I'm Ignoring You

I've dealt, for many years, with numerous issues. From being mute until the age of 4, then having extensive speech therapy, so I knew how to shape words and sounds, in an environment where my parents were to emphasize speech only (A friend was born deaf and had numerous surgeries and the heavy duty hearing aids. We had classes together. To this day, while I'm still learning, I know more ASL than he does. Because the Montessori we went to wanted to integrate us into society and forgot about allowing individuality and culture. They did great things, but did stilt language until, when nervous, stutters and qualifiers, such as "Ummmmmmmmm" are all I can do, and when I know what I want, but can't find the word. I'm reminded of Ann Sullivan in the Miracle Worker: "Everything has a name! What is it?" New people? Bureaucratic missteps? Expect "Uh, I need... uh.." or for me to forget speech and go back to my first language: a combination of sign and pantomime. But I will fight for myself too... I worked my ass off to survive and communicate, to be able to write so that I can get information across... I'm happy, I'm sad, I'm angry, I'm scared, I don't like this relationship. No, I won't say I love you, because I don't. I won't lie to make you happy. (In word and in deed). No, I will not drop all and make myself your happy little slave girl. If you don't know what I like, ask me, I'll tell you, somehow. Don't talk AT me please. I'll pretend I'm worse than I am and merely find patterns in the cloud, the foam in my coffee, cracks in the ceiling, a bouncing, red balloon, things like that. Don't assume how I feel. Don't shove me. If I ask you not to mention something, especially in public, or force me to communicate with people I don't know. I love people, but sometimes, they frighten me.
To Mrs. M., this one's for you, darlin':
You assume that HOH, HI, deaf, whatever, are mental retardation and mean that a person should not go have fun, not have children, whatever. Be institutionalized. Sign language scares you- fingers flying make you dizzy. You mock efforts by a terrified person to communicate or answer questions you shout in their ear. This is for you and people like you. Fuck off.
I know what I want to say. I can seem normal. I know how to read things off a script of sorts on the phone. I can sing, and know the basic length of the notes- whole =4 and whatever, but only read script on music sheets, figuring the beat out later, and using my body to lead me. So in a way, I thank my music-lover father, my speech and physical therapists, who let me play with old wax Beethovan records...the big 45s. And to ASL teachers. Thanks for your patience while I fight to reclaim my first language.

Annoyances

 I've had occasions of late to wonk myself in the head. 

