DEPRESSION & ANXIETY VS CREATIVITY

 from Linda Lee Greene Author/Artist

“The poet Rilke was afraid that if he got rid of his demons, he would lose his angels as well. Of course the danger of clinging to our demons to save our angels is that our demons may well take over.”[1]

Boy, do I relate to that statement. I bet a gang of you do, too. My demons began to take over when I was the tender age of sixteen and developed a hyperactive thyroid, wrongly diagnosed at the time, and under-treated for many years thereafter. During those most important years of marriage and childbearing, when, if one can possibly arrange it, it’s a good idea to be at ones best and on top of ones game, too much of the time, I seesawed between depression and anxiety, in my case, depression manifesting as feelings of dissatisfaction, and anxiety as restlessness and a sense of uninterrupted urgency. Believe me, I get the angst of victims of mental disorders.

My children grown and on their own, I ventured into New Age Practices, gave Buddhism a look, tried Yoga, joined a church, read enough spiritual tomes to fill the library of Congress, hunted for a better me in the eyes of lovers who hadn’t a clue (I was divorced by then), all in an effort to just feel better. I finally got diagnosed, the lights came on in my brain, and the mood swings began to level out (but not completely). As a result, I have a life-long dependency on Synthroid, a thyroid replacement hormone, which, most of the time, keeps me just level enough that I don’t tip over into insanity. Now and then, though, the mood swings get out of control, which requires an adjustment in the dosage of the Synthroid.

During my famine years, and before I knew there was a bona fide thyroid disorder responsible for my troubles, I gave various antidepressants a whirl—or more precisely, I contemplated giving them a whirl. The truth is, I got prescriptions for them filled, took them for a few days, and then never touched them again. I was afraid of them! Like Rilke, I was afraid they would kill my creativity, my spark. I was afraid I’d descend, if not into the blackness of full-blown depression/anxiety, but into the gray gloom of a medicated zombie state. I bet a slew of you have also experienced that same fear.

“Blake, Byron, Tennyson, Woolf, Poe, Plath, Kierkegaard, Pound, Hemingway, Van Gogh, Tennessee Williams[2], Stephen King, Robin Williams, to name a few in an endless accounting of artist-sufferers of depression/anxiety, some of whom are among the eighteen percent of creative people who have committed, or are more prone to commit, suicide than depressed people in the general population. Other mental disorders among artistic people present similar terrifying statistics.

In tandem with my faulty thyroid messing with my moods, the fact that I’m primarily a right-brained individual—an author of fiction, an artist, and an interior designer, also presents tremendous “real-world” challenges for me. When a fire is burning in my right brain, and its light-filled, stress-free, happy, and packed with understanding people hovering steadfastly in the periphery of my existence, encouraging me, supporting my efforts, giving me space and time and freedom to do my thing, life is good for me. But once the project is finished—the book is published, the artwork is hanging on the gallery walls, the rooms are arranged and decorated down to the last knickknack, my Muse retires to her cave. She then pulls its blackout curtain across its door, and wants only solitude and nothing to do with the other side of all her efforts, namely the business associated with them.

How about you? Where do you stand on this subject of depression and/or anxiety vs creativity? If you are a seamstress, scrapbooker, photographer, furniture refinisher, cook, gardener, artist, musician, writer, composer, singer...whatever your creative outlet, do your creative efforts get waylaid by depression or anxiety? This is your forum to talk about it. Talking helps!

The following is an excerpt of GUARDIANS AND OTHER ANGELS, my book of historical fiction blended with my family’s actual story. The selection depicts an amusing, true incident involving apples and my mother Roma before she was my mother. A delicious recipe for fried apples and peaches rounds out this posting. Enjoy! 

One of the most enchanting features of the farm was its peach and apple orchard. Disregarding the fact that green apples gave Roma the “runs,” and convincing herself that she would get away with it that time, in a fit of gluttony, she set about one hot summer morning to stuff her belly full of the sweet green teasers. Predictably, later in the day, she found herself in dire need of visiting the “path” as this family called their outhouse, whereupon she sat, for long intervals of time, for several visits in a row. 

This was back in the day before fluffy white “Charmin” or any other machine-perforated-roll-perfectly-into-your-hand toilet paper came on the scene; these were the days when pages from magazines, newspapers, and the Sears & Roebuck catalog were special favorites for cleaning the backside. And when paper products ran out, corncobs would do. 

This day, Sears & Roebuck were on duty, and Roma, having gone through a good portion of the catalog, pulled up her underpants, and confident her ordeal was finally behind her, pun intended, proceeded to walk to the back door of the house, the door opening onto the kitchen. She lighted into her piled-up kitchen chores, working away uninterrupted for an hour or more, enjoying that peculiar euphoria that comes to one with the release of all the toxins in one’s body, when she realized that the house was unusually quiet, a phenomenon never occurring in that filled-to-human-capacity household. Taking a mere glancing note of it, she continued to sweep away, when out of the distance she thought she heard what sounded like a snicker. She hesitated for a moment, listened, but when all was quiet again, she fell back into the rhythm of her swishing broom. But suddenly, there it was again – a snicker, then two, then three. She realized she had company in the room. She turned to look, and there they all were, all nine members of her family, snickering and pointing at her backside. Horrified, she realized what was the matter, and twisting her head to get a gander at her backside. 

