Author Archives: gmroeder

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About gmroeder

Author: - there was so much I never talked about and now, that my memoir "We Don't Talk About That" is written I can't stop talking about it. And the reviews I get are awesome; so I think this book needed to be written. Interesting that I receive many e-mails from people who read the book and now tell me their similar stories... Did I open "a can of worms?" I think there are so many people who carry a heavy memory load and they do need to "unload". But interesting enough, even more people want to know MORE of my life and therefore I am working on a sequel.

Father Kneipp, the “Water Doctor”

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Actually I thought my doctor would laugh at me when I gave him my book “Healing with Water.”

“I accept it”, he said, “and I’ll read it.”

He knew I had been to the Kneipp spa city of Wörishofen in Bavaria several times and always came back much improved. He had asked me a couple of years ago what they do there but he couldn’t quite wrap his head around it. A doctor never has enough time to talk of other things but what is ailing his patient right then and there. Some weeks ago I had come back to learn of my test results. The first thing he said was “I read your book. I like it. I have to read more. I’ll get myself a hose…”

Can you understand how I wished I could explain more to him? But no, a doctor is always in a hurry to see the next patient. There is no time. I was inspired by what he said and decided I’ll tell YOU about the history and how the “water treatments” came to influence the health system in Europe during the 19th century.

Bad Worishofen

Remember the cow?

Imagine a little boy, born to a poor weaver’s family in 1821. He had to work as soon as he could walk. His mother collected edible weeds and healing plants. He learned eagerly, and with great interest. At only four years old he had to earn his keep by herding a farmer’s cows out into the meadows. When a cow tripped and hurt her leg when drinking from a small stream little ‘Bastian’ was afraid he would get punished for the cow limping. He watched her stepping into the stream, standing there in the ice cold alpine water, lifting the hurt leg up and after a few seconds putting it back down. It went on for nearly an hour. When driving them home the cow walked normally. He never forgot that experience. At seven years old at dinner, consisting of just boiled potatoes, he reached for the little salt shaker, just as his dad was doing, to sprinkle it over the potatoes. His mom slapped him “You don’t earn your salt yet…” During the winters he had to help his dad in the basement with the weaving. As a young lad he started to spit blood.

“Don’t worry”, his dad said, “all weavers spit blood.”

Cold water foot bath

Children naturally love water

Already at a very young age he expressed his wish to become a priest. They seemed to be well fed and they could be in the beautiful basilica they attended Sundays, any time they wanted. “If God had wanted you to become a priest He would have given you rich parents.” He hardly had any schooling, knew only what the cobbler in the village tried to teach the young to at least be able to read and write. But our little guy was determined to enter the church. One problem was that he had to learn Latin. Nobody wanted to help him until he approached and convinced an uncle, himself a priest in another town. His uncle found a school for him and he taught him Latin in the evenings. As a teenager he got a rampant lung disease and was laid off for a long time. He thought of the cow in the stream and started to jump daily into the cold waters of the Danube. He did not own a towel so he would get dressed quickly and run home as his blood circulation was heating up his body. Incredibly, he recovered and finally, at 27 years of age and against all odds he was accepted at the priest seminary of the university in Munich. Working in the university gardens, having very little food and studying long hours he got TB again. He came across a little book in the university library, written a century earlier by two doctors Hahn (father and son) about the ‘Effect of Water into and unto the Human Body’. He had nothing to lose and started following their program. He could not jump into a river but he used the watering can behind the university garden shed to “water” himself. Again, he harnessed the disease and other students came to him, begging to be treated as well. I don’t have to tell you about the difficulties he got into because of it but despite everything – in 1852 he had reached his goal: He passed the rigorous health test and he was ordained as a priest.

Years later with many ups and downs he became worldwide known as “Father Kneipp – The Water Doctor.” He could never say ‘no’ to a poor soul needing not only spiritual but also physical help and couldn’t afford a doctor. During a cholera epidemic he was the only one looking after the sick, dying and dead. He was referred to as the “Cholera Chaplain”. He was a much loved priest but over time he also developed a system of water treatments. First only the poor, then the aristocrats, even Royals and the rich and famous came to his small hamlet to be “cured”. The church was very annoyed with him since he was supposed to be looking after the souls and not the bodies. To keep the people away he wrote his first book “My Water Cure”. At first, no publisher wanted to print it but finally one was willing and estimated no more than 500 could be sold. The book sold more copies than the Bible and was translated into 17 languages. People did not stop coming. Doctors and pharmacists complained bitterly about him and achieved an order for Kneipp to come to Rome. The church planned to excommunicate him. The Pope interviewed him, dressed as a simple monk the evening before the ‘trial’. Before the ‘monk’ left he asked Kneipp for advice on his sleeping problems and decreed that Kneipp was “driven to help and heal” and not at all for financial gain. The next day the Pope praised Kneipp publicly and assigned him the title ‘Monsignor Kneipp’. As he received the Pope’s blessing the Holy Father announced:

“I want you to go home and keep on healing.”

I will tell you more of the system Sebastian Kneipp developed. His legacy was left to the medical profession with the challenge to “Develop my system further and make it accessible to all.” It is known as “complementary medicine” and saves the insurance companies a bundle.

