MARGGIE DOES IT HER WAY TIRAMISU!

Marggie Does It Her Way Tiramisu!

                                              TIRAMISU. And just what does that mean?  

                                 Tiramisu is the term in Italian for “pick me up,” or “lift me up.” It does me!

                             

                                        

Your hardest mission if you decide to accept it is to get the ingredients! The rest is done easily if you turn on that Italian music. Andrea Bocelli helps me make a fun tiramisu! 

                             

This can be done as a family activity. Children or grandchildren can grate the chocolate and /or whip the cream.  Doggies stand by for a taste!

                                                                                                        

No Eggs, No Cooking! My way. But delicious, or so I’m told by my family and guests! I know I've done something right when they go for a second and third piece. You’ll need:

(The following recipe is for a very large Tiramisu. You can cut the recipe as your need would be).

                                     

3 packages of Lady Fingers Cookies

4 cups heavy whipping cream ( that’s 2 pints or 1 quart)

4 large packages of cream cheese

1 cup espresso coffee

1 cup Kahlua

2 ¼ cup sugar

2 boxes of Baker’s Semi-Sweet Chocolate - You will need all the squares of one box plus 2 or 3 more squares from the second  box, all grated fine.  

Make your espresso coffee and set it aside.  When it cools mix it with the Kahlua. Place this in a bowl into which you will be able to dip the lady fingers.

Soften all your cream cheeses in the microwave or let them stand until soft. Place your cream cheeses in a bowl and mix them together.

In a large, cold bowl, (I place my bowl in the freezer for a few minutes), beat your whipping cream with the sugar until it is thick forming peaks almost like a meringue.

Fold the cream cheese mix into your whipped cream mixture. Set it aside.

In a large glass lasagne pan, (I use a glass one, 15 in. long by 10 in. wide, 2 in. deep), place first a layer of lady fingers which you dip first in your coffee/Kahlua mix. Don’t soak them. Just dip them enough to get some of the mixture into them. Layer a row of Lady Fingers on the bottom of your glass dish/pan, until all the bottom is covered by the Lady Fingers.     

Now scoop out your whipped cream and cream cheese mixture and spread  it over the Lady Fingers.

Then place another layer of Lady Fingers, dipped in the coffee/ Kahlua mix. And then spread another layer of the whipped cream/ cream cheese mix on top of the second layer of Lady Fingers.

Sprinkle your grated chocolate over this, covering all the top of your whipped cream/ cream cheese mix.

Refrigerate overnight. Get ready to be TIRAMISU!  “Lifted UP!”

Would love to know if you tried it. Glad to answer any questions. CIAO! VOLARE, OH OH….

                                                                                       

The patient canine at the end got a taste!

Whip the cream until good and thick.

If you don't have one of these buy espresso coffee and make it in your regular coffee maker.

Dip your Lady Fingers in the coffee and
Kahlua mix. Let them drip a bit before you place them on top of whipped mix.

                  

        

                                                                                                                      

                                                                                                 

The top layer should be the white whipped mix. Ready for your chocolate.

Ready to eat.TIRAMISU!

A LETTER TO MY MOTHER ON HER NATAL DAY, JULY 23, 2015 ... mail going long distance!

A Letter To My Mother On Her Natal Day, July 23, 2015 … mail going long distance!

“Her children arise and call her blessed….”  Proverbs 31:28 (NIV)

                                                                                

Dear Mami,

         Are you watching me from your balcony above? How I wish you were here. This would have been your 90^th birthday. Happy Birthday, sweet Mami.

        I have so much I want to share just in case you didn't know.This year, the book you encouraged me to write, Cuban-American, Dancing On The Hyphen, made it all the way to Oregon State University! I know that must have you dancing on the hyphen with a new body and with no horrible arthritic pains. Is Papi dancing too? Did I make him proud with the book?

                              

      
   I miss you down here. It’s not the same without your sayings, your Cuban cooking, your many prayers and your wonderful antics that sometimes made us call you Mrs. Magoo!  

                                                                                                                                        

     
  I’ve kept your rockers. They remind me of all those times you shared your life with me on your porch.                                                                                           

                                                                                                  

      

      And we still have the house. I kept your favorite picture of me as a bride where you left it on the wall. Somehow I feel connected to you every time I pass by it. Your little prayer room is very much the same too ... a symbol of the faith you passed down to us and of your love for the land you left behind.                                                                                         

 

                             

       
     Happy Birthday, my Mami. Dance away with Papi. I promise you both I’ll continue to work hard to make you proud.

