Suleika, there’s something about the way you write about travel that always lands somewhere deep. That first road trip, stitched together with redwood fog, golden arches, & strangers-turned-guides, already felt mythic when I first read Between Two Kingdoms. It was even more delightful hearing you read it aloud. I listened when I was unwell, & as I find myself in such a state again, I may just revisit it this evening—as a bedtime story. But now, reading you on the eve of this next love-infused, slightly unhinged boondoggle, it feels like you’re walking not just across time, but toward some kind of radiant reconnection.
When I was little, my neighbour had a copy of The Tiger Who Came to Tea. It smelled of cupboard dust & cinnamon. We didn’t have many books at home, so I read it every time I visited, perched on her scratchy carpet while she stirred pasta sauce. I remember being equal parts delighted & disturbed by the tiger—the way he ate everything, even the water, & then just… left. No one screamed. They simply bought more food. I think I loved that book because it made a kind of quiet chaos feel normal. Familiar, even.
I haven’t thought of that tiger in years. But now I wonder how many visitors I’ve let in like that—wordless, hungry, promising company but leaving emptiness. And yet somehow, I always survived them. Maybe even needed them.
Thank you for the reminder that some journeys happen with our feet, some with our hearts, & some through the scent of pages, the salt of laughter, the weight of books in a suitcase. May this one root you gently, & bloom something unexpected.
"...and some through the scent of pages." Oh, Kim, "cupboard dust and cinnamon" evokes such a warmth inside me, a rememberance of sitting on my grandmother's lap, her reading to me in an envelope of safety that is only possible with deep love. Thank you and thank you Suleika for both of your journeys.
Oh Mary, what a beautiful image—an envelope of safety. I can just feel the love of that moment with your grandmother. Isn’t it something how scent & story can bring back a whole world?
Laurie, thank you. I think some part of me is still hunkered down on that carpet, waiting for the tiger to arrive. Funny how scent can tether us to a moment long after we’ve grown taller than the story itself. I’m so glad it brought something back for you too.
Kim your reply and the replies to your reply filled me with the commonness and holiness of purpose and journey. I too join in on a virtual hug….thank you!!
A virtual hug is the perfect blend of warmth & distance, especially given the lurgy that’s taken up residence within. Thank you for your words, Nancy, “the commonness and holiness of purpose and journey”, they wrapped around me just right. Isn’t it something, how a simple memory, a shared scent, or even a mischievous tiger can gather us all in close? I’m holding that with me this evening, & sending something soft back in return.
Oh, Laurie. That made me giggle. I tilted my head when I read your note, part fever, part wonder, because for a moment I thought, Wait, I wrote a book… & it’s on YouTube?! The tiger, yes!! The illustrations are darling. I actually just ordered it from my local indie bookshop, because both the little version of me & the bigger one too are missing my dearly departed pussycat terribly right now. Especially when I’m unwell—her purrs were a salve to the soul. Perhaps this tiger might ease that ache, even just a little.
Oh Mary—I adore you, have I told you that today?! I laughed when I read your note, then thought, Imagine that... my voice, my story, a blanket-wrapped audiobook recording... But no, I’m afraid I haven’t written a book (yet!). Laurie was referring to The Tiger Who Came to Tea—that mischievous little classic from my childhood. But I do love the thought of you listening to something today that brings a smile, whether it’s a tiger, a poem, or just the sound of someone turning a page slowly enough to be felt. Perhaps over some tea, something soothing for my raspy voice, which ironically could have me doing voiceovers for said Tiger...!
Oh! When I read "perched on her scratchy carpet" I immediately knew what you meant! It was such a charming observation and immediately transported me back to being little. Then I wondered...are carpets no longer scratchy or have I stopped sitting on the floor? Love your writing ☺️
Sarah, that made me grin. Isn’t it funny how scratchy carpet lives somewhere in the body’s memory, ready to prickle us back into childhood? I suspect carpets haven’t changed—or maybe they have, I don't tend to luxuriate on them as I once did. Thank you for your kind words. I’m so glad that little detail found you.
I'm 78. I've had chemo, lived through post-chemo, been on IV treatments for long periods of time. It's hard for me to remember during what seem to be a fallow times, that it is actually a consolidating, integrating and germinating time. What has felt like emptiness, blankness, what I have resisted, surrendered to, hated, has always coalesced eventually to my next project. I hope your second trip lives up to the first one you are in now.