Like a dog chasing its own tail, Roma took off spinning around and around in the middle of the kitchen, howling like a dog, and flapping her hand at the offending article protruding from her underpants. In her haste to vacate the outhouse, the tail of her dress had caught in the waistband of her bloomers, and with it, a page from the Sears & Roebuck catalog also had fastened itself there, the page waving like a flag flapping in the breeze and ironically hailing its vivid advertisement of women underpanties.

Available in paperback and in eBook on Amazon 

Multi-award-winning author and artist Linda Lee Greene describes her life as a telescope that when trained on her past reveals how each piece of it, whether good or bad or in-between, was necessary in the unfoldment of her fine art and literary paths.

Greene moved from farm-girl to city-girl; dance instructor to wife, mother, and homemaker; divorcee to single-working-mom and adult-college-student; and interior designer to multi-award-winning artist and author, essayist, and blogger. It was decades of challenging life experiences and debilitating, chronic illness that gave birth to her dormant flair for art and writing. Greene was three days shy of her fifty-seventh birthday when her creative spirit took a hold of her.

She found her way to her lonely easel soon thereafter. Since then Greene has accepted commissions and displayed her artwork in shows and galleries in and around the USA. She is also a member of artist and writer associations.

Visit Linda on her blog and join her on Facebook. Linda loves to hear from readers so feel free to email her.

 

[1] The Sun, March 2010, “Tim Farrington On Creativity, Depression, And The Dark Night Of The Soul,” by D. Patrick Miller, p 8

[2] Ibid, p 5

EATING WELL

From Linda Lee Greene Author/Artist

“Well, dog-gone,” my father replied when I told him my research on the subject revealed that hickories and pecans are in the same family of trees, and that pecans grow as far northeast as Southern Ohio, our original stomping grounds. While hickories grow in abundance there, neither my father nor I could recall seeing a tree giving forth pecan nuts in our area. It was also news to us that Native Americans were responsible for naming both of the trees. The word "hickory" is said to have come from the Algonquian Indian word "pawcohiccora," while “pacane,” or “paccan,” or “pakan,” meaning “a nut so hard it has to be cracked with a stone,” evolved into “pecan.” 

If we were sons and daughters of Nashville, Memphis, Dallas, New Orleans, and other warm places along the “Pecan Belt,” we would be familiar with the resumé of pecans—we would know, for instance, that pecan trees can grow to be one hundred feet tall and live to be one thousand years old—quite a bit taller and much older than hickories. Now that’s a lot of nuts! In addition, after peanuts, which aren’t tree-nuts at all, pecans are the most popular nuts in North America. In fact, the United States produces over eighty percent of the world’s crop of this indigenous commodity. This is true even though along with electricity, automobiles, airplanes, telephones and countless other good things from North America, with the help of humankind, pecan trees eventually set root in other places around the globe such as Australia, Brazil, China, Israel, Mexico, Peru, and South Africa. 

Along with many other firsts credited to him, Thomas Jefferson, the third president of the United States, is recognized as the person who introduced the pecan to areas east of the Mississippi Valley, its native ground. Having discovered them during a trip to the area, he carried some nuts and seedlings back to his home in Virginia. He also introduced them to his friend, fellow Virginian, and first president of their homeland, George Washington. Thereafter, both of the gentlemen grew the trees on their plantations, an enterprise that spread to the southern states of the country. Subsequent to the Civil War, Union soldiers transported the seedlings and nuts to the north, which increased the regard for the buttery-flavored nut even further. It was a black-slave-gardener named “Antoine,” at Louisiana’s Oak Alley plantation, however, who was responsible for developing the first cultivar of the tree. In 1876, it was dubbed, “Centennial,” in commemoration of the one-hundredth anniversary of the founding of the United States. Since then, in deference to the people who fostered them originally, many of the current, five-hundred cultivars of the plant have been named for Native American tribes including “Cheyenne,” “Kiowa,” “Sioux,” “Choctaw,” and “Creek.” 

No overview of pecans would be complete without including pralines, the nutty confection originated in France using almonds rather than pecans. Stories abound regarding its appearance in the French cuisine. One account is that Clement Lassagne, chef of Marshal du Plesses-Praslin (1598-1675) concocted it after watching children in his kitchen nibbling on almonds and caramel. Or, it might have happened when one of his young and clumsy apprentices knocked over a container of almonds into a vat of cooking caramel. The most popular version involves Marshal du Plessis-Praslin himself. A notorious ladies man, he is purported to have asked Lassagne to develop an alluring treat for his paramours, which he presented to them in decorative little packets. For a time, the treat was referred to as “praslin,” after the lascivious gentleman, but evolved into “praline,” 

Brought to Louisiana by French settlers, chefs in New Orleans eventually substituted pecans for almonds and added cream to the French praline recipe. The basic “Big Easy” recipe for this Creole treat comprises pecans, brown sugar, white sugar, cream, and butter added to either rum, vanilla, chocolate, coconut, or peanut butter. Pronounced “prah-leen” in Louisiana, it is “pray-leen” to the rest of us, but regardless of the way one pronounces it, it is a Southern delicacy. Having always been sold on the streets of New Orleans, passers-by are lured to the Vieux Carré-stalls of praline vendors by the mouth-watering aroma, as well as the Creole call, “Belles Pralines,” “Belles Pralines!”