1)I adore natural foods and cures. Truly! I don't necessarily like a hard-sell, like that freak who was in late-night infomercials, discussing bathroom matters (And looking rather gross and fetid himself) and the erroneous, and TMI information about John Wayne's internal parts. Tune in at about 4AM when you can't sleep. Natural cures THEY don't want you to know about. OK, dude. Calm yourself. There's a huge network of THEYs keeping you from knowing about aloe for sunburns? If there really bloody were a THEY, I wouldn't have been subjected to a massive, TMI, TL;DR mini-book, about curing Baby's pinkeye without drops... but rather, by giving the little squirt a little squirt- of Lac-De-La-Mammary. (Note: The author passed 7th grade French, by a margin the width of a hairpin. I can tell you to shut your mouth, order chicken with wine sauce, and ask where the bathroom is.) Mind you, I have absolutely nothing against breast feeding or the breasts themselves. Both are lovely. I am a former infant nourished on expressed milk and high-calorie formula myself. I also am a fond member of the Feel Your Boobies Club, or as they say en Francois, Le Club Feel Your Boobies. Fancy, no?
But for God's sake! Keep some things private! THEY, feel free to keep that pink eye remedy away from me. It's almost as bad as the old cure, Mother's Spit. Wake up, position yourself, and hock one into the kid's affected parts. Oh, no.
2)But, I am often fond of reading up on old superstitions and cures.
When I move, I hope to have someone sweep my threshold to eliminate any bad spirits. (I am considering Holy Water.) Not because I'm superstitious (If I were, the number of black cats I've crossed of late, and the fruit bats  that befriended me, (and scared me nearly out of my pants when I flicked a light on- NOSEDIVE!) But because I want to feel safe. Anything to reassure myself. After all, it's the first "ME-Me-Me" house, not sharing it with roommates or boyfriends or husbands... and I feel scared as well as excited. But I will not make "Special Love Me Tea" or save toenail clippings, or whatever. But we must learn from the past, or we are doomed to repeat it. Remind me NOT to read up on death rituals, masks, and postmortem photography late at night, by the way. I think spending a night in the Mutter Museum would have scared me less.
3)For the love of all that's holy... I love suggestions on decorating. But asking people for things I might not need, or that YOU want in my place, that I am not sure are needed (Suggest, don't order, please) scares me. That's why I finally shouted "All right! Screw what I want! I wanted yellow and maybe a soft pink- if it could be put in gracefully and not oh-ew-Pepto Bismol Pinkishly, to go with the light oatmeal/sand-colored carpet and the white walls. I have a bed. I don't want Grandma's. I know, she didn't expire there, but it's uh... creepy. It'd be like sleeping in a coffin for me.
4) And I bought a bed for my birthday last year. SOFA, woman, think sofa! Oh, wait, I have a loveseat from a friend. Great. I'm 5'5". Oh, wait, I curl up anyway. I know it's a small place, but uh.. seating! A saucer chair or something cozy?  Or 2 or 3 if cheap, and able to be folded. A desk? Yeah, that I'll need. And please! For heaven's sake, help me, don't hinder me! If I mention pink, don't screw up your nose. If my nephew, who loves orange, gives me something in that color, do I do that? NO! I'm easy-going, and like the softer shades. I am not fond of green if I can help it. I know...560SQ feet ain't much (more than now however) but I've lived in far smaller.
5)Please, for God's sake, there are some things you DON'T have to tell me, because I can read, or because I'm willing to find out. Please! If it sounds blatantly obvious, or if you SAW me read it, don't repeat it to me, if there's a lull in the conversation. Now if it's verbal, and they go too fast or are too soft, I may ask for a repeat, ask for a written version, or look to you to translate. Then, don't speak it back to me like I'm a bad, stupid child. And don't KEEP repeating it. It makes me willing to "disobey" just to get my comeuppance.
Thank You.
6)If it's a Sunday, don't send people I barely know along with strangers, to see the old house for a second time. I don't like people shoving, and if you recall, the last person who wanted to buy, treated me shamefully and has left me scared of future buyers, and male strangers. But, I have to play Little Miss Susie Homemaker. Don't think I won't tell them everything that's wrong with the place, for my own personal pleasure. I'll also exaggerate some things. Like, did you know an old man died in this house? Well, kind of. He had breathing issues here and died at the mailbox. Why? I don't care. I could care less, if it burned to ashes, once I was out. Because after so many shitty events here, I quit giving a damn.
*I am not generally the type to get this pissed. But I don't like people forcing themselves on me. I did not get asked about some things, I was told "This is how it's going to be".

I don't actually LIKE being annoyed. It annoys me.

For Cripes' Sake

Snark. I use it a lot. To make fun of stupidity, or play with real-world concepts in a twisted way. 
One day, I received a anonymous email telling me "Little Jackie has become a woman!" Then I got to thinking, "What the hell? Why do I need to know that?!" Further thought led me to A) Jackie used to be a man. Now instead of John, his preferred name is Jacqueline. More power to ya! I love my LGBT-Q friends. They're some of the lights of my life.
Or, B) Someone decided to pull a Peter Griffin and shout about their lovely daughter's first trip in Flo's Red Convertible. Danke! Now, if friends were to ask, privately, for example, on preferred feminine materials, I'd be happy to offer my likes and dislikes, and my ewws about the Feminine Cup. Yes sir, I've received emails on that, too. I do not know the safety of pretty much shoving a soft Communion-cup shaped device up there, washing and reusing. But for God's sake... I don't often care to know!
I was grossed out and threw up, when on separate occasions:
A) a breast-feeding mom I know told all of Facebook her "natural" cure for pinkeye. Yes, siree! She apparently thinks nothing of giving the little squirt, an um, little squirt, if ya know what I mean.
B)Another told how her newborn apparently overtaxed his Huggies while lying on a white blanket. Again, I didn't care to know. 
I know I've CALLED for advice for odd things. One phone call, from my end went like this (Heavy sobbing) Oh, my God! It just won't stop oozing! I was startled by something that I had figured I'd never be startled by. Hint: Overtaxed Huggie-Blowout. I was talked down, and we laugh about it. But I don't need to see your ucky sheets, please!
Mamas, don't frigging use Huggies. Trust me. If the breastmilk cure works, awesome. But... oh, lordy me, don't brag about it! As a forced bottle-feeder, it's really something I could care less about. More power to you though. And if the angel needs to eat, yes, pop it out and feed her. But, please for God's sake... I don't necessarily need a photograph of your Double F's and your baby-tassle. 
I'm no prude, for heavens' sake! But God, even I blush. Now, Jackie A and Jackie B:
Congratulations. God bless. A., if you want to go bra shopping, hit me up. B., same thing, and I apologize that Mama has no hint of shame. That is a private event. And you are probably terrified and a wee bit damaged. I feel for you. 
Breast Milk Healer: For God's sake! You had men doing the whole "While you're at it..." bit. Breast milk is for nutrition. Keep it to yourself and the baby.
White Blanket Chronicler: What were you thinking? Babies+ white= eventual disaster zone. 
Ok, off my soap box. 

