Trina Spillman's Blog, page 5

Until Death Do Us Part

Born in 1909, Elena Hoyos had no idea that her beauty would attract the unwelcome advances of a man twice her age. During the roaring twenties Elena was enjoying all life had to offer. She often attended dances at the Cuban Club, wearing her signature red rose behind her right ear. In the late nineteen twenties tuberculosis was the leading cause of death in Key West. The horrible illness claimed the lives of one of Elena’s sisters and eventually her parents. In April of 1930, after receiving x-rays at the marine hospital, Elena discovered she too had contracted the illness. While at the hospital she was treated by a fifty year old technician by the name of Carl von Cosel. He claimed to be a German count and a trained medical doctor, but he was neither a count nor a doctor, but something much more sinister. The day Carl met Elena an unnatural obsession consumed Von Cosel. He was determined to have Elena as his wife and in her desperate state to escape the ravages of tuberculosis, Elena saw Carl as the only man who could save her. But ultimately there was no miracle cure and Elena died on October 25th, 1931 at the age of twenty two. Elena was buried in Key West Cemetery. Two years later Von Cosel built an elaborate mausoleum for his beloved Elena and with her families permission had her exhumed and placed inside. Von Cosel visited the mausoleum that held the corpse of the woman he considered to be his bride, even though they were never legally married. Every day for eighteen months, Von Cosel visited Elena until one day he decided to steal Elena’s body and make her his bride at last. According to the memoirs of Carl Von Cosel, the ghost of Elena was with him every step of the way as he wrestled her decaying body from the cemetery. He returned to his home with his prize and painstakingly peeled back Elena’s rotting shroud and began the laborious task of rebuilding her putrefied flesh. Through a series of pumps and chemicals Von Cosel was able to slow the process of decay that gave him the time he needed to reconstruct Elena’s skin and other parts of her anatomy so their union could be consummated. Rumors began circulating around Key West that Elena’s body was no longer in her mausoleum. Elena’s sister confronted the count and demanded she be taken to her sister’s casket because she did not believe her body was still there. Von Cosel agreed to show the sister where Elena was and took her to his home where she found the reconstructed corpse of her sister. On October 5th, 1940 the body of Elena Hoyos was seized by authorities and Von Cosel taken into custody. A viewing of Elena’s body was held at the Lopez funeral home where 8,500 people came to see the body. School was even cancelled for the day so children could witness this “curiosity.” During this time a hearing was convened to decide what crimes Von Cosel had committed. It was decided that he had committed the willful and wanton destruction of a tomb. However, he was released as the statute of limitations had expired on that particular crime. In order to protect Elena’s corpse from the clutches of Von Cosel, Elena’s body was secretly interned at the Key West Cemetery. Only a select few to this day know where the body is buried. Heartbroken, the count left Key West in 1941. Two hours after his departure a mysterious explosion ripped through the cemetery, destroying the mausoleum that once held the remains of his beloved Elena. Many locals report hearing unnatural cries and unexplained apparitions roaming behind the locked gates of Key West’s Cemetery. Over one hundred thousand souls are interred in the cemetery, and many, like Elena, have no marker, albeit for a different reason. So if you should be wondering the grounds of the Key West Cemetery and catch the whiff of a rose or see the image of a beautiful young woman show compassion, for this woman found little peace in life or in death.

Can My Voice Rise Above the Noise?