                                                                                   

                                                             

                                                      All my love, Tu hija,      

                                                  Amarilys

                             P.S. I'm finally using the name you gave me!

                                             

 

                                                                  

                                       

 

 

MY FIGHTING BOOTS!

 Did you ever feel like quitting? Don't! Put on your fighting boots.
  
 MY FIGHTING BOOTS
by Amarilys Gacio Rassler

My fighting boots are worn today

From all the battles of yesterdays,

But if their tongues could come to life,

What stories they'd tell, of spiritual strife.

My fighting boots have served me well

They've helped me to stand against a savage hell.

Amidst the darts of Satan's own,

I lifted the shield and boot-clad, I won.

Though thirty-six years of warring they've made,

These fighting-boots' power won't change, won't fade.

For the strength of my boots comes from my God above

I could only thus stand, in my Savior's love.

My fighting boots are getting old,

But if your spiritual eyes could behold,

The celestial sparks upon the soles,

They'd see their readiness to help some soul,

Brave shoes, awaiting their marching call.

Then on that day when my eyes will close,

And my soldier's body comes to repose,

My fighting boots will come to rest

Upon my coffin, having passed their tests.

No more they'll need to shod my feet

For at the Pearly Gates at last I'll meet,

My beloved Who will change this army dress,

To my bride's sparkling robe of righteousness.

IN CUBA I WAS A BULLDOG ... MY FATHER'S VOICE ...

In Cuba ... my father's voice ... for Papi ... Father's Day 2015  

by Amarilys Gacio Rassler    (Castro known by some as The Horse)                     

                                                                                                         

                                                                                          

 

In Cuba I was a bulldog                                                                     

Strutting around, king of my mound,

Worked hard for those bones

I counted upon to later be found,

Hid them safely under sacred grounds.

Ay, in Cuba this bulldog strutted around, king of his mound!

 

In Cuba I was a bulldog,

Until from the mountain

"The Horse" came down                  

To whip and scourge

And rape our towns,

To hammer us docile

Into droopy-eyed hounds.

So this bulldog left with embedded howls,

Though mouth, fear chained, to muted sounds.

Adios to bones and sacred grounds.

In America I became a hard working dog,

A German Shepherd.

Took care of my pack

Tried not to look back,

Was paid with few bones

And at times felt alone.

 

But, but, in America

I soon had small hill

Where to rest and be still.

To lift up my head

And be free and be heard!

No more muted sounds

But small king, with little mound,

Though few bones now to count,

Still proud of this my new sacred grounds.

Ay Dios gracias for America ... for America!

MY FAST TAKE ON PATIENCE, AN ALLEGORY ... Fast Take? About Patience?

Some see patience one way and I ... well here it is!

                                

My week studying patience. Dust of the chair.      

And back to school. 

 

Patience does no Hip Hop

But waltzes.

Patience marinades

And never uses the microwave.

She reproves Dr. Atkins

But holds up banners for the Daniel Plan Diet.*

 

Patience lingers at mid-morning bouillon,

And leisurely sips late afternoon tea.

She wears long garments

Of handmade lace from Belgium.

And cobbler crafted shoes

Brought on slow boats from Italy.

 

Patience thinks before she speaks

Aiming to listen, digesting content,

Pushing away the counsel

Of one of her nemeses, Sir Quick Retort.

 

She knows even rain has a purpose,

She weathers it, ready always with her parasol,

And yet finds something else to do

When waiting for dangerous thunder to pass.

 

Patience holds on tight

Her figure thinning, her mantle  

Of longsuffering flowing

In the winds of adversity,

While forced to ride a wild stallion

Called Pain, until her Knight

Of Relief will sweep her away,

To feast at the Castle of Restoration.

 

Patience often sits in fellowship

With her sister Wisdom.

And after, readies to travel long and far

With her mother, Gratitude,

In order to impart themselves  

Into those of opened hearts.

 

I heard that Patience loves to teach mostly by example,

Though this week I was informed of her opened classroom and I … I’ve signed up for the course! Come join me. Have a chair for you!

 

 

 

*The Daniel Plan Diet - A way of life rather than a quick weight loss plan. The plan deals with the physical, mental and spiritual aspects of eating. It encourages the user of the plan to partnership with others who are committed to the same program.



LE BISTRO ... ONE WOMAN'S WAY OF PROCESSING LOSS - AND? WHO STAYED THERE?