I was certified as a Kneipp-Therapist in Germany. I wrote my little book “Healing with Water” to help people on the American Continent who knew nothing about this simple method to stabilize their health.
(Available from: Amazon – Chapters/Indigo – Barnes & Noble)

Father KneippFather Kneipp advised:

“He, who has no time to spend a few minutes a day for his health will have to have time to be sick for weeks, months, or even years.”

Party – Party – Party!

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Party timeCome on, pretty girl, I know you are a party animal, put on your party dress, don your party hat, get into the party spirit, become the life of the party, get ready to join the party waiting for your birthday party to get going on the party boat and by no means be a party pooper!

Bad news: A man of the hunting party got lost, now you have to join the search party because you are part of the rescue party.

Important for your country: A governing political party calls an election. If you are a member of any party, be it the Conservative Party, the Liberal Party, the New Democratic Party or a party by any other name you have three choices: 1. become a passionate supporter and volunteer to help your party, 2. decide you couldn’t care less because the party leaders never do what they promise anyway (but in that case don’t complain if the ‘wrong’ party wins!) or 3. be adamant to use your RIGHT to vote for the party who’s platform you support.

There are so many uses of the word “PARTY”. Some sarcastic, cynical or even humorous person tried to explain how a political party consists of a means for a lot of politicians to have their own way of conducting politics. What is or are politics? Take the word apart: ‘Poli’ in Latin or Greek means ‘many’, and ‘tics…’ you know what ‘tics’ are and what they do. Tics are bloodsuckers, says Wikipedia.

I remember in the sixties I visited Ottawa, the Canadian capital, and I also toured the Parliament Building and attended the House of Commons. I was shocked when, during the question period, they were screaming at each other and some of their comments were surely insulting. But it was exciting. I came home and announced to my husband I wanted to join a party, make a difference and get really involved. He just laughed and said “You? My God, when they call you names and threw insults at you, you would just break down and cry! No, my dear, you are not made to be a politician!” I knew he was right.

Occasionally a new party forms because someone has good ideas to improve the way a governing party runs the country. This someone tries to get likeminded people together and sometimes they succeed to make a difference in party politics. Many years ago a friend invited me to a meeting of about a dozen people. We met in the living-room of her apartment. A small number of people had registered a ‘Reform Party’ in Canada. The leader, Mr. Preston Manning, was not an impressive figure but a down to earth man who honestly wanted to make things better for his countrymen. I wanted to support the movement and became a member with a very low membership number. When I was called upon to join the volunteers and man one of the recruiting tables during a public membership drive I copped out because I was too busy. I went to a Rotary meeting where Mr. Manning was the speaker and felt very sorry for him because he was not groomed to be a leader yet. He also repeated himself often and I could sense he was very uncomfortable amongst all the Rotary business people. I left the meeting during the discussion after his speech. When I came out of the meeting room door many media men with huge cameras surrounded me and started to ask questions as if I had been the speaker. They wanted to know what I thought, what the speaker had said, what the questions were during the discussion. I was very professional and answered carefully. Later that evening several friends phoned me during the “News” telling me they had seen me on TV. I waited for the next news and was shocked how they had manipulated my answers and what I seemingly had said. What I really had said was totally different. Since that experience I try to stay out of the media limelight or would answer “no comment”. The Reform Party later merged with the Progressive Conservative Party to form the Conservative Party of Canada. The word “progressive” was dropped.

I think it must be close to fifty years since I had almost become involved in party politics. I have always taken my right to vote very seriously and never missed one election. Another is coming up in my country. The female leader of the “Green” movement had captured a seat at the last election in 2011 and apparently has made quite an imprint across the country and internationally. She was going to speak in my town and introduce her local candidate for our riding, Paul Manly. With a small group of neighbors we went to a rally held in the exhibition hall, curious if the “Greens” could reach their audience goal of about 500 – 700. I have never attended any such meeting and couldn’t believe what was happening. The room filled up, hundreds of people were standing at the door until the many volunteers had removed the curtains hiding a few hundred more chairs and they streamed in. Every seat was taken. There was standing room only and many people waiting outside left because there was “no more room in the inn”.

Packed meetingOver a thousand people attended. I was awestruck by the energy emanating from the crowd. The leader, Elizabeth May, has incredible presence and knowledge and answered every single question thrown to her. She asked how many people were in the room who had not made up their mind who to vote for. A lot of arms went up. Her advice was to carefully listen to speeches, news, to every party leader and no matter what party they vote for, it is important to go and VOTE. She is aware that her party is too young to form the government but the “Greens” will support the others and work TOGETHER for the good of Canada.

Green rallyI find it is blatant discrimination that she is not invited to participate in joint party debates on radio or TV. Why is that? Are the male ‘contenders’ afraid of this smart lady who has a memory like an elephant and can answer any and all questions across the political spectrum? She remembers and quotes statements the other leaders have made at whatever meetings years ago, – with absolutely no written notes. She speaks freely; she explains and recalls, she has a platform almost too good to be true from child care to eliminating university tuition to senior care, pharmacare, climate change and the economy, nothing has been left out. She has been able to attract an incredible lineup of able candidates across the country and it will be very interesting to see what will happen when the date of the election comes around: October 19th 2015.

