IF ONLY IT HAD RAINED…

 

From Linda Lee Greene Author/Artist

 

Today, Wednesday, November 22, 2023, is a day fit only for the intrepid here in Central Ohio. Blustery and gray and hung over from yesterday’s rain—the day mirrors my mood. “If only it had been such a day in Dallas sixty years ago!” the nagging voice whirls like dirvishes unchecked in my brain. “If only it had rained or at least threatened to rain and President John F. Kennedy had been in a closed car rather than the open one…his beautiful head would have been shielded from Lee Harvey Oswald’s killer bullet.”

          In my long life I have lived through my wedding day; the birth of my son; the birth of my daughter; my divorce; the death of both of my parents and of my brother and of my sister; the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr and of Bobby Kennedy; the Vietnam War; 9/11; Covid 19, January 6^th; and more surgeries than I can count on both hands; but no hours loom as starkly in my memory as those that opened at mid-day of Friday, November 22, 1963, the day my fellow Americans and I were struck dumb by the news that John F. Kennedy, our president, had been assassinated.   

          Basking in the unseasonably bright and warm day in Forest Hills, Queens, New York, my co-worker and I strolled leisurely from our lunch at a nearby café to our workplace in the credit department located on an upper floor of the towering Uni-Card building. We approached the crowd of our loitering co-workers on the broad sidewalk fronting the building and joined in the pitter-patter and joking so typical of New Yorkers at their leisure. The lively drumbeat of chatter stopped abruptly when a man rushed out of the broad entrance of the building, his hand clutching a long white ribbon of tickertape that trailed in his wake, and his voice shouting, “THE PRESIDENT WAS SHOT! THE PRESIDENT WAS SHOT!” In the blink of an eye, a second man ran from the building. It was his duty to tell us that the president was dead, that the city was shutting down as was the case across the country, and that we were dismissed and advised to get to our homes as quickly and as efficiently as possible.

The one detail missing from my memory is the means by which I made it to the one-bedroom apartment in Flushing, Queens, New York, in which my bridegroom and I had taken up residence only three months before. Perched on the floor of our living room, our noses only inches from our small black and white television, my husband and I watched nearly motionless, other than bathroom and kitchen breaks, the unfolding drama of the several days comprising JFK’s assassination: the tragic motorcade, the chaotic manhunt, Oswald’s frenzied apprehension, and then, the man in the scruffy fedora crashing through the mad crowd, raising his gun-wielding hand and shooting Oswald dead…right there on the TV screen…right before our stunned eyes. And then there was Jackie’s blood-stained pink suit, the new president’s swearing in, the flag-draped coffin, the funeral procession with the riderless horse, the little son stepping forward and saluting his fallen father.

          To my mind, that condensed national event was unmatched in modern history—until now…until this now when Americans are more mixed up and at odds in mind and heart than at any other time since the country’s Civil War. As we gather at our Thanksgiving tables tomorrow, let us clasp one another’s hands and send out fervent entreaties for healing of the wounded USA.©

                                                                        

#11/22/1963, #ForestHillsNY, #JohnFKennedy, #JFK, #POTUS, #Assassination, #LeeHarveyOswald, #BloodStainedPinkSuit, #JackieKennedyOnassis, #VietNamWar, #9/11, #Covid-19, #January6th, #CivilWar, #LindaLeeGreene, #AuthorArtist

 

 

THE DELIVERY PERSON ALWAYS RINGS TWICE

 From Linda Lee Greene, Author & Artist

 

Mothers and daughters across much of the world forge an unbreakable bond by way of shared shopping excursions. My adult daughter Elizabeth, who is a natural-born marathon shopper, to this day has not quite forgiven me for not being one of those mothers: shopping is, and always has been, a bloody nightmare for me. Most often, shopping stiffens my back and legs to beams of concrete and melts my brain to mush. A positive outcome of the pandemic for me is the release of any further need to schlep around in brick and mortar shops. I sure do hope that after the pandemic, the fabulous delivery services continue.

            Nothing is perfect, though, as we all know. Sometimes items show up in our deliveries as substitutes that don’t quite meet our expectations. And if it is a food item, there is no returning it. Recently, I received Italian Chicken Sausages in place of authentic Italian Pork Sausages. I’ve tasted those supposedly heart-healthier products made with chicken instead of beef or pork, such as chicken hot dogs, etc. They just don’t make the grade for my taste buds.

These home deliveries are like life in that we just never know what will be dropped off at our doorstep. But as in life, we have to try our best to make good soup out of what is given to us. Below is a recipe I concocted in which that ersatz Italian Sausage is the main ingredient. To my delight, it was quite delicious.  

