Showing posts with label German. Show all posts
Showing posts with label German. Show all posts

Thursday, June 11, 2020

Multi-award-winning author Tina Ruiz stops by my blog today


Multi-award-winning author Tina Ruiz writes under the name of Tina Griffith for her romance novels, and under Tina Nykulak Ruiz, her real name, to honor her children and grandchildren, as well as her deceased and current husbands. All of her novels are sold worldwide, and can be found on Amazon.ca, Amazon.com, Amazon.co.uk, Chapters, The Owl’s Nest, Barnes and Noble, and many other book venues with less popular names. 
 
When she isn’t writing, she is cooking, baking, or taking writing and language courses, as well as spending as much time as she can with her family.
Tina shares with us a bit of her culture and an intriguing backstory of her writing career. She tells us, “Over the years, I’ve made small changes to my mother’s recipe for streusel (coffee cake), but it remains the same, for the most part. While my mom places sliced plums on top of the batter, I often substitute plums with cherries, apples, or peaches. In the end, nothing beats my mother’s cooking. The recipe is as follows:
Blend the following topping ingredients with a fork, leaving the mixture crumbly, and set it aside:

½ cup of brown sugar
½ cup of grated granola or rolled oats (optional)
¼ cup of sifted all-purpose flour
¼ cup of soft, room temperature butter
1 teaspoon cinnamon

Cake ingredients:

1 ½ cups of sifted all-purpose flour
2 ½ teaspoons of baking powder
½ teaspoon salt
1 egg, well-beaten
¾ cups white sugar
1/3 cup of slightly frozen butter (shred the butter before adding it)
½ cup of white milk
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Mix all the dry ingredients together. In a separate bowl, mix the wet ingredients together, and then add the wet to the dry, stirring slowly. When blended, place the batter into a well-greased 8 or 9 inch square cake pan and cover it with the topping mixture. Or, fancy it up a bit by placing fresh sliced fruit or fruit pie filling on top of the batter, and then finish it by covering it with the topping mixture.  

Bake at 375 for 25 to 30 minutes, or until a toothpick comes out clean of soft batter. Let cool for a few minutes and serve slightly warm.”


Tina continues, “I was born in Germany and migrated to Canada in the early 1960's. I was then a German youngster entering primary school having to learn the required English and French as quickly as possible. By Grade 3, English and reading became two of my passions. By Grade 7, I was writing elaborate stories about my life in my new country, as well as the people, the culture, the food, and my new friends. In Grade 10, my English teacher was so thrilled by my homework assignment, a poem, that he asked his editor friend to put it into the local newspaper. He agreed, and that was the first time I was published. From then on, I was hooked on writing.

“When my babies came, I wrote stories for them, and by way of a friend, they came to the attention of a man in Ontario who worked for the Canada Board of Education. He not only placed more than a dozen of my stories into readers for the schools across Canada, he also put me in touch with a Writing Course for Children, so that I could learn how to better my craft.

“Sadly, my husband of 25 years passed away in March of 2003, a devastating occurrence in my life that left me terribly grief stricken. My shattered heart still had all of my love for my husband sitting in its pit with no place to put it. I turned to journaling, recording my thoughts and feelings, as a means of healing. Three years later, I shared some of the contents with a friend. She liked my writings so much that she sent it to a publisher.

“After completing several writing courses and reading critiques that almost broke my heart, I now have 12 novels and 30 children’s books under my belt. Each novel was written with undertones of romance, but they also include other elements such as witches, murder, mystery, intrigue, suspense, and of course, powerful raw emotion. Why don’t I stick to one genre? I want to expand my boundaries and go beyond my comfort zone. 

“I remarried in August of 2011, and my new husband asked if I could write one book without killing anyone. While that made me laugh, I took it as a challenge and came up with “The Elusive Mr. Velucci.” That particular story was inspired by a musical video called “Caruso,” which a friend of mine sent me. The Lara Fabian rendition broke my heart and made me want to find out more about Enrico Caruso, the famous opera singer. Once I learned all I could about his life and how he died, I took that sadness and put it into the pages of my new book.



