Maker Monday: Steffie's "No Ricotta Zesty Lasagna" Recipe

 

1 24 oz container of cottage cheese
1 bag shredded mozzarella cheese
1 bag pizza blend shredded cheese
1/2 cup grated Parmesan cheese
2 eggs
1 lb ground beef
1/2 lb hot Italian sausage
1/2 medium sized onion diced
1 jar Newman's Own Sockarooni spaghetti sauce
1 jar Classico Organic Tomato, Herbs, and Spices spaghetti sauce
1 box lasagna noodles
Spices & Herbs (italian blend herbs, red pepper flakes, seasoned salt, Garlic Garlic, cheyenne pepper)




Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Heat water in large pot until boiling. Added a teaspoon salt along with 12-15 lasagna noodles (12 if you want fewer layers and 15 if you want more). Follow directions on box for cooking, but remember to stop a bit short of done because they will continue to cook in the oven. It is best to drain right away and pour in cold water over the noodles to stop  cooking and keep noodles from sticking together until time to layer ingredients.

Mix onion, beef, and sausage in a skillet and brown. Add full jar of Sockarooni and half of the Classico THS sauce to skillet and let simmer. Add in spices and herbs to taste.

In medium sized mixing bowl, mix half a container (12 oz) cottage cheese with Parmesan cheese and two eggs. Stir until thoroughly blended and set aside.

In a 9x11 oven safe pan, begin layering your ingredients. First layer should be meat sauce to prevent noodles from sticking. The sequence goes as follows: red sauce, noodles (3 or 4 across depending on your preference), cottage cheese mixture, noodles, red sauce and cheese, noodles and so on until your layers near the top. The top layer should be meat sauce topped with a layer of shredded cheese. Sprinkle on additional herbs and spices as desired.

Cook for 30 - 40 minutes until cheese on top is lightly browned.

Some other ideas for ingredients to include would be spicy pepperoni, switching out half of the beef for turkey, and swapping out sauces for whichever sauces you and your family like best.

Maker Monday: Three Sisters' Stew Recipe

 

 

This recipe is inspired by the traditional Native American "Three Sisters Stew / Soup." This stew came about naturally based on the three sisters companion growing techniques used by the eastern tribes such as the Iroquois and Cherokee. They often planted corn, pole beans, and squash together because they are mutually beneficial to each other. Click here for more info on how they benefit each other and reading material on other companion growing methods. They would have used what is readily available for the season, so given the current season, I chose to use late season corn, acorn squash and rutabaga, and kidney beans. If it were mid-summer, I would have used instead yellow summer squash and zucchini squash, fresh summer corn, and green beans.


Ingredients

10-12 cups of chicken broth
1 1/2 lb chicken
1 medium size rutabaga peeled and cubed
1 small acorn squash peeled and cubed
2 medium size red potatoes cubed
1 1/2 cups shredded carrots
1/2 small onion diced
2 cups sliced button mushrooms
2 cups broccoli lightly chopped
1 cup fresh corn
2 can dark kidney beans drained and rinsed
Juice from 1 medium size lime
1 jalapeno diced (remove seeds and pith before dicing) 
1/2 tablespoon red pepper flakes
1/2 teaspoon ground cheyenne pepper
1/2 teaspoon of smoked paprika
1 tablespoon Italian spice blend
Salt and black pepper to taste

** During summer months, rutabaga and acorn squash can be substituted with yellow squash and zucchini squash. Sweet potato would also be another late summer to early fall option as well. For a little more richness to the broth, you can add a bit of milk as well.**


Set aside broccoli, chicken, salt, and black pepper. Combine all other ingredients and cook on medium heat, covered. While that begins to cook, brown chicken and then chop into bite-size pieces. When root vegetables are about half way cooked, add the chicken and broccoli to soup. Continue to cook until vegetables are tender. Salt and black pepper to taste.

Servings: 8-10

The Lie of Growing Up

When it comes to our relationships with our parents, do we ever really get to grow up?

I’m adult woman. I've spent almost as much of my life on my own as I did in my parents' home. Why does the thought of being in the house with my mother for six days create such a violently negative reaction? Don’t get me wrong. I love my mother. I would do anything for her. But … we rarely see eye-to-eye on anything.