Pecans are rich in protein, vitamins and minerals. Clinical research has found that eating about a handful of plain pecans each day may help lower cholesterol as effectively as designated medications. They also are said to promote neurological health as well as delay age-related muscle-nerve degeneration. If you have a hankering for baked-goods, but want to avoid the unhealthy ingredients in traditional recipes, the following is a tasty and healthy substitute. It is also a better choice for people sensitive to gluten. This recipe batter can be used for baking basic bread, pancakes, crackers, crepes and cupcakes, but add maple syrup or Stevia to sweeten the batter.   

The recipe normally substitutes almond flour for flours made from grains. I have found that by adding garbanzo/fava bean flour to the almond flour, a smoother and finer batter is the result. It also calms the rather strong flavor of almond flour. Cranberries are featured in this recipe, but any berry or fruit, will do.

Healthy Berry-Pecan Muffins

Topping

1 tbsp. (15 ml) ground cinnamon

2 tbsp. (25 ml) maple syrup

1 tbsp. (15 ml) unsalted butter 

Combine ingredients in a small bowl and mix well.

Muffin Batter

2 ½ cups (625 ml) almond & garbanzo/fava flour mixture

1 cup (250 ml) chopped pecans

¼ tsp. (1 ml) salt

½ tsp. (2 ml) baking soda 

1 tsp. (5ml) ground cinnamon 

Combine the following ingredients in a separate bowl.

2 eggs

½ cup (125 ml) Yogurt

½ cup (125 ml) maple syrup

1 ½ cups (375 ml) cranberries, or berries or fruit of choice 

Preheat the oven to 325° (160°C).

Line a muffin tin with large baking cups

Combine the wet ingredients in another bowl and pour into the first bowl of the dry ingredients. Mix well. Add enough water to make the batter about the consistency of toothpaste. Evenly fill each baking cup with the batter and drizzle the topping over each one.  Bake for 20 to 25 minutes.)

This is a good day for baking a delicious treat, and what can be better than baking with pecans and fruit? A delightful breakfast, snack, or dessert of Healthy Berry-Pecan Muffins and a cup of coffee awaits you. To soothe your tummy further, add a pinch of baking soda to your coffee grounds upon brewing. It cuts down on coffee’s acid. I do it! I like it! It works!

Was it chance or destiny’s hand behind a man and a woman’s curious encounter at Caesars Palace in Las Vegas? The cards fold, their hearts open, and a match strikes, flames that sizzle their hearts and souls. Can they have the moon and the stars, too? Or is she too dangerous? Is he? Can their love withstand betrayal?! Can it endure murder?! Amid the seductions of Las Vegas, Nevada and an idyllic coffee plantation on Hawai’i’s Big Island, a sextet of opposites converge within a shared fate: a glamorous movie-star courting distractions from her troubled past; her shell-shocked bodyguards clutching handholds out of their hardscrabble lives; a dropout Hawaiian nuclear physicist gambling his way back home; a Navajo rancher seeking cleansing for harming Mother Earth; and from its lofty perch, the Hawaiian’s guardian spirit conjured as his pet raven, conducting this symphony of soul odysseys. 

A reader says, “I loved this book. I got lost in the realism and all that was going on, and it made me feel like I was watching a movie instead of reading a book. If you want to be left breathless in a sea of a million emotions, buy this book. It will captivate your senses on every level. I highly recommend, A CHANCE AT THE MOON.”

“Give me a ticket to Las Vegas, a big stack of poker chips at a table lucky as gold—oh, and a copy of A CHANCE AT THE MOON to refuel me when I fold.” Tina Griffith, multi-award-winning author of THE ELUSIVE MR. VELUCCI

AMAZON BUY LINK

Multi-award-winning author and artist Linda Lee Greene describes her life as a telescope that when trained on her past reveals how each piece of it, whether good or bad or in-between, was necessary in the unfoldment of her fine art and literary paths.

 
Greene moved from farm-girl to city-girl; dance instructor to wife, mother, and homemaker; divorcee to single-working-mom and adult-college-student; and interior designer to multi-award-winning artist and author, essayist, and blogger. It was decades of challenging life experiences and debilitating, chronic illness that gave birth to her dormant flair for art and writing. Greene was three days shy of her fifty-seventh birthday when her creative spirit took a hold of her.

