums, Connor Trineer and Dominic Keating. It’s a conversational show where they invite and talk to a guest for an hour or so, usually also a Star Trek alum. I’ve seen several, and enjoyed them. There is insight into the actors, behind the scenes, and the world of Star Trek, past, present, and future.
Recently, they had on Star Trek: Voyager’s Garrett Wang, and in a segment I had never seen before, Connor Trineer asked him a desert/deserted island question about what he’d bring with him.

There were six categories, although for books, you’re already given the religious text of your choice and the complete works of Shakespeare. I thought this was a great thought experiment as well as a terrific writing prompt, and so I share it with you, with credit and thanks given to Connor for the inspiration.

What one ____(1-6)______ would you bring with you on the desert island to occupy your time, for all time?

1. Book
2. Food
3. Author
4. Composer/Musician
5. Dessert
6. Plus a bonus item

Be creative, have fun, and happy Star Trek Day.

Inspire. September.

Sometimes an inspiration takes on many forms and has many hands to form it.

The pictures below are a couple of my visit (pilgrimage, I suppose it could be called) to the Canadian National Shrine of St. Kateri Tekakwitha. I had been trying to visit here for several years. I was hampered from visiting due to their pandemic closure, and then I thought I wouldn’t be able to again this year because their opening hours did not coincide with our vacation plans.

My husband rectified that by suggesting our return a couple of weeks after our vacation to visit the shrine. And so, I was able to fulfill my desire to see the final resting place of St. Kateri Tekakwitha. This was my final stop in seeking out Kateri’s footsteps, and it was a beautiful experience that I will share in time.

In the meantime, enjoy these photos that do not do the site justice:

S	M	T	W	T	F	S
1	2	3	4	5	6	7
8	9	10	11	12	13	14
15	16	17	18	19	20	21
22	23	24	25	26	27	28
29	30	31

Griffins and Ginger Snaps

-I write, and I have a blog because of course I do-