Dear Every Democratic Candidate Running for Office: Please hear me. I often feel like a tiny little Who, in Whoville, screaming to be heard by Horton. Where are the Hortons of the party? Please find them so this rant can be heard. First, I am sick and tired of certain Democratic candidates taking a moderate approach to policy in hopes of not pissing off too many people. I call bullshit. Pick a fucking lane. Realize that “you can please some of the people all of the time, you can please all of the people some of the time, but you can’t please all of the people all of the time.” What does that mean for the prospective nominees? It means quit driving in the middle of the road and start developing policies that address the political ideology of most Americans. Let’s start with a single payer universal healthcare plan. Make it the job of the government to provide its citizens with quality, affordable healthcare. This can be accomplished a couple of different ways, one that I would like to suggest expands Medicare to cover anyone 50 or older. States will expand their children healthcare plans to cover kids until they are 21 years of age, leaving individuals 22-49 to buy plans off an exchange, with one of the plans being a Medicare buy-in option. Secondly, let’s get real when it comes to the catastrophic way fossil fuels are killing the planet. We, as human beings, need a place to live. Maybe Trump and Pence are moving to the moon, but I am a little Who, remember? I don’t think that is an option for me, so I will go with the option that results in us not fucking up our home in the name of the petro-dollar. Move on, man! Coal – DEAD. Oil – Dying. Fracking- Stupid! The United States can take a backseat to China and bury our heads in the Saudi sands, or we can develop a long-term, comprehensive strategy to bolster our economy by investing heavily in renewable energies. Let’s tell climate change naysayers to go fuck themselves and cast them aside. I implore the Democratic presidential candidates to promote progressive policies and quit being the party of pussy politicians. So here it is, all laid out, no hidden meanings and no reading between the lines. I am sick and fucking tired of being lied to. I want healthcare. I want my elected officials, ALL OF THEM, to be subjected to the same laws and regulations that I am. I want corporate whores to stop selling out America for a fist full of dough. STOP IT!!!!! If you don’t, I fear somewhere, somehow, history will repeat itself, and not in a good way, like the fall of the Roman Empire bad. So let the rants of the 2020 general election begin, but know, while this rant is in some ways satirical, it does point out some very legitimate concerns that I, as an American citizen, have, and which I expect you, as an American leader, to address. Sincerely, Jane No Dough

Garden Salsa

For the gardener in each of us, springtime signals the start of a new planting season. I will be planting green onions, cilantro, jalapeno peppers, bell peppers and vine ripened heirloom tomatoes, brought back from the region where tomatoes got their start. If you can name that region in the comments section below, you will be entered into a drawing for your choice of one of the heirloom seed packets listed on this page. Ingredients: 3 green onions ½ lime ¼ cup cilantro 4 jalapeno peppers ¼ teaspoon salt 1 green bell pepper 6 medium vine ripened tomatoes Directions: 1. Coarsely chop onions, tomatoes and bell pepper 2. Place onion, bell pepper, cilantro, and jalapeno peppers into a food processor. Pulse until finely chopped. Add tomatoes, and pulse just a few times until the tomatoes are coarsely chopped. 3. Squeeze lime over tomatoes add salt and stir well. Wait 15 minutes and serve. Cover leftovers and refrigerate. I encourage everyone to grow as much of their own produce as possible using quality, heirloom seeds. Then you too can grow vegetables like these.