I Love You, Me

How do I love thee? Shall I count the ways? Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely, more temperate...
My apologies to William Shakespeare.
This week, as of the 16th is Love Yourself Week. We can bash ourselves, and have done so a lot. What was I thinking? Was I, somehow, drunk throughout our marriage? (I wish.) But why? Tell yourself "I love you. It is what it is."
Can I find 30 things I love about myself? Can YOU (about you, that is.)? I throw the gauntlet.
1)I'm stubborn. While this gets me in trouble, it's saved my life LOADS of times.
2)I can crack myself up. I laugh at my antics constantly. And my clumsiness.
3)I can latch onto the most esoteric of ideas.
4)I can cook! I really prefer sweets, so I pamper myself, in small amounts. I deserve it.
5)I can read REALLY fast.
6)I cry at SPCA commercials. I find it charming. Others might not... my nose gets all red and I end up looking like a Muppet.
7)I'm a very modest girl.
8)I like that I'm a big goofball.
9)I'm a huge ball of mush sometimes.
10)I live for sarcasm.
11)I can occasionally get away with things that others can't. It's something to be careful with.
12)People come to me when they feel like they're sinking. Because they trust me.
13)People tell me anything. Including things I probably didn't need to know.And sometimes, they accidentally amuse me. "Beth, what do I do? I can't get rid of this hemorrhoid!" "Have you thought of divorce?" was my reply. They seemed twitchy and not the least bit amused. I thanked them for trusting me enough to tell me, however.
14). Getting kids' prices for movies? BONUS! (They don't need to know that I vaguely recall President Reagan's last term!)
15)Animals like me, and snuggle up to me, even those I've just met. I'm still attempting to figure out why cats look at you like you have three heads when you pop open a can of tuna. I mean it's not like I raided the Kibble.
16)Gee, my hair smells terrific.
17)I have cool looking fingers.
18)I have really good long-term memory. I can sometimes recall situations from 1987. And while it might be foggy, I can sometimes stimulate a more mature memory from someone else.
19)I have lovely cheekbones.

I've been pulling this in photos for a LONG time!

20)I'm wonderfully weird.
21)I'm pretty consistent.
22)I can be very good company.
23)I can make really awesome desserts. And I don't get "What's that weird taste?" I know that reaction... because I've given it to others. "What IS that?"
24)I've come a LONG way. I used to be an even bigger sissy than I am now.
25)I am FEARFULLY and WONDERFULLY made. And weirdly. And that's OK.
26)I am a pretty easy-going chick. (Note: Not EASY. Easy-GOING.)
27)I can sing. Unless I've been crying or have laryngitis.
28)I sing everything in the shower, from "I like big butts and I can't deny" to "Matchmaker, matchmaker.."-I make the difficulty of waking up so much more fun.
29)I'm willing to mock myself, but I always forgive myself.
30)I have a warped and filthy sense of humor.

What Was Supposed To Be A Bucket List...

I, or my parents, have been told about my imminent death quite a few times. The first time, me being small, five weeks early, it being the 80's and me having hypothermia to boot, started the first bad prognosis. Somehow, I showed them.
Through the years, and after numerous surgeries and some close calls, we've heard it about 10-15 times. While a blister may end up putting me on the bench- damn my slow healing... I'm kicking.
So, first My Bucket List, then the things I'd do if I knew, 100%, no redemption, and no possibility of delays, that I'd be gone within 7 days.

"I'm going to Disneyland!" My smart alec comment after I've worked on something, whether it be singing in church, done a project, or hit a highpoint, to the question "Well, what are you going to do NOW?" Also, I really want to see Mickey and Minnie in person, just once.