Suleika, returning home, to your ancestertal land...land...It has always meant so much to me as an Army. Today, I return to Kansas, but only in my heart, mind and body. A girl of 7, sitting under the oak tree shading our front yard, our massive folk Victorian, and turning first page by page, The Little House (by Virginia Lee Burton). Soaking in her illustrations, the smile on the house, the apple trees, the lush grass, the daisies drawn and rendered in perfect lollygaggig fashion. Arriving on the page where she is boxed in by a society grown around her, grey, rushing, void of greenery, and a sad face on that little house. Tears plopped on the pages and I was quick to wipe them away as it was a library book, well, that and I wasn't supposed to cry in public. But for those moments, I was sheltered in the world created by Ms.V. Lee Burton. She forever imprinted on me, the immense value of nature, the changing seasons, and the importance of being able to live in a place where one could revel in all of it. It is my birthday today and I do not have the money to travel, so I shall once again, get out my copy (a 1942 vintage saved from a trashcan), post myself beneath a tree and return to "home."
It is magical, isn't it? Yes, the librarian at the school where I was working, had tossed it in the trash because it was "tattered." I quickly took it out and pressed it to my chest. No regrets.
Nancy, that means everything to me! One teacher to another, I too have read that to so many of my students and hope they all remember that little, pink house on the hill.
Mary, what a tender offering. I felt the weight of that library book in your lap, the hush under that oak tree, & the quiet ache of trying not to cry in public. I love that you’ve kept her close all these years, that you saved her from a trashcan, that even now—on your birthday—you’re returning to that same patch of grass & story as a form of homecoming. Land doesn’t always need our feet. Sometimes it just needs our remembering. Sending you a birthday wish wrapped in apple blossoms & daisy-spun quiet. And buckets of tea!
Ahhhh, "apple blossoms and daisy-spun quiet." This is a place where I will return to often, and I am so deeply thankful to you. Yes, land has a power, a force and I feel it all over again with my saved copy of The Little House. She was always the hope, that someday, I too would live on her hillside. I hope that someday, I can sit beside you, and share my beloved book.
There is nothing that would make me happier than that indeed, Mary. I am making plans, some dream-like others perhaps more of a reality but soon-ish, if the gods allow it. Tea & holding your pussycat as you read it aloud! You have me smiling, I'll write that wish into my pocket... it just has to come into being, right?
Oh. My. Word. This is love. This is life. To the journey that becomes the journeys. To the days lived out loud in the present, and then in memory, and then (always this then) in the sustaining imagination.
Beth, thank you for the reminder that memory sustains imagination. It fits my simpler world to a T. When I downsized I carefully, lovingly, distributed a long wall of books. By my 70s I had begun to follow the "buy one, give one" rule on books, but it didn't make the task any easier. Every book, every memory...so precious.
I love this, Susan. I live it, too — buy a book, give away a book. Lately I've been re-reading (again) my favorites. I call it going shopping in my bookshelves. Enormously satisfying, the shelves don't bow, and I can afford my chocolate. (At least right I can.)
Despite being a librarian I don't collect books at home and the small collection that does exist might need to be buy one and give away one in the future. Thank you for this lovely idea.
"The Swans of Ballycastle" or "Children of Lir". for the first time and I was about in 4th grade a book came whose story did not make myself and my brother feel guilty for our terrible life. We became Swans and went off to an island for others who were not responsible for what happened to them. Years later I rode my 3 Speed up the Antrim Coast to Ballycastle and took a ferry to Rathlin island in homage. The USA Trilogy by Jon Dos Passos--especially the first two volumes, I read these in high school (not assigned readings and loved them so much), "The Asiatics: by Frederic Prokosch, read many times.. as you do not need to go anywhere to see the world, "Show Boat", by Edna Ferber- loved the thought of performing on the Mississippi, "The Mandarins" by Simone de Beauvoir---a favorite of mine so romantic from her perspective-such fun to read, "Candide" and "The Confessions" the first read and reread, Tolstoy's short stories and "Boyhood", "The Little House", a children's book about revitalization, so many more and "Between Two Kingdoms"----I am not a big fan of self-help books.. oh loved Patti Smith, "Just Kids"... I wanted to love Isabelle Eberhardt- and I do, albeit Lady Jane Digby more the imaginary voluptuary I am.
oh my what great great memories, and yes 4th grade is so pivotal-- independent reading, big books, leaving the sequestered into the unknown.. 4th and 5th grade-- can be the crowning jewels of childhood. xo
Ok M.S., I now have my reading list for this month! Your opening line, "....whose story did not make myself and my brother feel guilty for our terrible life.," was everything.