How Reading and Writing Influenced my Life

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An on-line interview with Tina Frisco:

‘Little Red Riding Hood’, ‘Hansel and Gretel’, ‘Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs’ and ‘Rapunzel’ were the fairy tales my grandma told or read to me many times when I was a small kid. They stuck in my head and I believed they were true stories. These stories had a huge influence on my imagination. Even today I take some television shows to heart in such a way that I lose sleep over murders or behaviour unexplainable to me and I have to be reminded: “Don’t get upset, – these are just stories…”

Tina Frisco had definite questions for me and she made it easy to give her open and honest answers. Maybe for you, my reader, they provide a glimpse into my “inner workings”. Enjoy!

http://tinafrisco.com/blog/guest-authors-artisan-garden/giselle-roeder/

Climate Change, Weather or Just Mother Nature?

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Alaska 1982

My first trip to Alaska was in 1982. I was overwhelmed by the beauty of this State, the mountainous terrain and especially the glaciers, their pristine ‘white’ and as the sun hit the ice was very blue, like a summer sky. I marvelled at the apparent flowing of ice into a colorful meadow with thousands of wildflowers. You could walk to the edge of it. Cruising to the Columbia Glacier Bay we had to wait for hours to see any ‘calving’ – the breaking off of shanks of ice and plunging into the sea. Seals with their round black shining eyes and seabirds were waiting on ice floats for a passing fish and elegantly diving in or sliding off to catch their meal. What impressed me most was the incredible stillness and on and off the cracking in the glaciers sometimes evolving in a roar when a large piece just slid off and, causing a huge fountain of water, disappeared. Our cruise ship crew would lower a life boat and try to bring up some big pieces of ice. Some of the crew were masters in creating fantastic carvings which would grace the midnight buffet tables. We were treated with the smaller pieces in special drinks and if you would let the ice melt or take it into your mouth it tasted good. We were even allowed to keep the tall fancy glasses as souvenirs.

Alaska 2006

Alaska 2006

I have been back to Alaska during the years since on eleven other cruises up to 2012. Each time I would try to see the same sights I had seen during my first visit. The flowing ice river into the meadow had retreated each time and by now has disappeared altogether. The glaciers look ‘dirty’ – no more the pristine white color. The calving happens every few minutes and no life boat is lowered anymore to pick up ice floats for carvings or drinks. Maybe the laws have changed? I noticed that the wildlife has disappeared as well. The Mendenhall Glacier close to Juneau, the capital of Alaska, has retreated quite a long way, – it seems to be lower as well. I wonder if the water level has gone up with all this melting ice. What about the sea life, like whales, fish and other creatures, is their living environment changing? You betcha! The water is warming up as well and is not livable for certain other species. ­

Climate change? Environmentalists and naturalists have been talking about it and warning us for years, but incredibly, a lot of leading politicians do not believe in it. The other day I heard a fabulous group of singers perform a song with the line “He doesn’t believe in climate change because it’s not on the stock exchange” – making fun of a certain political leader.

Mendenhall Glacier Alasca

Mendenhall Glacier Alasca

What about the floods we have been experiencing? What about the hundreds of fires caused by lightning or stupid peoples’ behaviour (cigarette butts & camping fires) burning down unbelievably huge numbers of square miles of forest in Canada and valuable land in California repeatedly, year after year? What about the appearance of bears and cougars in our cities? What about the drought in the wettest part of Canada for instance? No snow during the winter and no rain for four months, but unusual spells of hot weather? Or in other areas so much snow that neighbors had to shovel out neighbors. No grass for animal grazers, storms uprooting huge trees taking boulevards and lawns with them like carpets, damaging cars, houses and killing if someone is at the wrong spot at the wrong time. Hail the size of golf balls and even larger causing billions of dollars in damage. Is all this due to bad weather? Is Mother Nature punishing us? Or do we face a serious case of climate change? Do we have to start thinking of building a copy of ‘Noah’s Arc’ to save the known species?

Alaska 2012

Alaska 2012

Just some thoughts of mine and I know I’m not the only one having this on my mind. If you haven’t thought along these lines, start thinking. What can we do about it before it is too late? We are able to fly to the moon or to Mars, even land a space probe on a distant comet – but we do not seem to have the political will to save the only planet that should matter to us: Planet Earth!

Share your thoughts by posting a comment.

 

A Bad Hair Day, Hair is in or Hairy Politics?

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Bad hair day

I couldn’t help it. I had a really good laugh when by chance I read an article in the National Post written by Canada’s ‘Queen Bee’ writer Margaret Attwood. She gets awards left, right and centre for every new book she writes. One could turn “Green with Envy” – but I have to admit as of yet I have never finished reading a whole book of hers. Oh yes, I have started several. But this column in the National Post is hilarious. I would give her another award for it!

http://news.nationalpost.com/full-comment/hair-is-in-the-election-season-air-but-is-it-crucial-to-your-vote

Click on it and read it for interest or read it for fun. I was surprised that it was published at all and then I read a day or two later that it had been taken off the website by the editor but then a censored version was re-published an hour or so later. I would love to see the original, – or is what I read, the original? Oh Margaret, – I congratulate you on this dare devil write up, I love how you tackled a political ‘question’ with humour!