She found her way to her lonely easel soon thereafter. Since then Greene has accepted commissions and displayed her artwork in shows and galleries in and around the USA. She is also a member of artist and writer associations.

Visit Linda on her blog and join her on Facebook. Linda loves to hear from readers so feel free to email her.

TWO APPLES A DAY KEEP THE DOCTOR AWAY

 from Linda Lee Greene

Raw, stewed, or sauced apples are rich in soluble fiber and act as a prebiotic, which feeds and multiplies the beneficial bacteria in the gut, thereby reducing inflammation. Inflammation is the main culprit in gut ailments such as IBS, IBD, bloating, pain and constipation. Apple consumption also increases the absorption of minerals like calcium, increases immune system tolerance, helps control appetite and balances blood sugar and cholesterol. 

Apples contain polyphenols (micronutrients) found in plants, fruit, vegetables, tea, coffee and wine. It’s a good idea to eat the skins and core (remove seeds and their hard casings) of raw and cooked apples, because the skins and core contain more polyphenols, dietary fiber and minerals than the fleshy part of the fruit. One apple typically has about 100 million bacteria cells, and if you don't eat the core, you only get about 10 million bacteria cells. One study showed that organic apples had better bacteria than conventional apples, and eating two apples a day instead of only one is better at keeping the doctor away. 

Anyone educated about the harm that man-refined sugar reaps on the human body recognizes the truth behind William Dufty’s assertion that it is a “‘human pesticide,’ ‘white poison,’…and is more lethal than opium and more dangerous than atomic fallout.”  My applesauce recipe contains no sugar or sweetener of any kind, and the finished product is delightfully sweet all on its own.

HOMEMADE SUGAR-FREE APPLESAUCE

16 unpeeled, whole and baked apples (preferably organic), chilled in fridge or thawed from freezer

1½ tbsp. lemon juice or apple cider vinegar (more or less to taste)

3 drops of a lemon essential oil

2 tbsp. vanilla extract

A few dashes each of ground cinnamon and ginger

¾ cup water (preferably filtered)

¼ tsp. salt

4 tbsp. salted butter (it gives a yummy, creamy consistency to the applesauce)

4 oz. natural cranberry juice

Cut whole unpeeled baked apples with cores intact into quarters. Remove the seeds and seed casings. Place in Crock Pot or equivalent appliance with water, lemon juice, or vinegar, lemon essential oil, vanilla extract, cinnamon, ginger, butter, cranberry juice, and salt. The acid in the lemon juice or vinegar and lemon essential oil brightens the flavor and balances the natural sweetness of the apples.

Cook on high until mixture is mushy (about an hour).

Puree the cooked apples with a potato masher or hand mixer or standing blender. (If using a standing blender, do only half the batch at a time, and do not fill the blender bowl more than halfway).

If the finished applesauce is not sweet enough, add stevia sugar substitute to taste. If too sweet, add more lemon juice or vinegar or lemon essential oil. However, if this recipe is followed faithfully, the level of sweetness should be just right.

This applesauce is delicious either warm or chilled. It pairs well with pork or other savory dishes. It’s wonderful with cottage cheese, vanilla ice cream or yogurt, and scrambled eggs or omelets.

This is a good recipe for canning. It freezes well and will last at least a year in a freezer. If freezing, make sure to allow enough headroom (at least an inch) in the container for expansion. It will keep well in the fridge for one to two weeks.

Here’s a peek at multi-award-winning author and artist Linda Lee Greene’s latest book, Garden of the Spirits of the Pots, A Spiritual Odyssey. It is a blend of visionary and inspirational fiction with a touch of romance. The story unfolds as ex-pat American Nicholas Plato journeys into parts unknown, both within himself and his adopted home of Sydney, Australia. In the end, the odyssey reveals to him his true purpose for living. The novella is available in eBook and paperback.

Driven by a deathly thirst, he stops. A strange little brown man materializes out of nowhere and introduces himself merely as ‘Potter,’ and welcomes Nicholas to his ‘Garden of the Spirits of the Pots.’ Although Nicholas has never laid eyes on Potter, the man seems to have expected Nicholas at his bizarre habitation and displays knowledge about him that nobody has any right to possess. Just who is this mysterious Aboriginal potter? 

Although they are as mismatched as two persons can be, a strangely inevitable friendship takes hold between them. It is a relationship that can only be directed by an unseen hand bent on setting Nicholas on a mystifying voyage of self-discovery and Potter on revelations of universal certainties. 

A blend of visionary and inspirational fiction, and a touch of romance, this is a tale of Nicholas’ journey into parts unknown, both within his adopted home and himself, a quest that in the end leads him to his true purpose for living. 

AMAZON BUY LINK 

Multi-award-winning author and artist Linda Lee Greene describes her life as a telescope that when trained on her past reveals how each piece of it, whether good or bad or in-between, was necessary in the unfoldment of her fine art and literary paths.
Greene moved from farm-girl to city-girl; dance instructor to wife, mother, and homemaker; divorcee to single-working-mom and adult-college-student; and interior designer to multi-award-winning artist and author, essayist, and blogger. It was decades of challenging life experiences and debilitating, chronic illness that gave birth to her dormant flair for art and writing. Greene was three days shy of her fifty-seventh birthday when her creative spirit took a hold of her.