“Lucio Dalla wrote the actual song, but many people have sung it since then. It’s so powerful and sad, that even when I read the story, which I wrote, tears flowed down my cheeks.


“While I loved writing this heartbreaking, very romantic love story, my roots returned to drama and death in 2019, with Ophelia’s Curse. 

“It is 2020 now, and I have just finished writing my 30th children’s book. And before you ask, yes, it has the same Halloween theme as last year’s book. I’ve also finished writing 208 pages on a new novel, and this one has a Christmas theme. That season is not my favorite time of year, because I’ve had a lot of people die between December 23-26, but it is my husband’s. I’ve decided to honor him by writing an incredible love story about a woman who loses her love for Christmas, but gets it back five years later, after she meets a man who has the ability to heal her broken heart.”






Sunday, February 3, 2019

ON THE STREET WHERE I LIVED©


ON THE STREET WHERE I LIVED©
By Linda Lee Greene, February 3, 2019
 
On West Second Avenue between Oregon and Perry Streets in Columbus, Ohio where I lived as a kid, many of its people were still connected closely to their immigrant roots. They wore their forebears like an extra coat of skin. It was undeniable in their eyes, their hair, their body movements, and in their language. While the broken English of their first-generation immigrant ancestors had been replaced with second- and third-generation, Americanized English, still there remained a not-quite-faded-away influence of their old country’s native tongue, especially in their usage of colloquialisms and idioms characteristic of their foreign origins.

“Mama Mia,” sailed almost hourly through the open summer windows from the house on the corner of the alley across the way from us. Like ours, it was a tall, white, multi-storied, frame house, but unlike ours, it was bursting at the seams with three generations of beautiful olive-skinned and brunette persons of Italian lineage. Immediately following his high school graduation, the oldest male-child of the family disappeared one day into a Catholic seminary to study for the priesthood. My naïve Protestant eyes watched agog from my bedroom window that overlooked the roof of our front porch when on some weekends he was home to visit in his crisp, black clerical-garb and newly-acquired bent-headed air.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” was more commonly heard on the nimble lips of our Irish neighbors. In them I saw fragments of my mother and much of her kin: red hair, pale skin, rugged individualism. Not only did our Italian and our Irish friends share the same religion, but they also increased the city’s population year upon year upon year. Rather than outdoor chairs and tables like those on our front porch, theirs overflowed with baby carriages and strollers that bloomed seasonally like flowers in a perennial garden. Saint Francis of Assisi Catholic Church, a comfortable walk from us, was their anchor to our neighborhood. Its religious services still draw worshippers to it from both near and far. Those people with their strong sense of family and connection to their church left a profound mark on me, one that shapes me to this day.

An enormous brick monstrosity on the corner of my street one block west of us housed a beer bottling operation and was a mooring of the German people among us, those historical brewers of beer who in large part had created Columbus. We were reminded of just how oppressive living in the air-space of a brewery can be as minute-by-minute it spewed its noxious fumes into the atmosphere. The sound I most identify with my German friends-of-old is the “Oom pah pah,” of their folk music that pumped aggressively through the airwaves of our neighborhood. When I hear that sound now, I want to jump to my feet and dance, as I did back then on the sidewalks fronting their houses.

Across the back alley from us lived a family in which the mother and father were deaf and therefore unable to speak, while all of their many children had perfect hearing and speech. That phenomenon of biology fascinated me, and bewildered me at the same time. I just couldn’t reconcile in my mind how offspring could emerge so unlike their parents. While their life was underpinned by silence in many ways, they were a joyous and yes, a chatty group, their quick fingers flicking noisily in the parent’s mysterious sign language.

On the street where I lived, mystery abounded in the diversity of its people. There was always some intrigue to unravel, a weird and wonderful culture to experience, a fascinating tradition to appreciate, and never was there discrimination of any kind among us. We were just people living among people, and it was a good thing!       