Kids and Kittens

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Kittens - 2

Me – feeding our cats sausage

Cats were always around when I grew up. Mother had her cat ‘Molly’, Father had a gorgeous but fairly old cat ‘Peter’ he had owned already as a bachelor. Granny, who lived in the “Granny flat” part of our house, had a cat she called ‘Katzi’. They all were free to come and go and also choose who they wanted to play with, or sit with, or be stroked by. Katzi and Molly preferred to stay away from us children. Essentially they were “mousers”, – meaning they were not ‘house cats’. Tthey lived in the barn or stables of our small farm, hunting mice and rats. Sometimes Father would put a cat down into the root cellar when he had seen mouse droppings. They did a rather good job in doing what they were supposed to do. They did not eat all they hunted. Sometimes Father found a row of dead mice or rats lined up, the cat sitting there, looking up at him expecting a ‘thank you’, which they promptly got in form of words and strokes. To me it always seemed his strokes were worth more than ours.

Kittens - 3

My greatest love

My cousin Renate’s cat had several young kittens when I was nine. My sister Christel and I each got our very own little kitten. Christel’s cat was all black with yellow eyes; mine had a white underbelly, white boots on its hind legs and white shoes on its front legs. She otherwise had a mottled grey coat, but also had one white ear and a white nose. I called her Mooshie. I loved her more than my dolls. Often I dressed her in doll’s clothing and let her sleep in my doll carriage. Once, she got scared and jumped out and tried to run away. She repeatedly stepped on the dress she wore and tumbled about. It was very funny and we laughed heartily. My father happened to see the cat and gave me a good lesson: “If you love Mooshie, you won’t do that again. If she has to defend herself she will not be able to do so and if she climbs up a tree she will not be able to come back down.”

That happened in the same year when my mother’s cat Molly had a very bad eye infection and my father had to shoot her. It disturbed me greatly. He explained he was being kind to the cat. He cried when he shot his own old cat, Peter, a year later, when it was full of arthritis and could not walk anymore. Peter looked my dad straight into the eyes as if he knew what was coming. It was a very emotional moment for me. I will remember the expression in Peter’s eyes forever. I always wanted to have a cat like him.

One sunny afternoon we older kids were sitting on the broken steps leading up to our house and talking about this and that. The weather was very warm and we were bored. Looking up I saw my cat, Mooshie, coming towards us carrying what I thought was a mouse. She came right up to me, put the little thing down in front of me, looked me in the eye and said, “Meow” with a question mark.

“Mooshie”! I called out, “What is that?” She looked at me again and, after another “Meow,” left us, walking away purposefully.

We were amazed, not bored anymore. I picked up the little squirming thing and everyone agreed it was a baby kitten. It did not even have its eyes open yet, was naked and looked weird. After a few minutes, Mooshie came back with another one. She repeated the scenario with the “Meow” and left again. This happened two more times. When she had brought four of those little critters, she stayed with us and started licking them. Mother had heard our excited voices and had come to see what caused the racket. She was very helpful and understanding when I said I needed to have a bed for the little cat family. She brought a carton and an old baby blanket. We made a little nest and placed the kittens in the middle. Mooshie jumped in and curled around them. The babies found the food supply and suckled. It was fascinating and we watched for a long time.

It must have been a week later when Christel’s black cat, “Moorly”, a sister to mine, had babies as well. She had been smart and had them in Christel’s doll carriage in the house. She refused to move out of it, scratching and biting. None of our cats was allowed to stay in the house overnight. Even when it was raining or snowing, they were grabbed from the warm cozy place on the sofa or on a lap and heartlessly placed outside the house door. Father or Mother, whoever did the deed that evening, would put us off with, “There are enough warm places in the stables and barns; they know and they’ll be all right.” Christel agreed to have her doll carriage put in the barn so that the cats could stay in it. The bedding was all ruined but that was no big problem. It was simply replaced when Mother knew Moorly was in the house for her milk. The cats always got milk and the same food we had.

Sister Edith with Mom's new cat

Sister Edith with Mom’s new cat

It was fascinating to us how they developed from little naked blind mouse-like beings to the cutest playful kittens. Day and night we were talking and thinking of our little babies, no more boredom, and naturally we assumed we could keep them all. What a shock when our parents explained to us it wasn’t possible, – all of them needed to go to other houses. One by one they were picked up and we shed a tear or two when it came to the last one. Our only consolation was we knew all the people and they promised we could come and visit any time. I don’t remember if we ever did. The bombing had increased and the on-ground fighting of WWII had entered into Germany and everybody had other worries, even we children had to face it. Life changed dramatically.

Those were the cats of my childhood. The story is an excerpt from, and you can read more of the particular time in my book “We Don’t Talk About That”. There were other cats in my life later: Prince Eugene, another Mooshie, Minka, Max, two little goats and several poodles. But they will appear in my second book, the sequel to “We Don’t Talk About That.”