 

ITALIAN VEGETABLE SOUP FOR THE HEART AND SOUL

 

1 package of 5 (12 oz) organic, mild, sweet, Italian Chicken Sausages cut into bite-size circles

16 oz frozen vegetable medley (broccoli, carrots, cauliflower), and/or additional vegetables as desired

1 – 14½ oz can diced tomatoes and the can’s liquid

24 oz organic, low-salt vegetable broth

1 small diced fresh or frozen diced onion

1 package onion soup and dip mix

1 tsp vanilla extract

2 tsp oregano

1 tbsp Italian seasoning

1 tsp garlic powder or 1 minced garlic floret

Adobo spice to taste

Sea salt and ground mélange pepper to taste

 

Place all ingredients in Crock Pot on high until vegetables and meat are tender. Halfway through, adjust spices according to taste.

 

Delicious with crackers or chunky bread (opt for Keto-friendly crackers and bread to stay true to a low-carb/gluten-free regimen). This soup gets tastier on day two and three, and is food-friendly for low-carb diets.

 

Multi-award-winning author, Linda Lee Greene’s CRADLE OF THE SERPENT, is a finalist in the cross-genre category of the 2018 American Fiction Awards. One reviewer states: “Congratulation, Linda. You are an artist. It did not take me long to realize that I was reading a book from a gifted writer. Wow! Your sentences - they rise, they fall, they meander, they circle, they confuse, tease and then end just as they should. There are so many unique and wonderful descriptions in your story.”

 

Link to purchase CRADLE OF THE SERPENT: goo.gl/i3UkAV 

#ItalianVegetableSoup, #Soup, #Low-CarbDiets, #Coronavirus, #Pandemic, #Covid-19, #ASMSG, #Romance, #Thriller, #Books, #Novels, #Amazon, #LindaLeeGreene, #AmericanFictionAwards

SHREDDED PAPER AND SOUP

 

From Linda Lee Greene, Author & Artist

 

Three weeks ago, I felt like I was sinking under the weighty ramifications of the coronavirus pandemic, as well as the chaos of the political climate in my country. Usually, I can check out of the problems of the world through writing, or painting. But my mind was blank. I paced the rooms of my little condo like a caged animal. I knew that if I didn’t find something quickly in which to lose myself for a while that I might go under and not come back up for a long time. I needed a distraction. And I believe it or not, I found it in paper…specifically in paper shredding. To date, my recycle bin overflows with plastic bags stuffed with shredded papers. I have also filled one of those large, black, plastic construction bags with my shredded papers. Pretty soon, I am going to have to break out yet another one or two of them to contain the rest of it, because there is more to come. I am on a roll, and have no intention of stopping now. I cannot tell you how satisfying it is to watch the mounting pile of shredded paper I am building, and how sweet it is to have actual bare spaces in my home formerly stuffed with useless papers.

            During timeouts, I concocted and percolated in my Crock Pot some nice soups. Following is the recipe for one of the tastiest of them. This soup is also food-friendly for those of us who are watching our waistlines by way of low-carb diets. ENJOY!

 CAULIFLOWER AND BELL PEPPER SOUP

(Or, substitute the cauliflower with cubed butternut squash)

 

1 head cauliflower sectioned into florets

2 generous handfuls cubed frozen or fresh red and yellow bell peppers (green bell peppers are too bitter for this dish)

32 oz organic, unsweetened coconut milk

24 oz low sodium vegetable broth

1 envelope onion soup and dip mix

1 handful shredded sharp cheddar cheese

1 tbsp vanilla extract or maple syrup

1 tbsp garlic powder or 1 minced fresh garlic floret

1 tsp onion powder or 1 chopped small fresh onion

1½ tsp Adobo spice or to taste

Sea salt and ground pepper mélange to taste

 

Place all ingredients in Crock Pot on high until cauliflower and bell peppers are tender. Halfway through, adjust spices according to taste.

 

Scoop soup into individual bowls and sprinkle shredded sharp cheddar cheese on top of each serving

 

Delicious with crackers or chunky bread (opt for Keto-friendly crackers and bread to stay true to a low-carb/gluten-free regimen)  

 

Multi-award-winning author, Linda Lee Greene’s CRADLE OF THE SERPENT, a finalist in the cross-genre category of the 2018 American Fiction Awards, is an in-depth examination of the marriage of archaeologists Lily and Jacob Light. One reviewer states: “5 Stars…Gritty, deep, emotionally packed relationship story to sink your teeth into. No fluffy boy meets girl tale, but so much more. Thrilling setting and backstory; suspense galore!”