Ridgway Blues - Installment #5

Molly opens the front door to her house and enters a historic home built in 1814. The doorway is low, as are the ceilings in the home. The floors are the original, wide-planked poplar flooring. Children can be heard yelling at one another upstairs, a small dachshund dog begins to bark, and a TV is blaring in the family room. Molly hangs her purse and car keys on a peg by the front door and places a black briefcase on the dry sink in the foyer. She walks into the adjoining family room where her 16-year-old daughter, Claire, is sitting on the couch watching TV. Pointing toward the television, Molly says, “Please turn that down.” Molly picks up a stack of mail laying on the fireplace mantel and asks her daughter, “Where's your father?” Claire shrugs her shoulders and replies, “I don't know.” Molly walks from the family room, through the dining room and into the kitchen where she finds Willow, her 12-year-old daughter, who is sitting at the kitchen table eating an apple. “I’ll start dinner in a few minutes. Could you set the table please? And where's your dad?” “Where do you think he is?” “Willow, if I knew where your father was, I wouldn't be asking.” Chewing her apple, Willow responds, “He's where he always is, out in the garage.” Molly asks, “Was that so hard?” Willow smiles as juice from her apple drips onto her chin. Molly opens the French doors in the kitchen that lead to a screened porch. The porch opens onto a brick patio that lies between the rear of the house and the garage. The access door to the garage is open and the garage lights are on, as is an old and very large big screen TV that fits snugly among the built-in shelves on the nearest wall of the garage. Matthew can be seen at his work bench sanding a piece of wood. “Hey, hun. Whatcha doin’?” Matthew doesn't hear. Half yelling, Molly says, “Hey, I'm home!” Startled, Matthew jumps and turns toward his wife, “Oh, hi, Molly. Have you been home long?” “Nope, just got home.” Molly walks toward the work bench where her husband is seated, careful not to knock over the tools, hoses, rakes, shovels, and other items strewn haphazardly on the floor of the garage. When she reaches the bench, she hugs her husband and picks up the cordless phone. She looks through the list of incoming calls on the Caller ID display and sees a call from the hospital. Molly asks her husband, “Why did the hospital call?” “Your mom called before you got home to say your dad has been admitted to the hospital for some tests.” Molly sighs as she picks up the phone and hits redial, “I better call and find out what's going on. I just hope my mother doesn't answer. She won't know shit about what's going on unless it has something to do with shopping. Hello, Mother? Is dad there? Morphine, hmm. Oh, lumps? No, that doesn't sound right at all. Well, I'm glad he finally made it to the hospital for tests. Yes, I'll drop by tomorrow after work. Okay, bye.” Matthew asks, “Well?” “Apparently my father has lumps under his skin and has no idea how he got them. He has had a shot of morphine and is scheduled for tests in the morning.” Matthew looks at his wife quizzically, “Lumps?” “You heard me, lumps. Unbelievable … he's been to the doctor half a dozen times and no one can figure out what's wrong with him.” “Well, maybe the tests will show something.” Molly places the phone back on the bench and, with a look of concern, replies to her husband, “Yeah, that's what I'm afraid of.”

Did Someone Say Immigration?

Dear Mayor Pete: The most radical position I can think of taking when it comes to immigration in the United States involves legalizing the drugs that are being smuggled into the country. According to a recent report in The Economist, “Two decades ago the United States Coast Guard shut down the Caribbean cocaine route, so the trade shifted to Mexico. Mexico has started to fight back; and its continuing offensive against the drug mafias has pushed them down into Central America.” I know, I can hear the sighs from here. The radical right saying, “Oh my God, that is just horrible. We will have a country full of people strung out on all sorts of drugs like cocaine, heroin, crystal meth, and the WEED!!!!” These folks typically drink heavily and have been known to pop the occasional Xanax and/or OxyContin, so I say crawl back into your fucking bottles and stop being hypocrites. Just because heroin would be legal doesn’t mean people will be shooting up en masse . Case in point, alcohol is legal, but I no longer drink the shit. Legalizing drugs that are causing gang violence in countries like Guatamala, El Salvador, and Honduras may help. Additionally, if there were economic opportunities aside from selling drugs in these countries, that, too, would help. Hell, recruit Walmart to build stores throughout Central America creating cheap goods and low-paying jobs, but jobs nevertheless. One last thought: Maybe we can set up safe zones around the embassies in these countries where families trying to escape violence can pre-qualify for asylum before making the hazardous journey north. Thank you for allowing me to share these thoughts with you. I know I am a very small cog in a much bigger machine, and I also know with a fairly high degree of certainty that if the cogs don’t have a voice, then we don’t have a nation. May the cogs of the nation unite so our voices can be heard. Sincerely, A Sagamore of the Wabash

One Tough Son of a Bitch

Some of the greatest quotes come from the 26th President of the United States, Teddy Roosevelt. For those who don't know, Teddy Roosevelt was shot in the chest and went on to give an 84 minute speech. The speech was folded in the President's breast pocket and the 50 pages slowed the bullet, very likely saving Teddy Roosevelt's life. The incident helped forge the President's reputation as one tough son of a bitch who complained little without offering a solution to the problem at hand.