Finish my psych degree. Self explanatory, no? And screw those who've told me, that now that I've come and gone from school during illness that apparently I'm a bit too old and it's silly now. Plus, I'd be in my 40's or 50's when I graduate, they say. I tell them, "I'll be in my 40's or 50's anyway." I mean it, too. I never start something without finishing it. Even if it takes me forever.
Open a cafe.
Help people abused by normal systems, even those designed to help. Confusing as it sounds: Even Social Services can abuse, I've seen it. Because the greedy know how to play. Help those, who deal with discrimination because of anything, race, handicap, diet, religion, whatever. Use the abilities God gave- from difficulty forgetting things to capabilities of reading quickly (4 entire thick books, with 1,000s of pages, in a 9 hour span, and all of Night by Eli Wietzel as well. Because I had no where to go.The capability to describe things. The tendency to be stubborner than hell. There's more, I'm trying to think of what might be MOST useful.
Spend time with, and enjoy my family
Be "Comfortable"- I've made the first step, and set up in 28 days. Good heavens.
Drive. Something sharp. Like the glory that is a classic 60's muscle car in pure black, to a simple Mustang, shined up and purring prettily. *drool*. I'm not a "Brand Queen", except for Jags and Mustangs, but go for "Does it purr? Does it run well? Is repair/ maintenance worth more than the car?" I'll start with something simple.
Send a general and polite "Screw you" to those who told me "You can't". By being me- living well as they say, and not repeating their behaviors.
Get a motorcycle license and a beautiful Harley. Same principle as the sports' car. Graceful curves and a nice little roar. That sweet roar is a lullabye for me. Here, I am a bit of a brand queen, admittedly. I like Indians, as well, but you don't see them often anymore.
Ok, there's a basic list of the most out there things. Pretty much--- I want a place for me, somewhere, a place for me... a car, cash, freedom, the ability to grieve as I have yet to do, and not feel like I'm borrowing my mother from her boyfriend. A chance to say goodbye to the past. Maybe make some new friends here and there. Screw dating... I don't want anything but a matchless-match, screw the Yentas, but hanging out? Sure, ok. People who don't make me feel as if it's a huge favor. I'm not myself, perhaps, but I'm writing it down so I don't suddenly shout at someone. Because I'm in an angry stage. A "I want to run, have some time to myself, but I am stuck because they say they 'need me' but shove me around instead" time. There are more goals but I'll get to them later.
If I had seven days:
I'd buy a cute outfit or two. Things I've liked but have been to shy to wear.
Read a few classics again.
Run wild and barefoot. Just for fun.
Go skinny dipping.
Have a prime rib dinner. Complete with the most expensive champagne I can find.
Buy ice cream for everyone I see.
And snuggle up with someone- a sister, friend, whatever... in a nice warm blanket under the stars. And on my last day, I'd make French toast with my homemade bread... dance for a while, spend time with friends. And pig out. A frigging smörgåsbord. And leave surprises and treasure maps for special people. So I can spoil people one last time.
Oh, and as a special screw you,
Dear Ex Hubby,
You didn't get the house when we divorced. You've already made it an unhealthy house. Well, you're not getting it now. Screw you, and the horse you rode in on.
You're just an asshole in tinfoil. And a common thief.
So long.
For everyone else:
Namaste, so long, I'll catch you LATER. As in, don't miss me, I haven't gone anywhere.
I'd buy some outfits for the hell of it

Sodium Vapor

The city lay dark that night... the heavy rains fell, and puddles grew on the steaming, hot blacktop, while all around, the sodium vapor lights buzzed, and jaundiced all in their paths. In a small, nondescript car, a wizzened old cop met with a woman long past her prime. Her dirty scarlet hair hung in greasy clumps from black roots shiny with the grease of her rapidly-more-apparent scalp. Her dark eyes were small and hard, all hope and innocence, all joy and ability to love snuffed out, like a candle, long gone cold. In the jaundiced light, her wrinkles lay in relief, a road map of death and pain.
With a smile she thought was tempting and flirtatious, as it had been in her youth, not so long ago, although she looked at least 60, she bent, to apply lips waxy with drugstore lipstick, to his, and he gently shoved her back. What had happened? She hadn't allowed lips to touch hers in a long time. She shook off the rejection... she had become greedy, hoping she saw something different, in this sad man before her. But she knew... he hadn't slipped a soft, wrinkled twenty into her hand because he wanted more than what she usually gave. She'd offered him herself, rather than a fast, efficient release. She'd looked him dead in the eye. And she would pay, with her shame. She'd seen his dreams- still there, but almost gone... of being the next Elliot Ness. Of being a glamourous detective...another Dick Tracy. Of being a lover, to many, and being loved by all. She'd seen sadness and disappointment. She would have cried, but she had long ago expelled the last, salty drop. She didn't know she had a spark left. So, rather than cry, she bent her head, and folded her well- used body over his legs, and applied her red, waxy lips. She soothed him, even as he unleashed his beastial side, and forgot himself. She took his moans, grunts and growled profanities... his tug at her hair, and the fast jerk of his hips, and used them. She used them to prove she could still please a man. The cold rain fell steadily, adding "thunking" noises to the mix. Then it was over... and she was left in the cold, a dirty, crumpled bill in her dirty lace bra.