 

#Cauliflower, #BellPeppers, #Soup, #Low-CarbDiets, #Coronavirus, #Pandemic, #Covid-19,

#ASMSG, #Romance, #Thriller, #Books, #Novels, #LindaLeeGreene, #Amazon

 

Purchase Link to CRADLE OF THE SERPENT: goo.gl/i3UkAV 

 

 

 

        

OH JOY, CHRISTMAS MORNING!

 

From Linda Lee Greene, Author & Artist

 

In keeping with best Covid-19 practices in the United States, I was alone on Christmas morning; masked-up and socially distanced, my children arrived later in the day for our hurried gift exchange. As it turned out, though, I was not entirely alone before then—Muse stopped by and presented me with a most amazing gift. She slipped into my brain an idea for a new novel. With this one, I fear I will attempt the impossible, but there I have to go because a writer must follow Muse’ lead. It will require loads and loads of research and reading, and for that reason, I cannot possibly anticipate a publication date for another year or more. Between then and now, I have other finished manuscripts in the hopper that are chomping at the bit to see the light of day, one of them to be published next month. In the meantime, Muse tells me that the title of my new story on which I am currently hard at work is THE BRONTË SISTERS AND YOUNG BOY GREEN, An Alternative History. Below is a little teaser for you:

                                                                                   

 

~Introduction~

 

I was confined to London during my one trip to England two decades ago, a trip I was forced to cut short because of a flare-up of a chronic illness, as well as to attend a funeral back home of a beloved family member. Side trips to Cornwall and northern parts of England were unfulfilled as a consequence. I was left having learned nothing of value in the later tracing of my ancestry. Of particular interest in my origin story is Thornton, West Yorkshire, England, best known as the home of the Brontë sisters. As it happens, it was also the place from which 17 year old, Stephen Green, my paternal grandfather five times removed sailed to the United States in either 1776 or 1777. Whether or not he was a citizen of Thornton is a mystery to us. Thornton might very well have been merely his point of embarkation.

As far as my family and I know, the whole of Stephen’s American history unfolded in the Commonwealth of Virginia, and for that reason it is safe to suppose that his ship landed at one of the Chesapeake Bay ports, and in the thick of America’s struggle for independence. That he was caught up in the turmoil is probable.

            You might have taken note of the variance in the spelling of our surname. For a reason unknown to anyone else, my grandfather and one of his brothers conspired to add the extra e at the end of the name. My siblings and I have ruminated on the motivation for the change, and none of them are laudable. Was it done to outsmart debt- or tax-collectors, or to align somehow with their religious beliefs? As of this date, the justification for the third e remains in the realm of speculation.  

While it is likely that Stephen’s American story was one of danger, intrigue, struggle, and triumphs, all of them advantageous elements around which to build a story, I find it much more intriguing to imagine his early life in England. I credit my interest to my love of all things British. I am an incurable Anglophile. There is no doubt that the British in my DNA fuels the engine that is the essential “I.” If the BBC ever stopped transmitting to the United States, I would have little use of a television set, and the shelves of my home library would be practically bare.

In reality, the lifetimes of Stephen and the Brontë sisters did not coincide. Stephen predated them by more than a half century. However, for the purposes of THE BRONTË SISTERS AND YOUNG BOY GREEN, I portray them as compatriots. My story will no doubt be judged as a sacrilege to Brontë sisters purists. I hope so very much that it passes a test of acceptability to those readers at least in some way good enough to make up for my blasphemy. And by the way, Happy New Year.©

–Linda Lee Greene, Columbus, Ohio, USA, Christmas Day, 2020

 

Books by Linda Lee Greene are available for purchase at Amazon.com.

 

#Covid-19, #Christmas, #LondonEngland, #Cornwall, #ThorntonWestYorkshire, #BrontëSisters, #CharlotteBrontë, #EmilyBrontë, #AnneBrontë, #VictorianEngland, #CommonwealthofVirginia, #ChesapeakeBay, #AmericanRevolution, #TheBrontëSistersandYoungBoyGreen, #StephenGreen, #LindaLeeGreene

REVIEW OF ANNE MONTGOMERY'S 'WILD HORSES ON THE SALT'

 

Today, December 22, 2020, is the second anniversary of the death of my kid sister, Susan. A lover of animals, she always dreamed of owning a horse ranch. She never realized that dream. Oh, how she would have loved to live among the wild horses of America’s southwest. An avid reader, Susan would have enjoyed Anne Montgomery’s, “Wild Horses on the Salt.” I thought about my sister throughout my reading of the novel, and dedicate my review of it to her.