Our relationship has been comparable to a destructive force of nature since I was old enough to refuse to wear the endless supply of frilly dresses she bought me. I was six years old. Things have only gone downhill since then. We didn't agree on what I wore, what toys I played with, or what activities I wanted to participate in. As I grew older she agreed even less with what I wore, she detested the people I chose as friends, and let’s not even start on how she felt about the few people I dated who were brave enough to come over to my house for a visit. Now … it’s pretty much the same, but she has more to dislike. Now she can add not linking where I live, what I do for a living, and the fact that I do not visit often enough.

I only visit my parents once a year for Christmas, and I’m a ball of nerves leading up to every visit. I should have ulcers for the hours of worry that goes into each holiday “vacation.” I purposefully limit our trips to three days plus travel just to reduce the time for conflict. You see I say reduce time and not reduce the chance of conflict. I know it’s going to happen at some point during the visit, but with only three days, it doesn't happen as frequently.

I think a lot of our continued conflict boils down to the fact that I've changed and she hasn't.

I spent the first twenty something years of my life being peacekeeper in our household. I took the verbal abuse that was dished out, and I held my tongue. My mother is like a hurricane. Once she gets going, there’s no stopping her until she’s done. Growing up, I dealt with that by making myself as unnoticeable as possible with the theory that if she doesn't notice me, she won’t start yelling at me for something. If she wasn't able to pick the fight then she didn't have the opportunity to push my buttons and engage me. Engaging in those fights only left me frustrated and hurt and crying.

I grew up, I moved a little farther away with each relocation, and in so doing slowly distanced myself from the chaos. At this point in my life, I’m just not willing to take the abuse and stay quiet. I don’t sit by meekly. I give as good as I get, but I like to be sneaky about it. I know if she starts an argument and I take the bait, it’s only going to end badly for me. She always wins in those situations. But if I never engage, I take that away from her. Nothing makes her angrier than someone walking away from her attempt at starting a fight. I hang up the phone, and I don’t answer the return calls. I delete the emails and Facebook posts. I disengage before anything can start.

I’m her only child, and I've decided if she wants to keep me in the loop she has to respect my right to make my own decisions even if she doesn't agree with them. I've made good choices and bad choices, but ultimately, I’m the one that has to live with the consequences. I refuse to be controlled and manipulated. I've made calculated decisions in my life to try to alleviate that constant strain, and I've been pretty successful at it overall.

And, yet, here I am feeling my stomach tighten into knots at the thought of being in the house with her for six days. No wife with me to put my mother on good behavior. No car of my own to use as a quick escape route. No support network to act as a buffer between what I know to be true and what I’m sure I will hear her say at some point during my stay. No alcohol or sex to take my mind off of things. 

It’s not a situation I want to put myself in, but I need to be there for more important reasons. It’s something I have to do. I'm not a teenager any longer pushing boundaries and establishing independence. That battle has already been fought. I grew up. An adult child and her mother at some point have to be able to set it all aside and be the friends they couldn't be during the growing period, right? And so I have to tell myself the lie that everything will be different this time. To quote one of my favorite movies and pieces of literature, "I like the pretty lies."

Maker Monday: Ode to the 1950's - Philadelphia Cream Cheese Polynesian Cheesecake

 

Semi-Homemade Philadelphia Cream Cheese Polynesian Cheesecake

8 oz package of Philadelphia Cream Cheese softened
1 package of Pillsbury pie crust from refrigerated section
1 jar maraschino cherries
9 oz crushed pineapple
1/3 cup sugar
1 Tbs. corn starch
1/2 cup sugar
1 tsp. salt
2 eggs
1/2 cup milk
1 tsp. vanilla
Butter
Pecans finely chopped and/or toasted coconut (optional)

Blend 1/3 cup sugar with 1 Tbs. corn starch and add 9 oz. can of crushed pineapple with juice. Chop about 10-12 maraschino cherries and add to mixture as well. Cook over medium heat until corn starch has been activated and sugar is melted. It should be thickened and clear. Set aside to cool.

While fruit  mixture is cooling, blend softened cream chease, 1/2 cup sugar, and 1 tsp. salt. Add two eggs, one at a time, and stir into mixture gently. Blend in 1/2 cup of milk and 1 tsp. vanilla.

Pre-heat oven to 400 degrees.

Butter a 9 inch round pie pan put in one of the pre-made Pillsbury pie crusts. The butter is important because it will keep the pie crust from getting soggy. Perforate the crust multiple times with a fork to prevent bubbling during cooking. Pour in cooled Fruit mixture and spread evenly. Top with cream cheese mixture and sprinkle with pecan/toasted coconut (optional).