Le Bistro ... One Woman's Way Of Processing Loss, from A Dot In Time                   

                                                                                                  

                                          by Amariyls Gacio Rassler  (Marggie)         

                                                                                      

A week after the fatal heart attack, I forced myself to scan her home to take inventory of the work ahead of me. I stared at the wheel chair, the walker, the lifting recliner. The heavy  furniture laden with the memories of my mother's pain. She had suffered much in her last years of life from chronic arthritis. I picked up a salve from the floor and took in the strong scent. I smiled. The smell that kept her Yorkie sneezing and under the bed. That recollection brought the first tears upon my face.

I trudged through all the rooms like a swimmer who knows he has miles to go before reaching shore. Each wall decoration and family photo shouted who she was and what she loved ... my mom, my encourager, my friend.

I ended up sitting at her kitchen table. Bread crumbs still spread over the big apple-shaped mat. Her red and white coffee mug, crowded by medicine bottles stood cleaned and ready for use the way I left it the eve before Mother's Day. The night she passed away. I looked down at the small microwave we had placed on the table and stared at my reflection but I could only see the image coming from my heart, my mom's face.

The crying came in torrents. Forceful waterfalls of pain with groans and moans like thunder.

"Scream if you have to."  A friend who'd lost her husband advised this to handle grief. "Close all the windows and shades and let it rip."

So I did. But the pain only left for a while. And right there in her kitchen it returned to box with me. It was winning all the rounds. How to survive this? That unrelenting question  grabbed my sorrow like a beggar and then my lips formulated that question as a prayer.

Thoughts arrived at different times during the next few days. The invitations bounced around inside my head. They came when pain whispered of emptiness and gloom. Why don't you do something? Busy your mind in other ways. You love to write. What if you could go anywhere to write? My mind reeled with ideas back and forth. I usually enjoyed writing in coffee houses and bistros.   

 I spent the next weeks cleaning my mother's home, built for her on our property. I gave away her living room and dining room furniture. The place seemed so hollow.

 It was during that time, working with my husband, that I asked him, "Could I use the place here for a while?"  

"What for?"

"I think I need to write here. Make it my own. For a season."

"Yes," he said. He knew I had been going through a hard time.

As the days rolled on, grief reappeared with his boxing gloves, again and again. Each time its gloves were a bit more worn and the hands inside them, those I call emptiness and sorrow, packed a weaker punch. The new endeavor of creating a place of my own, a writing place, brought sparks of life back into my soul.

Shortly after, I strolled through one of my haunts, a favorite bookstore. I sipped my espresso and it called out to me. A Writer's Paris, A Guided Journey For The Creative Soul. I bought the book. It spoke of people who went to Paris to write, sometimes in cafes, sometimes in ... a Paris bistro. Paris? Could I create a semblance of a place like that for me to write?

The work began. My husband painted a wall ruby red on our anniversary. My favorite color. And piece by piece I bought the furniture. Black iron benches, park-like, a tiered shelf in the shape of the Eiffel tower, bistro tables and then material to make valances. I chose red and white checkered for the kitchen, to match the tablecloth. Red with silver and black trimmings adorned the living room and dining rooms that reminded me of skirts on can-can dancers. Different shaped statues of chefs were bought to decorate and on a wall by one of the doors the sign, bistro. Focusing on a project I loved, putting my creativity to work, caused a change, the rising of my spirits.

Now  Le Bistro is in use. I come into it and find the smiling statue by the door, of a chef  carrying grapes. I start espresso, turn on the player to hear the sounds of  La Vie En Rose, and open up my computer, enthused to write. Sometimes as I look around I remember the words of my daughter when she saw how I decorated the place. "Oh, Mom, Abuela would be happy to know you're writing here."

Each time I finish writing and it's time to go for the day, my eyes are drawn to a picture I bought for a special reason. It's a painting of a sparrow perched on a wild rose bush, gazing at an empty cage. I find joy as it reminds me that my mother is free of pain and that I'm well on the road to the same.                                          

             Note: This Mother's Day will be the second anniversary of my mother going to heaven. In the last year Le Bistro has been used for much writing. We were gifted with the presence of a best selling author, Steven James, thriller-suspense writer and teacher of the writing craft.  He came to work on his new novel and used our Bistro for a ten day writing retreat. I'm anxiously waiting to see his soon to be published novel that he worked on so diligently at our Bistro! Yay!

           Our little Bistro has also hosted good writing / craft books discussions with writings friends that have blessed me beyond belief. I'm thankful for the healing I have experienced  and I'm experiencing through friends of kindred spirits. And now ... off to WRITE!     

                           

                   

Bestselling novelist Steven James!

    Where I am ... there's food!