*** 

In Anne Montgomery’s novel, “Wild Horses on the Salt,” Becca’s father knocks her mother around. And true to the bewildering, seemingly hereditary disposition of abuse, grownup Becca’s husband knocks her around. Fearing for her life, Becca runs—she runs from New Jersey to Arizona, to Gaby’s remote and idyllic spread lying along the Salt River in the low desert on the fringe of the Tonto National Forest a half hour northeast of Phoenix.         

A place to hide is Becca’s motivation. She is too beaten down to covet recovery or a better life, no less, happiness. Little does she know that Gaby’s is a place of magic—oh, not of the Cinderella type of magic, but of the healing type found in the spirit of land and sky and flora and fauna and truly righteous people. While the issue of spousal abuse is an undercurrent of Montgomery’s story, ultimately it is so much more—it is a smorgasbord of relationships, of the animal, plant, and insect kind, each one providing a life lesson for Becca and friends, as well as for the reader.   

 A most endearing and surprising liaison plays out between the skunk and Red, the resident orange cat. Buddies since birth, Red is complicit in skunk’s nightly raids on the beehives, an infuriating and objectively incurable situation—incurable until Becca and her mates are gifted with an attitude-altering epiphany. Sharing center stage with Becca in Montgomery’s story are the wild horses that roam free in the area, the spotlight focused on a magnificent stallion. He is the leader of a small band of mares. Gravely injured by a speeding car while crossing a highway, the stallion is rescued, corralled, and rehabilitated by caring people. During his time of captivity, the mares go missing. Crazed by the separation from his mares, the horse breaks free and a priceless treatise on his finding his way back to his home turf and mares warms ones heart, especially since his companion on his journey is a little lost sheep. Montgomery writes: “The horse lay in the shelter of a rocky ledge. The sheep, curled next to him, rested against his back. Though the storm, with its pelting rain and blowing wind, had frightened the little animal initially, the steady breathing of the horse and the warmth of his body had calmed her.

 “Later, the horse and the sheep came upon a herd of cows grazing placidly along a wire-fence, near a large, brown-and-white sign bearing the words Bureau of Land Management which boasted several jagged bullet holes. The cows paid no attention when the horse and the sheep approached to graze beside them. The spot, which bordered a two-lane road, dipped below the edge of the tarmac and was often rich with tender grasses, the result of runoff. Even before the storm, the area had been popular with this herd of milk cows and calves. Now free from the storm’s treacherous winds, animals and insects emerged from their hiding spots. Birds darted among the black-and white cows, snapping up bugs. A bird with snowy feathers, golden eyes, and a matching beak perched between the shoulder blades of an old cow. The bright white cattle egret was rare in the Sonoran Desert. In fact, the bird that had migrated from Africa to South America in the late nineteenth century had not been seen anywhere in North America until the early 1950s. When cattle egrets did appear in the desert, it was sometimes around irrigated fields or places where grasshoppers and crickets might pop into the air to avoid rising water. The bird was also drawn to the cows because the bovines stirred up insects while grazing in dry fields. But the relationship between the bird and the cow was not one-sided. The egret would tend the animal’s hide while it searched for parasites, plucking the itchy creatures from the cow’s skin and gulping them down.”

The world of nature outside the arrogant human eye is judged chaotic, but on closer look and the vision cleared, the veil of prejudice is lifted and we see that the disorder in fact exists within us. What human being wouldn’t find healing in such creature company as illustrated by Montgomery in this novel? I rate this glorious relationship story with 5 stars, and recommend it as a good choice of reading material during this high holiday season, and as a welcome distraction from the trials of Covid-19.© -Linda Lee Greene, Author & Artist

 

Purchase Link for “Wild Horses on the Salt” -  https://www.amazon.com/Wild-Horses-Salt-Anne-Montgomery-ebook/dp/B085ZX1WCZ/

 

#AnneMontgomery, #WildHorsesontheSalt, #SaltRiver, #TontoNationalForest, #PhoenixArizona, #SonoranDesert, #WildHorses, #BureauofLandManagement, #DomesticAbuse, #ChildAbuse, #Covid-19, #LindaLeeGreene

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

IF ONLY......