Bake for 10 minutes. Reduce heat to 325 and bake for an additional 40-50 minutes. Cool and enjoy!

The Freedom to be Liberated

I suppose I have to put a disclaimer at the beginning of this. If you aren't into women’s liberation, you probably shouldn't keep reading. I’m not talking your average, politically correct feminist movement rhetoric. I’m not talking about demanding equal pay in the workplace, the right to work outside the home, a woman’s right to choose when it comes to reproduction rights, etc. I’m talking about true social and sexual liberation.  All women (and men) have a right to choose what feels right for them and their life, and that can change as they change. It’s not the world’s place to judge them for it, but to accept that we are all different and need different things in order to feel fulfilled and happy. If what makes me happiest doesn't hurt you or infringe on anyone’s right to be who they need to be, then there is no place for judgment. If these notions aren't something you feel you can stomach, I’d suggest you stop reading now … or don’t … it’s your choice.

That being said … I suppose here I go.

In my everyday life, whether I am leading or following, I am a doer. I plan, I organize, and I get things done. That’s what I am good at. I've been a teacher, a healthcare advocate, and an editor. Deadlines are a spur to action, and I’m good at getting things done in a pinch. I enjoy the challenge. I can work on a team, but I like doing things on my own and in my own way. I can be a tad obsessive compulsive about organization and promptness sometimes, but luckily I've made it work in my favor more often than not. I’m independent, stubborn (downright bull-headed at times I know), curious, adventurous, and more than a little impulsive.

In my personal life, a lot of those same things apply most of the time. There are some important exceptions though. I’m a submissive. I’m not talking this 50 Shades of Gray bullshit. I made the choice to pursue this avenue, to allow this part of myself the freedom to grow. No one coerced me into anything. I wasn't manipulated or tricked into it. I made and keep making a conscious, intelligent, informed decision about what is best for me, and so far I've found being a part of this lifestyle works well for me. I am a submissive, and I don’t feel like I’m betraying a generation of feminists to be one. It doesn't mean I’m submissive to everyone. I’m not a doormat to be stepped on by anyone who comes through it. That’s not me, and that’s not 99% of the people I know who identify as submissive.

Don’t call me a slave, and don’t treat me like you think a slave should be treated. Submissive and slave is not the same thing, and everyone has their own definition of each. I'm not saying it is wrong to be a slave. I have served under that title, and for that time with that person, it was right. There are positives and negatives as there are with any relationship. Most of it was positive. Still, for my own reasons, it is not a place I choose to go again myself. I don’t regret having experienced it once. It lets me know I can trust another person enough to wield that sort of control and come out the other side a stronger person for it. That’s not a bad thing to know about yourself. It's just not how I define myself and my relationships now.

I am a submissive, unapologetic and happy with that fact even though I feel like I have to defend my right to be one with some people. Being in charge is great, but sometimes it is just nice to not be in control. It’s liberating. I can hand over the reins to someone I trust implicitly, and I can be secure in the knowledge that together our power exchange needs will be met in a safe, sane, and consensual fashion.  Do you know how hard that is to find in any lifestyle? To be able to put yourself in someone else’s hands and trust them enough to say I’m yours for this moment, this hour, this evening, this lifetime? By nature, I don’t trust easily, so it is even harder for me to let go completely. When I am able to do that though … it is amazing.

The pleasure of knowing that I pleased the person I’m choosing to serve fills a void that I haven’t been able to fill with anything else. Despite the drivel literature mentioned above, it’s not necessarily sexual service. For me, it’s almost always not that at all. It could be shining someone’s shoes to a high polish  so that they look extra nice when we go somewhere. It could be reorganizing a kitchen cupboard with a friend’s needs in mind as I place each item. It could be hosting a dinner party. It could be wearing a collar and leash out to a club or a private event to show ownership if only for a night. Different people enjoy being served in different ways, and different submissives enjoy serving in different ways.