Books, Books and More Books…

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Next to dogs books are my best companions. They don’t fight with me and when they ‘annoy’ me I can just close them and put them away. The material I have read might go around and around in my head; sometimes I understand but always I want to know more and I open them up again a day or a few hours later. Even a book I don’t totally like I will finish because I know there must be a reason the writer wrote it. I dissect the story. I sometimes think about how I would re-write it, or parts of it. But that’s not what I wanted to talk about today. I want to tell you of the books I have read so far this year. Most of them have a connection to my own book “We Don’t Talk About That”. My writing created an incredible thirst in me to know more about war history, especially WW I and WW II. So I started reading instead of writing my next book.

“The Officer’s Code”

officers-code-lyn-alexander-paperback-cover-artLyn Alexander’s way of telling a story puts you right into it. You identify with one of the characters and you become that person. In this book you re-live the life of a young English man who could not satisfy his father since he did not like to study law and take over the family practice. He failed and as punishment was sent to Germany to study in Heidelberg and “prove” himself. He married a German girl, changed his name to his mother’s German aristocratic name ‘von Schellendorf’ and fought on the German side during WWI. An incredible story based on fact and fiction .

Versailles Legacy“The Versailles Legacy”

This is the second of four books in what is known as “The Schellendorf Series” by Lyn Alexander. It puts us in the picture of a Germany in tatters and the impossible hardships imposed on the country by the ‘Versailles Treaty’ after the war is lost. The German Representatives argued the stipulations laid on Germany would be counter-productive. A young Austrian WWI corporal, Adolf Hitler, promised jobs and bread and peace for all Germans and his hypnotic speeches swayed many mistrusting Germans to vote for him because they had nothing to lose but everything to gain. The years between 1920 and 1939 lead to WWII.

English General“The English General”

Once you read those first two books you cannot help but want to read the third one. The establishment of Hitler’s ‘Thousand Year Reich” brought many changes. The old military, the Reichswehr, with the former generals in charge tried everything to stop the new developments but one after the other mysteriously disappeared or was killed. They also plotted to assassinate Hitler but he always got away. One of Hitler’s close allies established the “Brown shirts”, known as the SA which numbered in the hundred-thousands already during the 1936 Olympics. The young Englishman became a German General and deeply ingrained within him was “the Code of honour”. We see him struggle with blackmail by his birth country while once again fighting for Germany during WWII.

Ghosts of War“The Ghosts of War”

This, the fourth book in the ‘Schellendorf Series”, finally helps us understand a lot of what happened when the Allied Forces entered Germany. Imprisonment, lies, deceit, interrogations, and, to top it all off, the Nuremberg Trials where the blackmailing English arranged that the famous lawyer, the father of our by now beloved General defends him. His return to England, the ups and downs during the years after 1945, and his secret visits to Germany.

I never mentioned General von Schellendorf’s wife but she plays a huge part throughout all four books, love, deceit, lies, divorce, her re-marriage and abuse by her demented father. At the end of book four we hope for reconciliation and maybe a joint new venture in Heidelberg. Once you read these books and you travel to this wonderful city you’ll know it. These four books feel so “real” that you think you lived through it all. In time I’ll read them again.

Night I Danced with Rommel“The Night I danced with Rommel”

Elisabeth Marrion wrote this heart wrenching memoir of her mother’s life. Married to a soldier who fathered a baby every time he was on leave, her mother had to look after and somehow provide food for five small children. Dealing with the bombing of her hometown of Hildesheim, and being a hands-on woman a lot of neighbors relied on her. When her husband was transferred to Africa to fight alongside General Rommel she was relieved of the scary thought of him being killed in Russia. As the story moves on General Rommel’s Regiment happens to be stationed in this city for a few days on their way to France and she was singled out by him to do the first dance during a party the towns-people organized to honour him.

Nazi Officers Wife“The Nazi Officer’s Wife”

Two authors, Edith H. Beer and Susan Dworkin told the story of Jewish women who married Nazi Officers to save their lives. In many cases the husbands had no idea they were Jews. These women were known as “U-Boats” or “Submarines” living normal lives when they were everything else but normal. This story is gripping, has been made into a movie, documentaries and has received worldwide accolades. It is hard to believe what the author, Edith, has endured during the time of the Nazi take-over of Austria to the end of the war living in the Russian occupied Germany. I had no idea that these women even existed and was touched to my deepest soul after reading this book.

Garden of Beasts“In the Garden of Beasts”

Eric Larson does not need an introduction. In this book he tells the story of the American Ambassador to Berlin during the early years of Hitler’s reign. The book is based on hundreds of letters to the American President, the diaries of the daughter and one is overpowered by the incredible research Larson must have done over several years to write this book. It is rather a lengthy book and towards the end I felt as if I myself went through WWII again. Exhausted.