Because this is so vivid, so rooted in your particular rhythms and rituals of wonder, I almost feel like I’m rifling through your glove compartment or your suitcase, finding a copy of “The Sheltering Sky” dog-eared beside sunscreen, and maybe a half-melted chocolate bar.
What struck me the most, though, beyond the richness of place and preparation, is your invocation of trip three, the one that lives in memory. It reminded me of something Milan Kundera once suggested: that we only ever live life “half a step ahead of ourselves”, narrating even as we act, scripting our own nostalgia in real time. But I wonder if, for some of us, especially those with a foot in the creative world, trip three starts before we even pack the bag. We are already writing the postcard before we have left the house. Already imagining how the light will fall through the linen curtain in a city we haven’t yet set foot in. Maybe this is a kind of second sight, or maybe it’s the curse of those who live by story: we pre-haunt our own experiences?
Your mention of tsundoku made me laugh in recognition… yes, the gentle shame of unread stacks, those silent towers of longing. But unread books aren’t failures of discipline; they are altars of future selves. Each spine on the shelf a version of who we might one day become, should we ever have the time, or the heart, or the courage to open them.
And as for Rich’s wise advice about keeping the three trips separate, I admire it, even aspire to it, but I’m not sure I’m built for it. My anticipation bleeds into the journey, my memory edits even as I move through the present. Maybe the real magic lies not in separation but in simultaneity, the way a great trip, like a great book, folds time and lets all three versions of ourselves sit beside one another, flipping through maps, sharing olives, and watching the road rise to meet us.
Wishing you all the magic of North Africa, and its many mirrors!
Your trip to Northern Africa sounds exciting. I've always wanted to visit Egypt. When I worked in San Francisco I met so many Interesting people from all over. One day going home on the bus I sat next to a man reading an Arabic newspaper. And because sometimes words just come out if my mouth, I asked him could he really read all those characters. He just looked at me and burst out laughing. Turned out he was the head of the Egyptian Travel Bureau in San Francisco and a government official. Such a pleasant man. Virtually no accent. We talked about that too and he said Egyptians learn modern English because they have access to MTV. We spoke of so many things. People are more alike than they are different, no matter where they're from.
Have a wonderful time on your trip. And we do have guardians everywhere. I too have experienced them wherever I roam, or walk even.
Much love and happiness to you, Jon and your friends. Take pictures, a sketchbook and writing/painting materials. You never know when inspiration strikes. ♥️♥️
I loved this post and your stack of books Suleika, I’ll be adding more to my Tsundoku.
I still have the copy of Little Women my mother gave me in 1971 when I was 10 years old. It’s in rough shape from many reads but I can’t part with it yet. My grandmother lived in Concord, Massachusetts, not far from Alcott’s house which is now a museum. We visited at some point, but I barely remember. Now I have the urge to revisit!
I did not have many books as a child. Perhaps it was because my mother grew up in the tropics in the 1920’s and books would mostly get read by bookworms and they leave trails through the books which I don’t think she liked.
We would go to the library whenever that was built
But mostly I remember my father ( whose birthday is today) telling me stories as he sat on the edge of my bed.
The stories were filled with adventure of a princess…who I knew he thought was me but I knew differently…
Going on a train because that was what he loved…but I had never been on one and so I would fall asleep.
Then my grandmother gave my sister and I AAMilne Winnie the Pooh and his poems. I got the Poemsand not the adventures of Winnie because that was what my older sister liked but with those poems I fell in love with words and read them over and over.