She found her way to her lonely easel soon thereafter. Since then Greene has accepted commissions and displayed her artwork in shows and galleries in and around the USA. She is also a member of artist and writer associations.

Visit Linda on her blog and join her on Facebook. Linda loves to hear from readers so feel free to email her.

GUILT - WHAT IS IT?

From Linda Lee Greene Author/Artist 

I have an enormous problem with feelings of guilt. I’m convinced it’s the bane of my existence—my chief obstacle in life. I rationalize away too many good hours of my days in service to this insidious structure of my ego. I want to break its hold on me. But how? I can’t afford a psychotherapist. Maybe the Catholics have it right—maybe confession is good for the soul! I think I’ll try it. So here goes: 

I suck at the art of relaxation and when I try to relax, I feel guilty about it even though in an out-of-reach region of my consciousness, I know it’s a beneficial thing. But tell that to my ego! Tell that slavedriver that not every moment must have a purpose, some useful something attached to it. 

Sometimes I just feel lazy. Ahhh, laziness—not the same as constructive relaxation at all, but a SIN! If you don’t believe me on this point, ask M. Scott Peck, M. D., who wrote the definitive exposé on laziness in his groundbreaking book, People of the Lie. He theorized that laziness is mankind’s greatest evil…that it IS the very DNA of evil. My poor mother, God Bless Her Departed Soul, could only justify her need for this evil by feigning illness and going to her bed for a few hours in a week, or so. My God, I’ve become my mother and one of Peck’s reprobates! 

I’ve made mistakes with my kids—little mistakes and big mistakes. I still do. Those are the guilts that bore treacherous, black holes in my mind and heart into which I most often plummet…and yes, I lose myself there. My ego loves those plunges most of all because there’s no end to the ego’s guilt-affirming, mind-chatter there. 

Sometimes I gossip! Shame! Shame! Shame! There really is no excuse for it, but still I do it on occasion even while one part of my brain is berating me for my indulgence while the other is joyfully partaking of it. The gossiper-me is like a food addict licking a huge dome of vanilla ice cream, my taste buds blindly welcoming as an honored guest the fat cells accumulating on my behind. And thereafter for days, I feel dreadful about the gossiping and the ice cream orgy. 

Sometimes, and sometimes for very long stretches of time, I just don’t want to write, and especially to market my writing. There’s no limit to my guilt related to that one because it’s directly centered on God, no less! Why, you ask? Well, because God sent me here to be a writer; it’s my purpose in this life, my ticket into this particular incarnation—and I have the unmitigated gall to ignore that agenda, to squander my gift, to thumb my nose at God!!! 

There just is no hope for me. Guilt has me in a firm grip and it won’t let go. But wait a minute! I think I do feel a slight easing of my conscience. Wow! This coming clean really works. 

Maybe you’d like to try it. Oh come on. You can do it. There’s a blank space just below with your name on it. Only you and I will ever know—I promise!

International best-selling author Paulette Mahurin had the following to say to me on the subject at hand:

 Comment:

 Paulette Mahurin

Good one. We all struggle with this thing called, being human. No escaping it. No switch to turn it on or off and make it do what we want. It's a new age thing to label it "ego" and put it out there, aside from "the real me" but I've learned that it's all me, simple ole uneasy/easy imperfect me. No escaping the conditioning, programming, learning, and yeah, DNA. So what's the point? Does it even matter if there is one, it'll all change anyway. I'm so glad to see you back out among the cyber drifters. I love you and your incredible writing. Couldn't resist stopping by to let you know.

Reply

Linda Lee Greene

Hello again Paulette. Thanks so much for keeping an eye out for me. I love connecting with you. I love you too. Best of luck with HIS NAME WAS BEN. I meant to tell you that your ending of that book was one of the best I've ever read. 

In multi-award-winning author, Linda Lee Greene’s A CHANCE AT THE MOON, Olivia’s guilt over her involvement with her mother’s murder drives her to desperate measures that turn deadly dangerous to herself and to the only man who has truly loved her. 

A reader says: “A gripping tale of romance, vices, glamour, insecurities, betrayal, and murder written in a very descriptive and artistic manner which paints a picture of the environment and characters. This was clearly well-researched…”

Rich and spoiled-rotten Olivia Montoyo Simms wouldn't know how to cook up a meal even if she was so hungry that "her belly was gnawing at her backbone," to borrow an old-timey expression. But Olivia has no match in the ways of wooing a man to her risky schemes. A gorgeous stranger at Caesars Palace in Las Vegas has all the goods to satisfy and girl's appetite, but unknown to Olivia, he just might be the one guy who also has what it takes to wrangle her comeuppance. 