Louisa-Elliott-Book-Cover2“Louisa Elliot”

How I loved this book by Ann Victoria Roberts, a gifted writer! The novel is set in York in the 19th Century and involves a family drama that sometime just takes your breath away. Despite the fact that it has about 700 pages (e-book) I was sorry when it ended. Not a surprise to me when I found out that it sold over a million copies when it first came out. Luckily there was another book for me to read following this one, called

Liam-Story-Book-Cover-20121“Liam’s Story”

Also a big book and I tell you, this one occasionally makes your blood boil. How can a writer write books that you simply cannot put down? How can she make you identify and suffer with the protagonist? How does a brain like Ann’s work to come up with these tales just because she happened to find a small diary of a family ancestor? Each novel can stand on its own but read “Louisa” first…

MasterstalecoverSMALL-e1427439366841“The Master’s Tale”

Another Ann Victoria Roberts book – this one is based on her research about Captain Smith, Captain of the unsinkable “Titanic”. She portrays the rich and famous guests, the interactions of many of them, love triangles, affairs, and intrigues. When the ship hits the iceberg you can hear the cries, you will feel the cold water and you see the listing of the big ship from your life boat and finally see it disappear as if it had never been.

Gift of Penance“The Gift Pennance”

Jo-Ann McLean writes ‘thrillers’. I have never read thrillers and cannot recall how, or when, I read a couple of chapters of this book on Linkedin, Amazon (Look Inside) or perhaps came across Jo-Ann’s website. Because it involved kayaking I wanted to read more. The story is set in Vancouver and since I know and lived in this fair city I was intrigued. When I started reading I realized I had never ever read a book like it, totally fictional and an imagination I can only marvel at. Some scenes in it caused me to contact her (bless the Internet!) and ask what her family or her husband thinks about some of the scenes. This book is part of a series, the previous one is the “Gift Legacy” but I have not read it.

“North of Normal”

North of NormalCea Sunrise Person took seven years to write this shocking memoir of her childhood, growing up during the ‘counter culture’. Her grandfather moved the family from California to the North Country wilderness. They were growing pot, smoking and selling it, living off the land, fishing and wildlife. Periods of plenty changed with periods of hunger. Little Cea’s home was a tipi/tepee shared with her very young mother and a number of other adults who thought nothing of nudity, open sex, changing partners. Cea invented her own games and amused herself without contact with other children until she had to go to school. Seeing the first pair of underpants and a fancy frilly dress made her realize that there was another life out there and she had only one wish: To survive the crazy life she was living and her ‘crazy family.’ After her book was published her friends asked her: “How did you ever turn out so normal?”

“The Glass Castle”

Glass CastleI had no idea what living in the sixties for the people who chose to live the ‘free life’ was like and I must admit that the book “North of Normal” had deeply disturbed me. Friends, whom I told about it, encouraged me to read ‘The Glass Castle” – a similar book by Jeannette Walls. The language is not quite so vulgar because Jeannette’s parents were actually educated, but they chose a life of nonconformity, poverty and their children had to fend for themselves. When hungry the older two went through garbage bins and ate what others had thrown away. Their clothing was bought in Thrift shops. They were dirty, they smelled and other children did not want to have anything to do with them. Jeannette could be compared to Cea in ‘North of Normal’ as both girls were trying to get an education and create a better life. Both succeeded. Paramount bought the movie rights to this book. It has been a bestseller for years and Jeannette has been interviewed repeatedly.

We Dont Talk About That“We Don’t Talk About That”

This is the book I am re-reading now. It came out in April 2014, I have read it before, but I am surprised how it “gripped” me again. Another one of those books “hard to put down.” I am so sorry not to have more time to read. But I have to write. My readers are constantly reminding me and asking “when is the sequel coming out? Are you writing it? How far into it are you?”

I have given you a number of fantastic books to consider reading. None of them will disappoint you. So, – find a cozy corner and READ books – books – books. Live in a different world for a while, a different time zone, on a different continent or even a different dimension. Enjoy!

A heart wrenching, sad love story:

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Ingrid (2)

My sister Ingrid

Maybe it’s not my place to tell it. But who else can tell it? The two people involved cannot tell it and the others old enough to know the story have died and the younger ones don’t really remember the way it was. The story is about my third sister, Ingrid, who was such an easy going baby and child of whom people said: “Yes, later children are much easier.” I was six years old when Ingrid was born and had decided right then and there that I would only have “later children”. Our mother always admonished the others of us: “Look at Ingrid! She is never ever sick! And you come up with something all the time.”

We were four girls, each one born with our father’s hope to have a boy. It wasn’t meant to be. After the war he stated “I am so glad for my girls. At least they won’t be cannon fodder in the next war.” I, the oldest and the third, Ingrid, had Mother’s hazel greenish eyes and the second, Christel, and the fourth, Edith, were born with our father’s deep blue eyes. There also was a deep connection within the two pairs. That’s why I know Ingrid’s story. We were very much alike in our looks, our likes, our thinking and our love of books.

It was at my nineteenth birthday party with twenty of my canoe club friends plus our family. We were having fun, cooking pancakes on my new camping stove, flipping them over in the air, and a lot of laughter caused by some homemade wine. Late in the evening I started to “read palms”, telling fortunes and Ingrid was the last one who asked: “Can you read mine too?” Naturally I took a look and without thinking told her “For a start, you won’t have a long life. Your lifeline is very short…” She was only thirteen at the time. I shut up, shocked by my insensitivity. I could not shake a weird sense of premonition.

“Will I still marry before I die?” I knew what I saw but told her little white lies. At least I saw it that way. After all, this was just fun, I really didn’t know much about the “science” of telling fortunes. It wasn’t much later when the party broke up.