I’m also a sexual masochist. Nothing bad happened in my past to make me that way. My parents weren't abusive. I didn't have a bad home life. I’m not mentally ill. I’m just hardwired to feel some forms of pain a little differently. The right combinations of pain can be heavenly. It makes getting multiple hour tattoos very interesting and somewhat embarrassing.  There are Dominants and sadists who are masterful at providing interesting and mind-blowing combinations. It takes a certain level of finesse and creativity and patience to make it last as long as it needs to for all involved to feel satisfied at the closure. I let go of control, surrender to the experience itself … there’s nothing better. I’m not thinking about everything I need to do tomorrow or creating grocery lists in my head or worrying about this or that. It’s all emotion and sensation and sound and need and want and must have. It’s a give and a take of power, an intoxicating dance I hope I never have to give up completely. Sometimes it is slow and sensual and teasing, and sometimes it’s hard and fast and brutal. Sometimes it is playful and light, and sometimes it is scary. Combined with the Dominant/Submissive exchange, it can be gently loving or deadly serious. It depends on what each person needs at the time. With the right person, that exchange of power can be very very good.

Is my life for everyone? No. Is it for me? The past 23 years of experiences, good and bad, have proven over and over again that it is right for me. Are my experiences typical of those who share my lifestyle? I don’t know. We are all so different. Not every submissive is a masochist. Not every Dominant is a sadist.  There are so many labels, and not all of us can be easily defined with them. Is the lifestyle I have chosen to participate in inherently dangerous and abusive as unfortunately so often it is portrayed in the media? No. Is it always safe, and are the people always good, honest individuals? No. You get that with every group of people though. I've done things that are dangerous and stupid. Sure. I will be the first to admit I’m lucky that I haven’t been hurt. It’s been a trial and error process, but over the years I've developed a system of communication, negotiation, and safeguarding that has worked for me.

Maybe if we were more open about things like this, if we as a society were less judgmental regarding people who are different than the norm, we could have the discussions needed openly to create a safer environment for everyone involved. At this point, that responsibility falls on each individual person who chooses to be active in this lifestyle. No matter if you are submissive, Dominant, Switch, sadist, masochist, top, bottom, or something altogether different, you have to take responsibility for your own safety and well-being before you can do that for or with your partner. You have to choose if this life is right for you and then find out what version of it best suits your needs. I’m happy with my version, and I hope anyone else who follows a path similar to mine finds their own happy version as well.

Who Am I?

Phenomenal Women Art Print by Eliza Reisfield

What am I? Definitions of womanhood have always sort of evaded me. None of them work. I do not fit into the neat little boxes that so many like to use to define who or what someone is or is not.

I’m not classically beautiful, but I’m not ugly. I’m not super model tall, but I’m above average height compared to most women I know. My boobs and my hips aren't in proportion, but I've been told both are pleasing. Curvy doesn’t cover it when you have a 12-13 inch waist to hip ratio. I will never be twig thin. I don’t want to be.  I try and stay at a weight I’m happy with and I feel healthy at. Sometimes I succeed, and sometimes I fail at that part. I’m guessing no matter what size you are, that’s how things go sometimes.

I’m not straight, and I’m not a lesbian. Bisexual is too limiting for me to embrace. Can I be person-sexual … omnisexual … just sexually sexual? I've never claimed to be easily definable.

I'm one of those 40 Something women who do not have children. I'm still not sure how I feel about that. Did I want children? Desperately. Am I going to have them? No. My reproductive organs weren't able to cooperate with the desire to reproduce. It wasn't in the deck I was dealt. I have cried a lot of tears over the last several years about it. Now, well, it just is what it is. My body can't conceive or carry. Adoption isn't an option for us. Fostering would grind my heart into dust. My desire for parenthood doesn't define me. I can be whole without it.

I have a wife who loves me and who I love beyond measure. She's my partner in whatever I do, and I can't imagine my life without her. I had a lot of ups and downs on my way to meeting her. I had relationships that were roller coaster rides through hell, and I had a couple of winners too. I had some fun nights with people I never intended to have relationships with, and I don't regret them. I've made mistakes. I've made some great friends, and I'm sure a few enemies too along the way. I've loved with all my heart, and my heart has been broken. I mended it without anyone's help, and I will always be glad for that. I lost myself, and I found a version of me that I liked better.

Who am I? I can answer that. I’m intelligent. I’m blunt. I’m generous. Sometimes I’m too thoughtful.  I’m slow to anger and quick to laugh. I'm flawed. I'm an introvert and an extrovert. I’m sexy. I’m shy. I’m feminine, and I’m masculine. For good or ill, I'm Southern. I’m not naturally trusting, but when I love, I love with everything in me. I’m creative. I’m soft-spoken. I try to be lady-like in my manners if not my thoughts. I’d like to hope I’m kind.