It was particularly the Poem “ Disobedience “ which begins James, James Morrison Morrison George Dupree took great care of his mother though he was only three was where I said “Perfect!”because that was ME! I memorized it and its words
became my mission til my mother died -and continued even til now- to take care of her and anyone that came/comes along my path for the days of my life. I have to add that I also felt that the title of the poem described me perfectly and I think my son even today would agree. So that tiny book with poems and particularly one poem had tremendous influence over my writing, my reading and my life. PS Thanks to Dad I became a good dreamer and storyteller as well!
Hello All. I love your Creative life as Refuge Suleika. And the description of travel in 3 trips by Rich. And how you speak of this with your preparations. And how you describe all areas of your refuge in this process. I look forward to your telling us about your trip. And have wonderful holidays!
As always, beautiful post. I look forward to writing a response to this prompt & digging into past literature that had an impact on me. Also, I’d love for you to sell an Isolation Journal Volume 2! You announcing you’re selling more of volume 1 made me remember that request! I’ve always used mine to write my responses to the prompts each week, write down a positive of each day (no matter how small or seemingly minor), write down my favorite quotes, & now it’s been where I write all 100 of my responses for the Book of Alchemy prompts! I used to journal but I’d go through waves of being very committed to it or waves of time where I wouldn’t write at all. Now, I have a consistent routine & always journal before going to bed each night. It’s a great way to close my day and reflect on its happenings.
I can't even remember the books I have read as a child! I remember reading Dr. Suess but I don't remember the other books! I would spend Saturdays at our local library, reading there or taking books out. I just can't read a book now because I can't focus or I need my reading glasses! I hate glasses! Will you be taking another trip to the USA anytime? Come to Pa and visit Longwood Gardens in Kennett Square, Lancaster County home of the Amish, or Hershey, Pa., home of the Hershey candy bar! We have other tourist attractions but this is all I can think of! And of course, there's Philly, home of the Liberty Bell, the Constitution and Betsy Ross and the American flag! I'm not too far from Philly or Lancaster!
Suleika, have a wonderful journey ,and savor every moment. Right now , I am grieving the unexpected passing of my brother, My entire family of origin is gone. Orphaned. I have little connection to aunts or cousins. Thinking about my childhood breaks my heart. So here are a couple of “books” that have greatly impacted me in later adulthood. First, “The Way Of The Bodhisattva”by Shantideva. My “bible”. I have read it numerous times. Always by my bedside. Next, “Between Two Kingdoms”. This memoir helped me climb out of my own hellscape. Thank you , Suleika.❤️Finally, “ Klara And The Sun” by Kazuo Ishiguro. Always feeling like Klara.
My heart goes out to you, with losing your brother. I lost 2 brothers from Covid as well as 2 other relatives. But I have 4 siblings still alive. But again I’m so sorry.
Yay Africa! And thank you for reminding me of the great book, The Sheltering Sky- I want to reread that. also, I only found my creativity when I had my stroke. Prior to that it went missing. But what a gift of my stroke it is. I am grateful to have discovered in a very different way, music, reading, writing, film making, and observing nature. Finally, I find a magical comfort in remembering all the books I read as a kid. So fun!
Suleika, there’s something about the way you write about travel that always lands somewhere deep. That first road trip, stitched together with redwood fog, golden arches, & strangers-turned-guides, already felt mythic when I first read Between Two Kingdoms. It was even more delightful hearing you read it aloud. I listened when I was unwell, & as I find myself in such a state again, I may just revisit it this evening—as a bedtime story. But now, reading you on the eve of this next love-infused, slightly unhinged boondoggle, it feels like you’re walking not just across time, but toward some kind of radiant reconnection.
When I was little, my neighbour had a copy of The Tiger Who Came to Tea. It smelled of cupboard dust & cinnamon. We didn’t have many books at home, so I read it every time I visited, perched on her scratchy carpet while she stirred pasta sauce. I remember being equal parts delighted & disturbed by the tiger—the way he ate everything, even the water, & then just… left. No one screamed. They simply bought more food. I think I loved that book because it made a kind of quiet chaos feel normal. Familiar, even.
I haven’t thought of that tiger in years. But now I wonder how many visitors I’ve let in like that—wordless, hungry, promising company but leaving emptiness. And yet somehow, I always survived them. Maybe even needed them.