Was it chance or destiny’s hand behind the movie-star and gambler’s curious encounter at Caesars Palace in Las Vegas? The cards fold, their hearts open, and a match strikes, flames that sizzle their hearts and souls. Can they have the moon and the stars, too? Or is she too dangerous? Is he? Can their love withstand betrayal? Can it endure murder?

While the cards at Caesar’s Palace in Las Vegas fail to distract them from their troubled pasts, on the side, the actress and the gambler play a game of ‘will they won’t they’ romance. Meanwhile, an otherworldly hand also has a big stake in the game. Unexpected secrets unfold brimming with dangerous consequences, and finally, a strange brand of salvation.

Amazon Buy Links Paperback - Kindle

Multi-award-winning author and artist Linda Lee Greene describes her life as a telescope that when trained on her past reveals how each piece of it, whether good or bad or in-between, was necessary in the unfoldment of her fine art and literary paths.

Greene moved from farm-girl to city-girl; dance instructor to wife, mother, and homemaker; divorcee to single-working-mom and adult-college-student; and interior designer to multi-award-winning artist and author, essayist, and blogger. It was decades of challenging life experiences and debilitating, chronic illness that gave birth to her dormant flair for art and writing. Greene was three days shy of her fifty-seventh birthday when her creative spirit took a hold of her.

She found her way to her lonely easel soon thereafter. Since then Greene has accepted commissions and displayed her artwork in shows and galleries in and around the USA. She is also a member of artist and writer associations.

Visit Linda at her online art gallery and join her on Facebook. Linda loves to hear from readers so feel free to email her.

YOU SAY TOMATO, I SAY TOMAHTO

 from Linda Lee Greene, Author/Artist

 

I didn’t plant tomatoes this season, but at summer’s end, little bundles of them in paper or plastic bags will show up at my back gate, the largesse of my sweet neighbors and friends. I am prepared for the bounty better than in previous years, because I came across an intriguing and simple recipe to preserve them found in the Spring/Summer 1995 issue of “The Cook’s Garden” catalog that has been tucked away and forgotten among my cookbooks all this time. Sadly, at least from my perspective, the “Cook’s Garden,” the mail-order and seed supply house of Londonderry, Vermont has since been assimilated into the W. Atlee Burpee Company. I am therefore, so happy to still have in my possession this edition of the catalog as a memento of the innovative and famous organic growers' enterprise.              

Founder of the “Cook’s Garden” and author of the catalog Shepherd Ogden writes that this recipe for oven-dried tomatoes promises to be as good as anything found in a store. A further benefit is that it is so easy to prepare. Once properly dried, the tomatoes will keep in the refrigerator for several months, to be used as the base for tomato sauce, tomato-based soups, topping on pizza, tomato powder, tomato chips, and tomato pesto. Rehydrate the tomatoes by marinating in a bit of salad dressing and then enjoy them in salads or on sandwiches. 

These dehydrated wonders are good to have on hand to perk up your dishes throughout the year, even during winter. 

OVEN-DRIED TOMATOES

4 pints of Principe Borghese or San Marzano tomatoes or other Roma heirloom varieties

1 tbsp. sea salt

2 cups fresh basil leaves

1 cup olive oil

2 sterilized jars (pint-sized canning jars with lids and seals, or canning jars with self-sealing lids) 

Preheat oven to 150° F

Slice tomatoes in half lengthwise. Scoop out seeds. Place on cookie sheets, flat side up. Sprinkle lightly with sea salt. 

Set in a warm oven. When tomatoes are completely dry (12 to 24 hours), pack in pint jars, alternating with a layer of basil leaves. Continue to build layers of tomatoes and basil leaves, and at the top of the jars, drizzle in olive oil until all contents are coated. Place in the refrigerator where the tomatoes will stay fresh for several months.    

Rich and spoiled-rotten Olivia Montoyo Simms wouldn't know how to cook up a meal even if she was so hungry that "her belly was gnawing at her backbone," to borrow an old-timey expression. But Olivia has no match in the ways of wooing a man to her risky schemes. A gorgeous stranger at Caesars Palace in Las Vegas has all the goods to satisfy and girl's appetite, but unknown to Olivia, he just might be the one guy who also has what it takes to wrangle her comeuppance. 

Was it chance or destiny’s hand behind the movie-star and gambler’s curious encounter at Caesars Palace in Las Vegas? The cards fold, their hearts open, and a match strikes, flames that sizzle their hearts and souls. Can they have the moon and the stars, too? Or is she too dangerous? Is he? Can their love withstand betrayal? Can it endure murder?

While the cards at Caesar’s Palace in Las Vegas fail to distract them from their troubled pasts, on the side, the actress and the gambler play a game of ‘will they won’t they’ romance. Meanwhile, an otherworldly hand also has a big stake in the game. Unexpected secrets unfold brimming with dangerous consequences, and finally, a strange brand of salvation.

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Multi-award-winning author and artist Linda Lee Greene describes her life as a telescope that when trained on her past reveals how each piece of it, whether good or bad or in-between, was necessary in the unfoldment of her fine art and literary paths.