Columbus, Oho, USA, and multi-award-winning author, Linda Lee Greene has authored and published four books. All of them are available worldwide in eBook and soft cover at online booksellers. Her latest novel, CRADLE OF THE SERPENT (goo.gl/i3UkAV)  was designated as a finalist in the 2018 American Fiction Awards Competition. It was also awarded a 5 Star Review by Readers’ Favorites. In addition, she was the winner of the 2018 Peter Hills Memorial Writing Competition. Scheduled for release in early 2019 is her novel, A CHANCE AT THE MOON. It will be available in soft cover and eBook at Amazon.com. An extensive exhibition of Greene’s artwork can be viewed at www.gallery-llgreene.com

Tuesday, November 20, 2018

An Air of Gratitude - Thanksgiving 2018 by Linda Lee Greene






As I write this essay, visible beyond the window of my working space, 2018s first real wintry weather has arrived in my little corner of the world. Teardrops of rain frozen to silvery icicles fringe the edge of my patio roof and dauntless little birds flit in and out of cubbyholes beneath it, snug and secure crannies in which they are setting up house for the season. Wily squirrels scamper across the top of the fence surrounding the enclosure, their cheeks puffy with walnuts from my tree that they will salt away in secret caches—their wintertime supermarkets.

            A particular squirrel never fails to capture my attention. He is an elder among his peers, his girth bloated with the years of his sumptuous diet he enjoys among my vegetation, his coat scraggly, and his magnificent bushy tail of his primary years nearly hairless now. While his friends make of my fence a speedy competition as fast as the Indy 500, he sits quietly and unmoving for long periods on the postern at the entrance of my patio, and he stares at me through my window, or at least it seems to be the case. I fancy that there exists something of a kindred nature in our connection, as if like me he endeavors to acclimate himself to a slower pace of life, to handing over to the younger generations the major responsibilities of their squirrel way of life.

            I have christened him “Teddy” after our nation’s former president Theodore “Teddy” Roosevelt, because to my mind, the two of them are similar in ways. Like Roosevelt, I just bet that Teddy the Squirrel was an alpha male, and that if I could get close enough to him to run my fingers through his fur, I would locate battle scars, and feel the beat of an heroic heart enormous with life’s experiences, and a grand passion for it. But still, I cannot help but wonder if in some deep region of his being he yearns for his youth, or if indeed he really is nestled as perfectly as he appears to be in his current station among his squirrel society?

            Winter, and especially the high-holiday season that is winter’s centerpiece, brings with it for me an air of nostalgia, a wistfulness for the Thanksgiving days of old, the days when at the end of a long country lane, the white square farmhouse of my maternal grandparents came into view, and within the walls of the place my large family would soon gather around an immense table groaning with a homegrown Thanksgiving meal. With the elapsing of time, the torch has passed to their sons and daughters, and then to their grandsons and granddaughters, and the work of keeping the traditions of our family alive and well, continues to be handed down to subsequent generations. This year for the first time, my immediate family will gather at the home of my niece Samantha, even though she is one of its youngest members.

            Despite my longing for the past, I recognize that my family’s traditions are in good hands, the strong and capable and creative hands of my niece, my two adult children, as well as my younger cousins, and I am grateful. I am also relieved, because like Teddy the Squirrel, I am aware that through God’s grace, I have been gifted with the time and space required to accommodate myself to the task of placing my faith in the young people of my family, and to hunker into the winter of my life, to gather my provisions, as well as to relax into my unbound hours and make the most of them.
            German intellectual and philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche said that “The essence of all beautiful art, all great art, is gratitude.” I would add that the essence of all beautiful life, all great life, is gratitude. American artist Norman Rockwell’s iconic painting “Freedom from Want,” which holds within it an intriguing back story dating to World War II, is the enduring visual symbol of America’s Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays. Not only do I see in Rockwell’s painting the essence of my childhood high-holiday gatherings, but I also see a spirit of gratitude in it, one that reminds most people who view it to be grateful, too—and yes, to be ever mindful of the faces at our tables that shift over time, and to hold in our hearts the souls whom have departed from them.

You can learn more about Linda Lee Greene at http://booksbylindaleegreene.gallery-llgreene.com/. And while you are at it, take a look at her online art gallery at www.gallery-llgreene.com. You can also find her on social media at the following:


Email: lindaleegreene.author.artist@gmail.com



Twitter: @LLGreeneAuthor




Also look for her on LinkedIn and Google+