Thank you for the reminder that some journeys happen with our feet, some with our hearts, & some through the scent of pages, the salt of laughter, the weight of books in a suitcase. May this one root you gently, & bloom something unexpected.
"...and some through the scent of pages." Oh, Kim, "cupboard dust and cinnamon" evokes such a warmth inside me, a rememberance of sitting on my grandmother's lap, her reading to me in an envelope of safety that is only possible with deep love. Thank you and thank you Suleika for both of your journeys.
Oh Mary, what a beautiful image—an envelope of safety. I can just feel the love of that moment with your grandmother. Isn’t it something how scent & story can bring back a whole world?
Yes! "Scent and Story." Hmmmm....the name of your book?
You bring such memories to life. I ca picture you reading hunkered down. And the smell cupboard and cinnamon. Delightful.
Laurie, thank you. I think some part of me is still hunkered down on that carpet, waiting for the tiger to arrive. Funny how scent can tether us to a moment long after we’ve grown taller than the story itself. I’m so glad it brought something back for you too.
Kim your reply and the replies to your reply filled me with the commonness and holiness of purpose and journey. I too join in on a virtual hug….thank you!!
A virtual hug is the perfect blend of warmth & distance, especially given the lurgy that’s taken up residence within. Thank you for your words, Nancy, “the commonness and holiness of purpose and journey”, they wrapped around me just right. Isn’t it something, how a simple memory, a shared scent, or even a mischievous tiger can gather us all in close? I’m holding that with me this evening, & sending something soft back in return.
Kim, I just listened to your book on You Tube. I laughed. I kept thinking nice excuse to eat out.
Oh, Laurie. That made me giggle. I tilted my head when I read your note, part fever, part wonder, because for a moment I thought, Wait, I wrote a book… & it’s on YouTube?! The tiger, yes!! The illustrations are darling. I actually just ordered it from my local indie bookshop, because both the little version of me & the bigger one too are missing my dearly departed pussycat terribly right now. Especially when I’m unwell—her purrs were a salve to the soul. Perhaps this tiger might ease that ache, even just a little.
What! There is a video of you reading a book, and not just any book but one you wrote? Okay, now I know what I'll be doing today.
Oh Mary—I adore you, have I told you that today?! I laughed when I read your note, then thought, Imagine that... my voice, my story, a blanket-wrapped audiobook recording... But no, I’m afraid I haven’t written a book (yet!). Laurie was referring to The Tiger Who Came to Tea—that mischievous little classic from my childhood. But I do love the thought of you listening to something today that brings a smile, whether it’s a tiger, a poem, or just the sound of someone turning a page slowly enough to be felt. Perhaps over some tea, something soothing for my raspy voice, which ironically could have me doing voiceovers for said Tiger...!
Oh! When I read "perched on her scratchy carpet" I immediately knew what you meant! It was such a charming observation and immediately transported me back to being little. Then I wondered...are carpets no longer scratchy or have I stopped sitting on the floor? Love your writing ☺️
Sarah, that made me grin. Isn’t it funny how scratchy carpet lives somewhere in the body’s memory, ready to prickle us back into childhood? I suspect carpets haven’t changed—or maybe they have, I don't tend to luxuriate on them as I once did. Thank you for your kind words. I’m so glad that little detail found you.
I'm 78. I've had chemo, lived through post-chemo, been on IV treatments for long periods of time. It's hard for me to remember during what seem to be a fallow times, that it is actually a consolidating, integrating and germinating time. What has felt like emptiness, blankness, what I have resisted, surrendered to, hated, has always coalesced eventually to my next project. I hope your second trip lives up to the first one you are in now.
You say you are in a creative rut, but you keep writing these beautiful, inspiring Substack posts that are a joy to read.
Yes Yes Yes!!!
Agreed. Well said.
Yes, I thought the same!