Be Honest and Faithful.

I am reading a very sad article... man cheats and gets hot grease poured over his genitals. Now, what the burns on my back taught me was "Get away!" What his little foray into the Land Of Pain may teach him this:
1)Always understand what you're getting with. Was she a little nutty BEFORE she poured hot grease down your drawers? Chances are, yes. If there are signs that someone is off balance, don't cheat! (As someone whose been cheated ON, this is hard for me, but I don't like violence.) Get out. Have restraining orders if they're unbalanced enough, and stick close to family.
2)George Carlin said it best when he attempted to condense the 10 Commandments: Be Honest and Faithful. Especially Unto The Provider of Thy Nooky.
3)Cotton gauze and ice packs were a Godsend. Yeah, I still occasionally have to explain, and still am a bit sensitive to the touch or heat, but your nether regions will likely thank you, too!
4)It is not right to give pain and violence for pain and violence. Cheating is also wrong. On both levels...revenge cheating ain't gonna help, either. Do not return evil for evil. 
5)When someone cheats, it can feel like the end of the world. But Wake up! Life gets better, provided you get up off yo' ass and DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT!
6)Respect yourself. Does hurting yourself by disgracing yourself and hurting another make you feel good? No! The rush is over too fast and in the end, you hurt worse. Don't get addicted to giving pain.
In conclusion: Seriously, everyone: Be honest and faithful. Don't return evil for evil. Don't smile and take it either. You are a human being, not a decorative area rug. Love yourself and respect yourself more than the fleeting idea of "I'll get him/her!"
If a relationship sucks that badly, LEAVE! Only attack if you are going to die if you don't.
Thank you. Goodnight, Gracie.

Crockpot Chicken Soup

This will likely end up being a recipe blog, among other things... photos, rants (I has them!) sarcasm for the sake of sarcasm, my occasional song parody, etc.
Oh and in good news: I am getting out of Dodge! I have a lovely little place of my own, now to find some basic furniture, quilts, shelving, etc for a cute little garden apartment (as in I have one, going to see what I can grow there.) I did however have a moment where I was tempted to ask "Isn't 'garden apartment a polite euphemism for "You technically live in the basement'?" But this is a high-class place, and I got lucky, having put in my name for it 2 weeks ago and hearing about on Thursday out of the blue. Yay me! Pics later.
Anyway, because I'm feeling chilly, and nothing cheers me up more than chicken soup (even in summer) I'm posting my crockpot chicken soup. Unfortunately the picture I took at Christmas, although the cookies Miss Kat helped share exist as a pic... I made them the same day, along with a loaf of Bob's Red Mill GF "Wonderful Bread"- I go all out for holidays-
If I ever post a recipe that's in my "Am trying" file, and have not vetted it myself, and there won't be many- I will make note of it. The pic of the chicken soup will not be mine, the plate of cookies will. And yes, the pink Charlie Brown tree is coming with me. (As seen in the cookie pic)
Crockpot Chicken and Rice Soup
You will need:
1 package of chicken breasts. I find two to three of the large ones work well. Preferably boneless.
2 boxes of Progresso chicken broth. Trust me on this.
1 clove of minced garlic. Shred a bulb. Easy. 
1 bag baby carrots
2 chopped celery stalks
one whole onion, chopped.
Seasonings to taste. I prefer a dash or two of pepper, some parsley and basil and about a teaspoon or so of sea salt. You want to taste the chicken, etc...not just the spices/salt!
1) Chop vegetables & onion. With baby carrots, leave them be.
2)Thaw chicken.
Place all in crock pot. Fill half way with broth.