 

 From Linda Lee Greene, Author & Artist

Yesterday, Sunday, November 22, 2020, was a day fit only for hellcats here in Central Ohio. Blustery, wet, gray—the day mirrored my mood from rising to retiring. “If only it had been such a day in Dallas fifty-seven years ago!” the nagging voice whirled like dervishes unchecked in my brain. “If only it had rained and President John F. Kennedy had been in a closed car rather than the open one…his beautiful head would have been shielded from Lee Harvey Oswald’s killer bullet.”

            In my long life I have lived through my wedding day; the birth of my son; the birth of my daughter; my children’s various illnesses; my divorce; the death of both of my parents and of my brother and of my sister; the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr and of Bobby Kennedy; the Vietnam War and violent domestic protests against it; 9/11; more surgeries than I can count on both hands; but no hours loom as starkly in my memory as those that opened at mid-day of Friday, November 22, 1963, the day my fellow Americans and I were struck dumb by the news that John F. Kennedy, our president, had been assassinated.   

            Basking in the unseasonably bright and warm day in Forest Hills, Queens, New York, my co-worker and I strolled leisurely from our lunch at a nearby café to our work in the credit department located on an upper floor of the towering Uni-Card building. We approached the crowd of loitering co-workers on the broad sidewalk fronting the building and then joined in the pitter-patter and joking so typical of New Yorkers at their ease. The lively drumbeat of chatter stopped abruptly when a man rushed out of the broad entrance of the building, his hand clutching a long white ribbon of tickertape that trailed in his wake, and his voice shouting, “THE PRESIDENT WAS SHOT! THE PRESIDENT WAS SHOT!” In the blink of an eye, a second man ran from the building. It was his duty to tell us that the president was dead, that the city was closing down as was the case across the country, and that we were dismissed to get to our homes as quickly and as efficiently as possible. The one detail missing from my memory is the means by which I made it to the one-bedroom apartment in Flushing, Queens, New York, in which my bridegroom and I had taken up residence only three months before. Perched on the floor of our living room, our noses only inches from our small black and white television, my husband and I watched nearly motionless, other than bathroom and kitchen breaks, the unfolding drama of the several days comprising JFK’s assassination: the tragic motorcade, the chaotic manhunt, Oswald’s frenzied apprehension, and then, the man in the scruffy fedora crashing through the mad crowd, raising his gun-yielding arm and shooting Oswald dead…right there on the TV screen…right before our stunned eyes—the blood-smeared pink suit, the vice-president’s swearing in, the flag-draped casket, the funeral procession with the riderless horse, the little son stepping forward and saluting his dead father.

            To my mind, that condensed period was unmatched in modern history, until now…this now when 250,000 Americans, doubtless most of whom have died needlessly of Covid-19 in a period of nine months; when we watched another assassination on our TV screens…right before our stunned eyes; when our streets erupted in protests; when a pitiless, remorseless, brutal, sitting President of the United States is trying his hardest to destroy our democracy. If only noon of January 20, 2021 were tomorrow.©

#11/22/1963, #John F. Kennedy, #JFK, #assassination, #Lee Harvey Oswald, #bloodstainedpinksuit, #Covid-19, #George Floyd, #1/20/2021, #Joe Biden, #POTUS

Books by Linda Lee Greene are available for purchase on Amazon.com.   

GREEN BELL PEPPERS—A REALLY GOOD THING

 

By Linda Lee Greene, Author & Artist

 

A gift from a friend, ten shiny and beautiful green bell peppers beckon me from my kitchen counter, a boon in this troubling time of Covid-19. “What are you going to do with us?” the peppers inquire in chorus. “You know, stuffed isn’t the only recipe for which we are prized.”

 

“That’s really good news since I’ve cut rice from my grain-free, sugar-free diet.” I reply. “Enlighten me, pray!”

 

“Our pleasure,” they reply. “But first, let us tell you a little about green bell peppers, which you might or might not know. Of course, we are low in calories and are rich in vitamins. For instance, we provide Vitamin C in an amount of 95.7 mg, which meets a daily value of 159%; Vitamin K in an amount of 8.8 mcg, which meets a daily value of 11%; and Vitamin B6 in an amount of .3 mg, which meets a daily value of 13%. Here is a recipe we think you will enjoy and come back to for more and more.”