Ingrid was fifteen when my parents told me that she was seeing Benno, a boy of whom they did not approve. Benno was a year or two older than Ingrid but he was into drinking and always into fist fights with other boys. His parents could not handle him but he loved his grandma who lived next door to us. He often came to stay with her. I asked Ingrid “Why Benno, there are so many more nice boys around?” but she said “He needs me. With me he is nice and he talks and he wouldn’t drink. Nobody else understands him. I see no reason why I should not see him. We are good friends.”

Ingrid the swimmer

Ingrid the swimmer

In the summer next year she was sent to a children’s camp as a “sport teacher’s assistant.” Ingrid was an athlete; her fortè was swimming and diving. After about a week she was sent home because of terrible pain in her right shoulder. She could not even lift her arm to comb her hair. She was told by the family doctor not to train, not to swim, rest the arm and in general not to overdue anything. The pain did not go away, it got worse and at the end of August Dad took her to a private doctor. After a thorough examination his diagnosis was a shock: youth sarcoma. He told my father to immediately take her to the Charitè in Berlin, a special famous hospital. Within three days her whole arm was amputated. More tests revealed that the cancer had already gone into the shoulder blade and collarbone. She refused to have those amputated as well. Her statement was “I am already crippled enough; no boy will ever love me and I know I have to die anyway.” Six weeks later she returned home. Aunt Irene, a former army nurse came daily to renew the bandages and make sure she had enough painkiller pills. Ingrid refused morphine. “I want to die with my mind intact. I don’t want to be a vegetable.”

Ingrid post-op with family

Ingrid without her right arm.

Benno had given up drinking and my parents allowed him to make regular visits. In early December Ingrid’s cancer had grown out of the shoulder cavity as if a new arm was growing up to the elbow. The pain grew worse and she had to go into the local hospital. When Christmas was just a week away my parents asked her if she had a special wish. By this time I already lived in the west of Germany and kept sending items they could not get in East Germany: Chocolate, oranges, lemons; my parents would send a telegram with what Ingrid would like to have. I cried a lot during those weeks and once almost caused an accident with a bus and a car because I biked right into them. I couldn’t see for tears… Ingrid had only one Christmas wish: To come home, lie in her own bed to die. The doctors warned my parents, advised against it because it would be the hardest thing they ever did in their lives, they might not be able to stand it. They were adamant and wanted to grant Ingrid’s wish. They did.

Benno gave her a beautifully wrapped present, a long fancy night gown. It made her happy and sad at the same time. He told her he would wait for her and marry her when she got well, it didn’t matter that she only had one arm, he still had two and they would manage. My parents were upset about the fancy night gown Benno had given her, thought it inappropriate but there was nothing they could do about it. Ingrid had several good days during which she read a book I had sent her. I don’t remember the title. I had read it as well; it was something about five lives we each have of which the last one was about the afterlife. I had been impressed by its sensual spirituality. Mother wrote “Ingrid told me it gave her hope and she is not afraid of dying anymore.”

During January her pain was so bad that Aunt Irene, when injecting her pain medication mixed in a little morphine without telling Ingrid. It helped to ease her plight a bit without clouding her mind; yet sadly, the cancer had taken over her whole body.

Ingrid's grave

Life – love – lost

On February 5th her fight with this horrible cancer, the same as one of the Kennedy boys had, was over. She died and was buried dressed in the night gown Benno had given her. He was totally devastated, started drinking heavily and three weeks after her funeral hanged himself.

August 4th is her birthday. She loved gladiolas. I always buy a bunch and think of her. There is no grave I can take them to – they are on my coffee table. She would be seventy-five this year but I cannot imagine her as an old woman. She is forever the young seventeen year old girl.

Paddling the ‘Broken Islands’

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I have to share a very much appreciated review of my book “We Don’t Talk About That” from my good old friend, one who has written books and many essays himself, one who has started the first kayaking club in eastern Canada and tried to teach me to ski on Grouse Mountain on the west coast; one who has started and established architecture courses and taught at the university, involved in building an opera house and did all kinds of other incredible things. One thing we did together was a weeklong kayaking trip through the ‘Broken Islands’ starting in Ucluelet, B.C. on the west coast of Vancouver Island.

Broken Islands - 1I will never forget how I carried all our supplies to the boat close to the ocean where we were to take off. Gerhard had left to find a parking place for his car. Returning on my second trip with another arm full of ‘stuff’ I saw hundreds of seagulls ripping into our food bags, nuts and dried fruit was all over the place. I had to fight them off while I saved what I could. When I finally had everything piled up next to the boat the ocean had left, – the ebb tide had set in and I stood next to the kayak on the sand watching the water retreat farther and farther. Quite a helpless feeling!

I will also not forget how we had a fishing line attached to the kayak and all of a sudden the paddling seemed harder. Wow! A good sized salmon was on the line and fighting to get off. As my friend started to reel it in it took just a moment and an eagle dove down and stole our supper. We had to cut the line, we had no choice. Camping on different small islands we harvested mussels and oysters, cooked them in ocean water and sometimes shared them with other campers.