My thanks to Internet Marketing Pakistan

Cover.
Set Medium-High and cook approximately 8 hours (After about 4, it will smell just loverly.)
Remove chicken with tongs. Snip into bite sized pieces.
Replace.
You can add noodles (I like Tinkyada rigatoni, and other assorted shapes when I make pasta.), brown or white rice to mixture about now. This will make for a thicker soup.
And because I borrowed the photo, here is the site I got the pic from. Suggestions on "Getting a sick day". Take notes, those of you whose tombstones will read "I told you I was sick..."!http://www.adnanali.org/humor/chicken-soup/
God bless, and I'll see you on the flip side. 

Dear Insane Family

Dear Insane Family,
I don't give a flying fig about who's doing drugs, who is stealing what, who is responsible for breaking up marriages, who is doing this that or the other thing. While I am willing to help, and have been attempting to hold you all together, while a life comes down to the $, I'm sorry... don't tell me what I feel, don't, whatever. It's hard to feel alone while I'm attempting to grieve 50,000 things and have to know about every fuck up. I don't bloody well care about the "First Granddaughter's Pearls" and would gladly give them up (I have no clue how to care or restring them) if that causes an issue. Mom, quit giving up things just because you're pressured. Make sure you get paid fairly if you give up the house. My uncle's relationship is not my business. I'll be polite to his girlfriend, sure. But I don't need to know about how she's a golddigger. I don't need to know how my cousin is harassing her. People aren't getting some of what they deserve. It's wrong. I'm cracking, and where is someone to say "Hey, it's ok"? People: KNOCK IT OFF. Family sticks together. If not, the children suffer, and we are all having to look on and suffer in silence. DO YOU UNDERSTAND THAT? DON'T TELL ME WHAT I DON'T UNDERSTAND.  People are using pain to control. And it's hurting.

Cleaning, Cheesecake, and Memories

Grandpa and I celebrating our birthdays with a cheesecake. Redone in "lomo effect

"

I had to help clean @ Grandma's today... argh, it broke my heart in pieces! But I got some wonderful pictures, and a recipe for Polish cheesecake, as she made it...along with the pic, shown below... I've got to scan it better- of Grandpa and I enjoying it together for my 4th birthday, and his 76th... which were about two weeks apart. I was HIS baby. Funny... this was an oddball, who in a tux, reminded people of Grandpa Munster. God, I loved him. He adored his Grandma too... I've seen love letters... that she kept so close. God bless you two crazy lovelies. Enjoy eachother. Thank you. Eventually I'll scan this better. Here we are... me with my usual "little miss serious" thing going on, and Grandpa, even ill, enjoying himself with his baby. Oddly, I found out I look like Grandma did when young, but the way Grandpa was, I think I could have looked like a  troll and he would have adored me. Thanks you two love birds. I can't say it enough. When Grandma's oldies are scanned, and I have a better version of this, I'll be sure to post it. Here is Grandma's marvelous cheesecake as SHE made it. I use the filling and either make my crust from my homemade graham crackers, or crush up a sort of Ritz crackery GF cracker called Glutino Original. Emphasis on Gluten= NO!
I will be posting a lot of recipes, and reworking what I have to.
Grandma's Polish Cheesecake:
Crust:
2 cups graham cracker crumbs
1/2 cup of melted butter
1/4 cup of sugar
Mix together and line pan and sides with mixture.
First Filling:
1 pound of cream cheese (Philly of course!) -2 8-oz packages, softened.
1/2 cup of sugar
3 eggs or equivalent of Egg Beaters or egg-substitute.
1 teaspoon of vanilla. All vanilla is gluten free. Just tossing that in there.
Combine with electric mixer. Turn off and let a favorite person lick the beater. Important in ALL recipes!
Bake all  in crust at 375 degrees for 20 minutes.
Remove. Let cool slightly.
Raise oven to 450 degrees.
Second Filling:
1pint of sour cream
1 teaspoon of vanilla
1/2 cup of sugar. (If you're following, you just used 1 1/2 cups of sugar)
Mix together with a spoon and spread over the cream cheese cake just cooling.
Place in oven, which as you recall, has been raised to 450!
Bake 10 minutes.
Take out and LET COOL COMPLETELY. Loved ones are alloted spoons and mixer beaters of mixture left on them.
Refrigerate. Keep refrigerated until serving.