 

·         1 pound sweet potatoes (1 large or 3 small)

·         5 tablespoons olive oil, divided

·         2 green bell peppers. If a milder tasting dish is preferred, use yellow and red bell peppers

·         1 red onion

·         8 oz. sliced red radishes

·         24 ounces riced cauliflower – or small cauliflower florets

·         8 large eggs – or convert to Vegan by substituting eggs with 2 cans black beans (drained)

·         4 handfuls mixed greens in bag

·         salsa, for the garnish

·         1 avocado, for the garnish

·         1 lime, for the garnish

·         garlic powder

·         dried oregano

·         chili powder

·         cumin

·         kosher salt

 

Bake the sweet potatoes: Preheat to 375F. Wash sweet potatoes and remove any bad spots (but leave the skin on). Grate the sweet potatoes with large side of a box grater onto parchment lined baking sheet. Spread out, sprinkle top with 2 tablespoons olive oil, 1/4 teaspoon garlic powder, 1/4 teaspoon cumin, and 3/4 teaspoon kosher salt. Bake for 25 to 30 minutes until browned on the edges but still soft.

 

Sauté the peppers, onions and radishes, all thinly sliced: In a large skillet, heat 1 tablespoon olive oil over high heat. Add the peppers, onions and radishes with 1 teaspoon garlic powder, 1 teaspoon oregano, 1/2 teaspoon chili powder, and 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt. Sauté the veggies for about 5 minutes, or until slightly tender and blackened. Stir occasionally.

 

Heat the cauliflower rice: Remove the peppers, onions and radishes from the skillet and place into a bowl. In the same skillet (no need to wipe it out), reduce the heat to medium and add another 1 tablespoon of olive oil to pan. Cook cauliflower rice with 3/4 teaspoon kosher salt until warmed through. Remove the cauliflower rice into a bowl and wipe out the skillet to remove the cauliflower bits.

 

Make the eggs: In a medium bowl, whisk together the eggs with 1 tablespoon chili powder, 1 tablespoon garlic powder, 1 tablespoon cumin, and 3/4 teaspoon kosher salt. (This may seem like a lot of seasoning but it’s intentional: it makes the meatiest, most delicious eggs) In the same skillet, heat 1 tablespoon olive oil. Add the eggs and cook over medium low heat, scraping as eggs harden, about 4 minutes. Or, substitute the eggs with 2 cans of drained black beans.

 

Assemble the burrito bowl: chop the avocado; serve with mixed greens, avocado, and salsa. Squeeze in lime juice, add lime wedges, and serve.

Image: GEORGE’S GREEN BELL PEPPERS, acrylic painting by Linda Lee Greene

5.0 out of 5 stars Trying Times

GUARDIANS AND OTHER ANGELS by Linda Lee Greene…”is a story about two families living in Southern Ohio during the Great Depression and the beginning of WW11. As we all well now there was much heartache, sadness, death and loneliness during these trying times. The author does an amazing job of intertwining fact and fiction as she takes us on a journey through her ancestors experiences and her own, sharing her past with letters from her ancestors. I would like to thank the author for her exquisite descriptions of the various landscapes which painted such a vivid picture in my mind creating a feeling of peace and tranquility. This story brings to life family spirit. It reminds us of the strong bond and connection that is shared through good times and bad. It is a story that I highly recommend.”

Purchase Link of GUARDIANS AND OTHER ANGELS: http://goo.gl/imUwKO

Linda Lee Greene would welcome contact from readers at the following:

www.gallery-llgreene.com - Online Art Gallery

http://Ingoodcompanyohio.blogspot.com - Blog URL

 https://twitter.com/LLGreeneAuthor - Twitter URL

 https://www.amazon.com/author/lindaleegreene - Amazon Author’s Page

 https://www.facebook.com/#!/LindaLeeGreeneAuthor - Facebook Timeline Page

 https://www.facebook.com/LindaLeeGreeneAuthor/  - Facebook Fan/Author Page

 llgreene13@yahoo.com - Primary Email Address

THE GOOD SHIP RECOVERY

 

 

By Linda Lee Greene, Author & Artist

 

Every person on earth, all of us at the same time, had one great big heart attack a few months back. The day before, we cruised along seemingly smooth as butter. There were bubbles here and there—there were rancid spots—there were even warning signs that it had gone a bit too far to entrust it to our delicate system. But a snip here, and a snip there, and we got it gullet-passable—and we forced it down.

Sure, there were controversial, greedy, corrupt, and even wackadoo world leaders. One or three or five of them, each in his unique way, was little more than a playboy, ruled by treacherous infidelity to anything other than flashy narcissism. The world’s machinery ticked along, kicking up dust, but manageable dust—nothing of the nuclear bomb kind of debris. Whatever did shake out, the world skated through it, in spite of its clique of outrageous Good-Time Charlies.