Greene moved from farm-girl to city-girl; dance instructor to wife, mother, and homemaker; divorcee to single-working-mom and adult-college-student; and interior designer to multi-award-winning artist and author, essayist, and blogger. It was decades of challenging life experiences and debilitating, chronic illness that gave birth to her dormant flair for art and writing. Greene was three days shy of her fifty-seventh birthday when her creative spirit took a hold of her.

She found her way to her lonely easel soon thereafter. Since then Greene has accepted commissions and displayed her artwork in shows and galleries in and around the USA. She is also a member of artist and writer associations.

Visit Linda at her online art gallery and join her on Facebook. Linda loves to hear from readers so feel free to email her.

COOK UP SOMETHING DELICIOUS

from Linda Lee Greene

HALLULAH! Cast-iron cooking is back on the burner of the world’s kitchens, its barbeque pits, and its campsite fires—and nothing fries up more delectably in the iconic cooker than green apples, or apples of any color, and even peaches. 

Dating back to the 18^th century, apple and peach orchards have been a constant feature of farm-life of my American ancestors, and of my European forebears, I imagine. Apples picked right off the tree or hauled topside from underground cellars and fried up in an iron skillet, a vessel that was passed down from mother to daughter, has been a staple of my family through those generations and to the present. Store-bought fruit will do, too, of course.  

Down-Home Fried Apples & Peaches

½ cup butter6 medium unpeeled firm apples, sliced

4 very soft unpeeled peaches, sliced 

¾ cup cane, coconut, or brown sugar

¾ tsp. ground cinnamon (optional)

¼ cup apple juice, 100% juice

2 tsp. vanilla extract

Over low heat, melt butter in a large cast-iron or heavy ovenproof skillet. Add apples and ½ cup sugar. Mix well, cover, and cook 20 minutes or until apples are fork tender. Stir frequently. 

Add optional cinnamon), remaining sugar, apple juice, vanilla extract, and peach slices. Cover and cook for another 10 to 15 minutes over medium heat.   

Serve with iron-skillet gravy and country biscuits at main meals, or with vanilla ice cream for dessert. 

The following is an excerpt of GUARDIANS AND OTHER ANGELS, my book of historical fiction blended with my family’s actual story. The selection depicts an amusing, true incident involving apples and my mother Roma before she was my mother. A delicious recipe for fried apples and peaches rounds out this posting. Enjoy! 

One of the most enchanting features of the farm was its peach and apple orchard. Disregarding the fact that green apples gave Roma the “runs,” and convincing herself that she would get away with it that time, in a fit of gluttony, she set about one hot summer morning to stuff her belly full of the sweet green teasers. Predictably, later in the day, she found herself in dire need of visiting the “path” as this family called their outhouse, whereupon she sat, for long intervals of time, for several visits in a row. 

This was back in the day before fluffy white “Charmin” or any other machine-perforated-roll-perfectly-into-your-hand toilet paper came on the scene; these were the days when pages from magazines, newspapers, and the Sears & Roebuck catalog were special favorites for cleaning the backside. And when paper products ran out, corncobs would do. 

This day, Sears & Roebuck were on duty, and Roma, having gone through a good portion of the catalog, pulled up her underpants, and confident her ordeal was finally behind her, pun intended, proceeded to walk to the back door of the house, the door opening onto the kitchen. She lighted into her piled-up kitchen chores, working away uninterrupted for an hour or more, enjoying that peculiar euphoria that comes to one with the release of all the toxins in one’s body, when she realized that the house was unusually quiet, a phenomenon never occurring in that filled-to-human-capacity household. Taking a mere glancing note of it, she continued to sweep away, when out of the distance she thought she heard what sounded like a snicker. She hesitated for a moment, listened, but when all was quiet again, she fell back into the rhythm of her swishing broom. But suddenly, there it was again – a snicker, then two, then three. She realized she had company in the room. She turned to look, and there they all were, all nine members of her family, snickering and pointing at her backside. Horrified, she realized what was the matter, and twisting her head to get a gander at her backside. 

Like a dog chasing its own tail, Roma took off spinning around and around in the middle of the kitchen, howling like a dog, and flapping her hand at the offending article protruding from her underpants. In her haste to vacate the outhouse, the tail of her dress had caught in the waistband of her bloomers, and with it, a page from the Sears & Roebuck catalog also had fastened itself there, the page waving like a flag flapping in the breeze and ironically hailing its vivid advertisement of women underpanties.

Available in paperback and in eBook on Amazon 

Multi-award-winning author and artist Linda Lee Greene describes her life as a telescope that when trained on her past reveals how each piece of it, whether good or bad or in-between, was necessary in the unfoldment of her fine art and literary paths.

Greene moved from farm-girl to city-girl; dance instructor to wife, mother, and homemaker; divorcee to single-working-mom and adult-college-student; and interior designer to multi-award-winning artist and author, essayist, and blogger. It was decades of challenging life experiences and debilitating, chronic illness that gave birth to her dormant flair for art and writing. Greene was three days shy of her fifty-seventh birthday when her creative spirit took a hold of her.