Agreed!🩷
Suleika, returning home, to your ancestertal land...land...It has always meant so much to me as an Army. Today, I return to Kansas, but only in my heart, mind and body. A girl of 7, sitting under the oak tree shading our front yard, our massive folk Victorian, and turning first page by page, The Little House (by Virginia Lee Burton). Soaking in her illustrations, the smile on the house, the apple trees, the lush grass, the daisies drawn and rendered in perfect lollygaggig fashion. Arriving on the page where she is boxed in by a society grown around her, grey, rushing, void of greenery, and a sad face on that little house. Tears plopped on the pages and I was quick to wipe them away as it was a library book, well, that and I wasn't supposed to cry in public. But for those moments, I was sheltered in the world created by Ms.V. Lee Burton. She forever imprinted on me, the immense value of nature, the changing seasons, and the importance of being able to live in a place where one could revel in all of it. It is my birthday today and I do not have the money to travel, so I shall once again, get out my copy (a 1942 vintage saved from a trashcan), post myself beneath a tree and return to "home."
Happy birthday Mary! I hope it is a gentle day in all ways. ❤️
Thank you so much, Holly! I love that, "...a gentle day in all ways." Ahhhh, the perfect way to have a day.
The Little House is magical- Imprinted on me as well.. has have a vintage copy.. xoxo
It is magical, isn't it? Yes, the librarian at the school where I was working, had tossed it in the trash because it was "tattered." I quickly took it out and pressed it to my chest. No regrets.
Happy Birthday, Mary ❤️May your day be filled with gentleness and joy. And, glad you rescued the treasured book.
Thank you, Mary! Aww, I never looked at it as a "rescue" before and that fills me with joy!
No regrets..xoxo
"No regrets"...you got that right! Onward! Thank you Dr. M.S.
Happy birthday.
Lauren, thank you! It is a wonderful day to spend at The Isolation Journals among all you fine, deeply feeling souls.
You made me cry. Virginia Lee Burton a favorite that I first read when I became a teacher!!
Nancy, that means everything to me! One teacher to another, I too have read that to so many of my students and hope they all remember that little, pink house on the hill.
Mary, what a tender offering. I felt the weight of that library book in your lap, the hush under that oak tree, & the quiet ache of trying not to cry in public. I love that you’ve kept her close all these years, that you saved her from a trashcan, that even now—on your birthday—you’re returning to that same patch of grass & story as a form of homecoming. Land doesn’t always need our feet. Sometimes it just needs our remembering. Sending you a birthday wish wrapped in apple blossoms & daisy-spun quiet. And buckets of tea!
Ahhhh, "apple blossoms and daisy-spun quiet." This is a place where I will return to often, and I am so deeply thankful to you. Yes, land has a power, a force and I feel it all over again with my saved copy of The Little House. She was always the hope, that someday, I too would live on her hillside. I hope that someday, I can sit beside you, and share my beloved book.
There is nothing that would make me happier than that indeed, Mary. I am making plans, some dream-like others perhaps more of a reality but soon-ish, if the gods allow it. Tea & holding your pussycat as you read it aloud! You have me smiling, I'll write that wish into my pocket... it just has to come into being, right?
Happy Birthday! My birthday was last Thursday and I turned 78. I hope you have a wonderful day!
Becky, Happy Belated Birthday, and thank you! 78 and 64, living strong, living true to ourselves, and loving it!!
Happy Birthday Mary.
Oh. My. Word. This is love. This is life. To the journey that becomes the journeys. To the days lived out loud in the present, and then in memory, and then (always this then) in the sustaining imagination.
Beth, thank you for the reminder that memory sustains imagination. It fits my simpler world to a T. When I downsized I carefully, lovingly, distributed a long wall of books. By my 70s I had begun to follow the "buy one, give one" rule on books, but it didn't make the task any easier. Every book, every memory...so precious.
I love this, Susan. I live it, too — buy a book, give away a book. Lately I've been re-reading (again) my favorites. I call it going shopping in my bookshelves. Enormously satisfying, the shelves don't bow, and I can afford my chocolate. (At least right I can.)
Despite being a librarian I don't collect books at home and the small collection that does exist might need to be buy one and give away one in the future. Thank you for this lovely idea.
I was a school librarian. Perhaps we get saturated with the quantity from this experience. :)
Beth, "To the journey that becomes the journeys." Yes!
Mary: The way we live now.
Yes, truth!
“Sustaining imagination “ what a place to go!!
Sometimes, for me, it is the only shelter.