America’s economy, which was rescued and resuscitated by the previous administration, showed up for the current administration, spit-shined and nattily dressed, and cannily rehearsed to make an outsized appearance—an economy that in the shadows was set to crumble on nearly every level under an existential crisis. But we were oblivious to all that deep economic mumbo-jumbo. We had people to handle that hard stuff for us. Wars were primarily provincial and less deadly than in previous centuries. So why not party on? On the surface, life chugged along pretty well for a good number of earth’s civilized hordes, and perhaps of those uncivilized, as far as anyone could tell. And then bam! In a freaking universal moment, it blew all to hell!

            Sages throughout time, as well as clued-up critical thinkers among us, teach us that solutions are not found at the level of the problem. Finding a solution requires digging deep, tunneling below the hoarded mess, and clearing away obstacles to wholesomeness—to the cleansing light. Anyone who has experienced a heart attack in his/her own person has learned that hard lesson. Healing requires the guidance of an brilliant cardiologist, and a big change of lifestyle, involving downsizing and simplifying, oftener than not. Wise alterations are key.

            There is a graphic story of this truism in the Jewish tradition. As the story goes, a Jewish trader on his way to market, seated atop his horse-drawn and grossly overloaded cart, hits impassable ruts and potholes in the road. His cart threatens to topple over and spill its contents under its excessive weight. He rationalizes that he cannot afford to unload even one parcel to make his cart road-worthy. And to lighten the load, he makes the fatal decision to remove the wheels of his cart. It seems to me that America’s wheels have been yanked from beneath her, an inexplicable, shameful, and suspect response to one of the worst cataclysms ever to take place within her shores.

              We squeaked by for the finger-in-the-dyke years spanning January 2017 to March 2020. It would have been pretty easy to float through for almost any leader then, whether or not that person met the required level of quality for the position. But the good times are over, and in this deadly serious time of coronavirus and its titanic fallout, there is a crucial need for the highest degree of leader—a deadly serious, inspirational, and skillful leader as close as we can get to the caliber of Abraham Lincoln or Franklin D. Roosevelt. Chorus upon chorus of weary and frightened voices call out for such a person, a person who knows in his/her spirit that “to begin a reform, go not into the places of the great and rich; go rather to those whose cups of happiness are empty—to the poor and humble.”[1] Chorus upon chorus of citizens call out for a wise leader who talks to the stars and follows them to the helm of the Good Ship Recovery, a person who will be beneficial to the world and in no way hurtful.©

 

Image: SHIP OF RECOVERY, watercolor by Linda Lee Greene

 

#Recovery, #Coronavirus, #Covid-19, #Abraham Lincoln, #Franklin D. Roosevelt, #Americana, #Linda Lee Greene  

 

The years of the presidency of Franklin D. Roosevelt served as a backdrop of the story in #multi-award-winning artist and author Linda Lee Greene’s, #GUARDIANS AND OTHER ANGELS. A reviewer describes it as “a seamless blend of fact and fiction that spans the early to mid-twentieth century, including transcriptions of actual letters written by members of two American families. It is an unputdownable 5 Star read.”

Purchase Link of GUARDIANS AND OTHER ANGELS: http://goo.gl/imUwKO

 

Contact the author at the following:

www.gallery-llgreene.com - Online Art Gallery

 

http://Ingoodcompanyohio.blogspot.com - Blog URL

 

https://twitter.com/LLGreeneAuthor - Twitter URL

 

https://www.amazon.com/author/lindaleegreene - Amazon Author’s Page

 

https://www.facebook.com/#!/LindaLeeGreeneAuthor - Facebook Timeline Page

 

https://www.facebook.com/LindaLeeGreeneAuthor/  - Facebook Fan/Author Page

 

llgreene13@yahoo.com - Primary Email Address

---

[1] BEN HUR: A TALE OF THE CHRIST, LEW. WALLACE, HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE, NEW YORK, p. 31

WE ARE ALL SUDDENLY SEVENTY-SOMETHING

 

By Linda Lee Greene, Author & Artist

 

Seventy-something is like mid-month of the ninth month of pregnancy wherein it is super smart to keep a bag packed so that when our water breaks in the middle of the night, it is grab-it-and-go. Our seventy-something travel kit is different, though. It holds our Last Will and Testament, Medical Directive, and other end-of-life documents. But now, in this now of a worldwide killer pandemic, my guess is that Legal Zoom and private attorneys are cashing in on providing documents of the kind for individuals of all age-groups. In response to the call to “OPEN THE SCHOOLS,” we have seen this phenomenon play out before our very eyes in a flood of twenty-, thirty-, forty-, fifty-, and sixty-something school teachers in one or more of America’s states, freaked-out professionals who are committing their final wishes to paper—just in case!  