She found her way to her lonely easel soon thereafter. Since then Greene has accepted commissions and displayed her artwork in shows and galleries in and around the USA. She is also a member of artist and writer associations.

Visit Linda on her blog and join her on Facebook. Linda loves to hear from readers so feel free to email her.

THE BOY WHO BECAME A ROBIN

From Linda Lee Greene Author/Artist 

Arrowmaker, a Chippewa brave, 1903

I am always in search of ways to connect with my Cherokee roots, and in that effort, I belong to several Facebook groups centered on Native American history and lifeways, both past and present. The following, delightful “coming of age” Chippewa legend “The Boy Who Became a Robin” was posted on Facebook initially by my Facebook friend, Katherine Collins (Lady Night Hawk).  

“Once upon a time there was an old Indian who had an only son whose name was Opeechee. The boy had come to the age when every Indian lad makes a fast in order to secure a Spirit to be his guardian for life.  

“The old man was very proud, and he wished his son to fast longer than other boys, and to become a greater warrior than all others. So, he directed him to prepare with solemn ceremonies for the fast.  

“After the boy had been in the sweating lodge and bath several times, his father commanded him to lie down upon a clean mat, in a little lodge apart from the rest. ‘My Son, endure your hunger like a man, and at the end of twelve days, you will receive food and a blessing from my hands.’  

“The boy was careful to do all his father commanded, and lay quietly with his face covered, awaiting the arrival of his guardian Spirit who was to bring him good or bad dreams.  

“His father visited him every day, encouraging him to endure with patience the pangs of hunger and thirst. He told him of the honor and renown that would be his if he continued his fast to the end of the twelve days.  

“To all of this the boy replied not but lay on his mat without a murmur of discontent, until the ninth day, when he said, ‘My Father, the dreams tell me of evil. May I break my fast now, and at a better time make a new one?’  

“‘My Son, you know not what you ask. If you get up now, all your glory will depart. Wait patiently a little longer. You have but three days more to fast, then glory and honor will be yours.’  

“The boy said nothing more, but covering himself closer, he lay until the eleventh day, when he spoke again. ‘My Father, the dreams forebode evil. May I break my fast now, and at a better time make a new one?’  

"’My Son, you know not what you ask. Wait patiently a little longer. You have but one more day to fast. Tomorrow I will myself prepare a meal and bring it to you.’ The boy remained silent and motionless beneath his covering except for the gentle heaving of his breast.  

“Early the next morning his father, overjoyed at having gained his end, prepared some food. The food in hand, he took it and hastened to the lodge intending to set it before his son. Upon approaching the door of the lodge, to his surprise he heard the boy talking to someone. He lifted the curtain hanging before the doorway and looking in saw his son painting his breast with vermilion. And as the lad laid on the bright color as far back on his shoulders as he could reach, he was saying to himself, ‘My father has destroyed my fortune as a man. He would not listen to my requests. I shall be happy forever because I was obedient to my parent, but he will suffer. My guardian Spirit has given me a new form, and now I must go!’

“At this his father rushed into the lodge, crying, ‘My Son! My Son! I pray you leave me not!’ 

‘But the boy, with the quickness of a bird, flew to the top of the lodge and perching upon the highest pole, was instantly changed in a most beautiful Robin Redbreast. Looking down with pity in his eyes, he said, ‘Do not sorrow, O my Father. I am no longer your boy but Opeechee the Robin. I shall always be a friend to men and live near their dwellings. I shall ever be happy and content. Every day I will sing you songs of joy. The mountains and fields yield my food. My pathway is in the bright air.’ 

“Then Opeechee the Robing stretched himself as if delighting in his new wings and caroling his sweetest song, flew away to the nearby trees.”

Here is a brief intro to one of Linda's best-selling novels.           

Guardians and Other Angels, multi-award-winning author Linda Lee Greene's novel, chronicles the story of two heroic families played out against the bad and the good of the early to mid-twentieth century, years of worldwide economic depression and war, as well as the spawning of the “Greatest Generation.” Firsthand accounts of the times in authentic letters written by members of the families are peppered throughout the book.

Available in paperback and in eBook on Amazon 

Multi-award-winning author and artist Linda Lee Greene describes her life as a telescope that when trained on her past reveals how each piece of it, whether good or bad or in-between, was necessary in the unfoldment of her fine art and literary paths.
Greene moved from farm-girl to city-girl; dance instructor to wife, mother, and homemaker; divorcee to single-working-mom and adult-college-student; and interior designer to multi-award-winning artist and author, essayist, and blogger. It was decades of challenging life experiences and debilitating, chronic illness that gave birth to her dormant flair for art and writing. Greene was three days shy of her fifty-seventh birthday when her creative spirit took a hold of her.

She found her way to her lonely easel soon thereafter. Since then Greene has accepted commissions and displayed her artwork in shows and galleries in and around the USA. She is also a member of artist and writer associations.

Visit Linda on her blog and join her on Facebook. Linda loves to hear from readers so feel free to email her.