"The Swans of Ballycastle" or "Children of Lir". for the first time and I was about in 4th grade a book came whose story did not make myself and my brother feel guilty for our terrible life. We became Swans and went off to an island for others who were not responsible for what happened to them. Years later I rode my 3 Speed up the Antrim Coast to Ballycastle and took a ferry to Rathlin island in homage. The USA Trilogy by Jon Dos Passos--especially the first two volumes, I read these in high school (not assigned readings and loved them so much), "The Asiatics: by Frederic Prokosch, read many times.. as you do not need to go anywhere to see the world, "Show Boat", by Edna Ferber- loved the thought of performing on the Mississippi, "The Mandarins" by Simone de Beauvoir---a favorite of mine so romantic from her perspective-such fun to read, "Candide" and "The Confessions" the first read and reread, Tolstoy's short stories and "Boyhood", "The Little House", a children's book about revitalization, so many more and "Between Two Kingdoms"----I am not a big fan of self-help books.. oh loved Patti Smith, "Just Kids"... I wanted to love Isabelle Eberhardt- and I do, albeit Lady Jane Digby more the imaginary voluptuary I am.
4th grade such an important year developmentally in the brain
I got the measles, had to stay home, reached for the only book I saw on the shelf, Jane Eyre and I feel in love with reading books!!
oh my what great great memories, and yes 4th grade is so pivotal-- independent reading, big books, leaving the sequestered into the unknown.. 4th and 5th grade-- can be the crowning jewels of childhood. xo
Ok M.S., I now have my reading list for this month! Your opening line, "....whose story did not make myself and my brother feel guilty for our terrible life.," was everything.
Because this is so vivid, so rooted in your particular rhythms and rituals of wonder, I almost feel like I’m rifling through your glove compartment or your suitcase, finding a copy of “The Sheltering Sky” dog-eared beside sunscreen, and maybe a half-melted chocolate bar.
What struck me the most, though, beyond the richness of place and preparation, is your invocation of trip three, the one that lives in memory. It reminded me of something Milan Kundera once suggested: that we only ever live life “half a step ahead of ourselves”, narrating even as we act, scripting our own nostalgia in real time. But I wonder if, for some of us, especially those with a foot in the creative world, trip three starts before we even pack the bag. We are already writing the postcard before we have left the house. Already imagining how the light will fall through the linen curtain in a city we haven’t yet set foot in. Maybe this is a kind of second sight, or maybe it’s the curse of those who live by story: we pre-haunt our own experiences?
Your mention of tsundoku made me laugh in recognition… yes, the gentle shame of unread stacks, those silent towers of longing. But unread books aren’t failures of discipline; they are altars of future selves. Each spine on the shelf a version of who we might one day become, should we ever have the time, or the heart, or the courage to open them.
And as for Rich’s wise advice about keeping the three trips separate, I admire it, even aspire to it, but I’m not sure I’m built for it. My anticipation bleeds into the journey, my memory edits even as I move through the present. Maybe the real magic lies not in separation but in simultaneity, the way a great trip, like a great book, folds time and lets all three versions of ourselves sit beside one another, flipping through maps, sharing olives, and watching the road rise to meet us.
Wishing you all the magic of North Africa, and its many mirrors!
Your trip to Northern Africa sounds exciting. I've always wanted to visit Egypt. When I worked in San Francisco I met so many Interesting people from all over. One day going home on the bus I sat next to a man reading an Arabic newspaper. And because sometimes words just come out if my mouth, I asked him could he really read all those characters. He just looked at me and burst out laughing. Turned out he was the head of the Egyptian Travel Bureau in San Francisco and a government official. Such a pleasant man. Virtually no accent. We talked about that too and he said Egyptians learn modern English because they have access to MTV. We spoke of so many things. People are more alike than they are different, no matter where they're from.
Have a wonderful time on your trip. And we do have guardians everywhere. I too have experienced them wherever I roam, or walk even.
Much love and happiness to you, Jon and your friends. Take pictures, a sketchbook and writing/painting materials. You never know when inspiration strikes. ♥️♥️
Good morning everyone!
I loved this post and your stack of books Suleika, I’ll be adding more to my Tsundoku.
I still have the copy of Little Women my mother gave me in 1971 when I was 10 years old. It’s in rough shape from many reads but I can’t part with it yet. My grandmother lived in Concord, Massachusetts, not far from Alcott’s house which is now a museum. We visited at some point, but I barely remember. Now I have the urge to revisit!