 

This catastrophe is testing our faith big time. It seems to me that we are falling into two main camps: either our faith (in God or whatever the basis of our faith) is reaching an all-time high, or our faith is leeching out of us drip-by-drip. And why not given that life is currently a daily meditation on death?! Freud taught us that it is impossible for human beings to imagine their own death. Au contraire, mon frère. Maybe not all, but an enormous swath of us are hyper-aware that we are living in a mine-field of death bombs, and one little false step, and BAM! It could be curtains! To date, it has been the case for 159,000+ Americans in fewer than six months. And those are the deaths from Covid-19 we know about. That is 9/11 multiplied 53.4 times. Another screaming calculus records that as of this morning, Covid-19 is killing an American every 80 seconds. If you think toilet paper was hard to find, just wait until we get to the place of finally “burying our dead”—and I invoke that term in all its various meanings. I fear the coffers have gone pretty low in physical, emotional, and spiritual reserves we will need to process the carnage.    

 

Do you remember the days when death was a normal part of life; when time was set aside each week, or nearly so, to reflect upon our dead and to visit their resting places; to decorate our walls and tabletops with framed photos of them? Do you remember when their stories were relived regularly at dinner tables; when children carried their names forward, when their memory was honored and kept alive?

 

I submit that we lost touch with our dead because while we forged ahead building our electric and hypnotic society, we misplaced our powers of reflection, not only in terms of reflecting on our dearly departed, but in every other aspect of our lives. We have grown too busy to stop and notice much beyond the end of our own nose or the reach of our own arm. It is simply a bridge too far to expect us to think critically and for ourselves. It is so much easier and time-saving to just swallow whole the concepts of our favorite political party, or politician, or minister, or parent, or teacher, or cable news outlet, or social media site. And now, we are asked to face up to death and dying again?! We are harried and macho Americans. We do not deal well with death and dying anymore. That is creepy, old-timey stuff. Tonight’s dinner menu; our son’s sports scholarship; our daughter’s ballet recital; our retirement portfolio—fine; we can do those things. They fit quite nicely in our over-crowded wheel-house. But death! NEVER! Let’s just settle in on the couch tonight, a de rigueur glass of red in hand, turn on “Wheel of Fortune,” and stuff that scary subject!!!

 

And besides—modern life is hard! What more do you want from us? We break our backs out there in that dog-eat-dog world every day; our taxes support half the world; we fight everyone’s battles for them—so okay we like a home life that is a bit more lighthearted than it was way back then? We have earned the right to take it a little easy. So we kid ourselves—even convince ourselves that we will live forever. So what? Thinking about dying is a drag.

  

Forgive my sarcasm, and know that even I recognize that on balance, of course it is better to concentrate on life than on death. But the fallout from Covid-19 is forcing us to take a second and serious and sober look at the fate none of us can escape. I know in my gut, and I’m thinking you know in your gut that the best death is one in which as many loose ends as possible have been tied-up and in which we feel satisfied that we have met some meaningful purpose. That opportunity is only available to some of us, however. If we are taken-out prematurely by Covid-19, or are sick, poor, starved, homeless, abused, disabled, death might be our friend, and a purpose in life a futile commodity. An uncomfortable truth is that given the current state of our wrecked economy and defective healthcare system, hordes of us are now or might soon find ourselves among the ranks of the “untouchables,” as a coterie of America’s citizens label (under their breath) the nation’s underserved and underprivileged. A humbled mass of us might even get an inside look at one of those “not-in-my-neighborhood” homeless shelters.        

 

If there is to be a silver-lining in this situation, and there must be a silver-lining if we are to come out on the other side of it with our resolve and sanity intact, it just might be the resurrection of our lost art of reflection. Human beings are hard-wired to take stock, but in the hustle and bustle we got short-circuited. Over the course of the last several decades, if we bothered with it at all, we relegated the act of reflection to our golden years. I am here to tell you, folks that the golden years are upon us! We are all suddenly seventy-something, metaphorically speaking. If our newly-embraced state of contemplation manifests in making amends for our past sins, and in mending those fences or building new and better ones, might we make some sense of all this? Might we shape some good out of it? Nothing can justify the loss of life and health and treasure wrought by Covid-19, but if it moves us to expand our heart-space and let more people in, to recharge our brains and keep them charged, and then to institute critically needed human rights reforms…well then?!©

 

Image: Watercolor, “Caplinger Siblings” by Linda Lee Greene

 

Books by Linda Lee Greene are available for purchase on Amazon.com.

 

#Coronavirus, #Covid-19