Broken Islands - 2Paddling towards a huge big rock off the coast we heard the howling of sea lions. As we came close one giant stood up and apparently gave a loud order and at least a dozen of them dove into the ocean and stood like a wall in front of us, bobbing up and down in the waves but never taking their eyes off us. I was scared and wanted to paddle away but Gerhard kept his course and only just during the last moment steered away. I am sure those beasts would have capsized our kayak and we would have drowned.

Broken Islands - 3It was my most exhilarating and exciting kayak adventure in the waters of the Pacific Ocean. Sometimes we had to fight huge waves but we made a terrific team as we were both experienced paddlers. Gerhard, an Austrian by birth knew the ways of the ocean while I was used to paddling on the Baltic Sea even though my kayak competitions were mostly on lakes and rivers of Germany.

Memories. And now Gerhard read my book. I was anticipating some critique from this widely read and educated man. I want to thank him from the bottom of my heart for what he had to say:

Giselle,

Finally I purchased your book. I started reading and couldn’t put it down. It isn’t just good it is very good. It is gripping, even though I have heard much of the story from you over the past twenty years. It is good to see the story did not change. It is well organized so that one knows who is who as we meet them over the years of age, old rural bliss, looming disaster, cataclysm and redemption.

You may have started a new genre with this book. It is not often we encounter a book showing fortitude and heroism amongst the despised losers of a bitter war, together with kernels of humanism remaining amongst the unspeakable brutality of vengeful victors when they encounter the only ones left: the innocent. Everyone should read it.

Gerhard S.

A Tasty Treat: Rhubarb, Apple or Plum Cake

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In my book “Healing with Water” I added a section ‘Simple Healthy Recipes’ (pages 45-62) but I did not give the readers any taste of ‘simple healthy deserts’! We need to change that because everybody has a somewhat sweet tooth.

Let’s bake a cake that will simply disappear from the plates and everybody is looking for more! There is no other cake as refreshing as one decked with rhubarb. And if you ask me there is not a more delicious one as with fresh prune plums when they are ripe and available. If you are short of either you can always trust some apples to help you out. It’s simple and is a low calorie treat. I learned that one should eat rhubarb only during the months without an “r” in it, best in June and July. Try the recipe and you’ll be ‘hooked’.

Here is what you need:
500 gram/2 cups of flour, optional 3-4 tablespoons of wheat bran to give it fibre
1 tablespoon baking powder
125 gram/1/3 cup of sugar, optional a tablespoon of vanilla sugar or vanilla concentrate
125 gram/1/4 pound of butter
2 eggs
¼ liter of milk (I use 2%) or more if needed to get a good dough consistency

Now let’s start:

before it's baked

Ready for baking

Wash, dry and cut up the rhubarb into one-inch pieces. Or, if it’s plum time, cut those into half removing the pit. If you use apples, use a juicy type and cut into 1/8 or ¼ slices depending on size (see photos).

Cut butter into pieces and place in a mixing bowl. Add the 2 eggs and the sugar and vanilla if you use it. Using a hand mixer, mix together until smooth.

Either mix or sieved flour, baking powder and bran together in a second bowl. Using a hand mixer add a heaped spoon full at a time to the liquid mix until it gets too thick, then start adding milk to keep it smooth. Should it be too stiff when you have used all the milk just add a bit more until you can lift the mixer and the dough falls off easily. It should not be runny.

Prepare a cookie sheet (about 13 x 18”) with raised sides by brushing it with either liquid butter or oil and sprinkle generously with bread crumbs. Add the dough, use a spatula repeatedly dipped into hot water to spread it out evenly.

Now place the rhubarb side by side in rows across the dough. If you have green and red pieces, you may want to use your creativity to place the red ones to make some kind of design. But this is not necessary for the cake to taste good, simply a matter of ‘beauty’!

My specialty: Plum Cake

My specialty: Plum Cake

If you are using plums, stand them up against each other at a slight angle. If you use apple slices, lay them kind of half onto each other. In any case, the dough should be covered with fruit, no matter what kind you use.

Preheat your oven to 350 F; when ready, place the cookie sheet into the oven and bake for 55 minutes. Now open the door and sprinkle sugar generously over the cake and broil for maybe 5 minutes but be careful that you don’t burn your cake, just caramelise the sugar. When it looks good and you are happy, switch off the oven and open the door just for the few inches it needs to stay open (not fully) to allow the cake to slowly cool.

I usually leave it for about 20 minutes in the quarter or half open oven before taking it out. Let it cool down some more on your counter and then cover it with clear plastic wrap. Be careful that it does not touch the cake. If your cookie sheet is very flat use tooth picks. This way the cake will retain all its moisture and will not dry out before you serve it.

I love it warm and swear it is never better than “right now”! I claim I have to “test” it and cut myself a small piece…or two…and am tempted to have a third…and I don’t mind skipping dinner as a consequence.

Rhubarb - Plum Cake

Rhubarb – Plum Cake

You can serve it with whipping cream or with vanilla ice cream. Either way, hot or cold it is delicious!

Did I hear you say “Yaah, a moment on your tongue, a lifetime on your hips.” What? This cake has no calories (just kidding) it’s that good. And think about it: Those ingredients spread over such a large cookie sheet, how many calories could a small normal piece have? No, I eat it ‘guilt-free’!

Bon appetite!