Yes- although Jo's choice broke my heart as I so wanted her to be with Laurie
I did not have many books as a child. Perhaps it was because my mother grew up in the tropics in the 1920’s and books would mostly get read by bookworms and they leave trails through the books which I don’t think she liked.
We would go to the library whenever that was built
But mostly I remember my father ( whose birthday is today) telling me stories as he sat on the edge of my bed.
The stories were filled with adventure of a princess…who I knew he thought was me but I knew differently…
Going on a train because that was what he loved…but I had never been on one and so I would fall asleep.
Then my grandmother gave my sister and I AAMilne Winnie the Pooh and his poems. I got the Poemsand not the adventures of Winnie because that was what my older sister liked but with those poems I fell in love with words and read them over and over.
It was particularly the Poem “ Disobedience “ which begins James, James Morrison Morrison George Dupree took great care of his mother though he was only three was where I said “Perfect!”because that was ME! I memorized it and its words
became my mission til my mother died -and continued even til now- to take care of her and anyone that came/comes along my path for the days of my life. I have to add that I also felt that the title of the poem described me perfectly and I think my son even today would agree. So that tiny book with poems and particularly one poem had tremendous influence over my writing, my reading and my life. PS Thanks to Dad I became a good dreamer and storyteller as well!
Hello All. I love your Creative life as Refuge Suleika. And the description of travel in 3 trips by Rich. And how you speak of this with your preparations. And how you describe all areas of your refuge in this process. I look forward to your telling us about your trip. And have wonderful holidays!
As always, beautiful post. I look forward to writing a response to this prompt & digging into past literature that had an impact on me. Also, I’d love for you to sell an Isolation Journal Volume 2! You announcing you’re selling more of volume 1 made me remember that request! I’ve always used mine to write my responses to the prompts each week, write down a positive of each day (no matter how small or seemingly minor), write down my favorite quotes, & now it’s been where I write all 100 of my responses for the Book of Alchemy prompts! I used to journal but I’d go through waves of being very committed to it or waves of time where I wouldn’t write at all. Now, I have a consistent routine & always journal before going to bed each night. It’s a great way to close my day and reflect on its happenings.
I can't even remember the books I have read as a child! I remember reading Dr. Suess but I don't remember the other books! I would spend Saturdays at our local library, reading there or taking books out. I just can't read a book now because I can't focus or I need my reading glasses! I hate glasses! Will you be taking another trip to the USA anytime? Come to Pa and visit Longwood Gardens in Kennett Square, Lancaster County home of the Amish, or Hershey, Pa., home of the Hershey candy bar! We have other tourist attractions but this is all I can think of! And of course, there's Philly, home of the Liberty Bell, the Constitution and Betsy Ross and the American flag! I'm not too far from Philly or Lancaster!
Suleika, have a wonderful journey ,and savor every moment. Right now , I am grieving the unexpected passing of my brother, My entire family of origin is gone. Orphaned. I have little connection to aunts or cousins. Thinking about my childhood breaks my heart. So here are a couple of “books” that have greatly impacted me in later adulthood. First, “The Way Of The Bodhisattva”by Shantideva. My “bible”. I have read it numerous times. Always by my bedside. Next, “Between Two Kingdoms”. This memoir helped me climb out of my own hellscape. Thank you , Suleika.❤️Finally, “ Klara And The Sun” by Kazuo Ishiguro. Always feeling like Klara.
My heart goes out to you, with losing your brother. I lost 2 brothers from Covid as well as 2 other relatives. But I have 4 siblings still alive. But again I’m so sorry.
Thank you.
I am so very sorry about the loss of your brother, and the hole that that kind of loss leaves. May you find support and comfort as you travel forward.
Thank you.
Yay Africa! And thank you for reminding me of the great book, The Sheltering Sky- I want to reread that. also, I only found my creativity when I had my stroke. Prior to that it went missing. But what a gift of my stroke it is. I am grateful to have discovered in a very different way, music, reading, writing, film making, and observing nature. Finally, I find a magical comfort in remembering all the books I read as a kid. So fun!
Your words communicate with me Suleika and make me feel happy. I hope your chest is now healthy and you are enjoying! your first story. X Wizzaer.