The Artist House and Robert the Doll

This tale begins in 1896 at the Key West home of Mr. And Mrs. Thomas Otto. The Otto's were cruel people and had a reputation of mistreating their servants. One servant, a Bahamian maid well versed in the ways of voodoo, took care of the couple’s young son, Robert Eugene Otto (Gene). One day she decided to get back at the Otto family for her mistreatment and presented four-year-old Gene with a cursed doll named Robert. The straw stuffed toy stood three feet tall and bore an amazing resemblance to Gene. Robert soon became Gene’s constant playmate. They were best of friends, but soon Gene realized Robert was not an imaginary playmate, oh no, he was alive and his spirit was pure evil. It is said that the Otto's often heard Gene upstairs talking to the doll. This did not seem so bad but when an entirely different voice started to answer the young boy, the Otto’s became increasingly concerned, especially when strange things began to happen. Neighbors claimed to see Robert move about in front of the windows when the family was gone. The Otto's claimed to hear the doll giggle, and occasionally would catch him running about the house. Gene started having night terrors causing him to wake up screaming, soaked in his own sweat. When his parents entered his room, they would find furniture over turned and little Gene huddled at the head of the bed with Robert glaring at the terrified little boy. In a stammering voice Gene would say, "Robert did it." Soon, the doll was exiled to the attic where it lived for many years. When Gene's parents died, Gene inherited the family home and soon rediscovered his old friend. Soon, Robert’s hold on Gene became terrifyingly strong. As an adult, Gene became a celebrated artist in Key West and his fame and wealth grew. Gene married and he and his new bride Anne, moved into the family home where Gene’s wife quickly came to dislike the doll known as Robert. In fact, she was so fearful that when she looked at him she would flee the room in horror. Anne could not understand Gene’s obsession with the doll. Nevertheless, because she loved her husband she humored him and even gave Robert his own room, once again, in the attic. One day Gene told his wife that Robert was very unhappy and demanded a room with a view. Anne questioned her husband, “The doll is demanding a room with a view?” Over his wife’s objections, Gene moved Robert out of the attic down to the turret room. Robert sat at the window overlooking the street. Children on their way to school reported seeing him moving about the room glaring down at them. Inside the house, Gene became increasingly irrational and violent. He often lashed out in fits of rage, throwing things and striking out at his wife, and every time he would say the same thing, “It was Robert.” One day a plumber, working alone in the turret room, fled the house in terror. When asked why, he said he had heard Robert giggling, but there was nothing happy or joyous about the sounds coming from the doll, they were wicked, evil noises that grated on the poor man like fingers on a chalkboard. Gene became increasingly despondent over the next few years until one day he locked himself in the turret room where he soon died, with Robert at his side. Anne fled the house leaving the doll behind in the attic. Instead of selling her husband’s family home, she decided to lease it and in the lease stipulated that Robert be the sole occupant of the attic. The 10-year-old daughter of the new tenants soon discovered Robert, and once again, horrible things began to happen. One evening the little girl ran into her parent’s bedroom hysterical, claiming the doll tortured her. The little girl’s parents often heard footsteps in the attic but did not mention this to their daughter for fear of scarring her. They believed their daughter and knew in their hearts that the doll was evil. The little girl, now an adult, steadfastly claims, "the doll was alive and wanted to kill her." Robert, still dressed in his white sailor's suit and clutching his stuffed lion, lives quite comfortably, though well guarded, at the Key West Martello Museum. When Robert first arrived at his current home in the museum he was not in an enclosure and on several occasions, the museum staff would find Robert in a different position, even a different location, than where they had left him the night before. His feet have been covered in dirt and dust as if he had been running around the museum all night. Robert makes many people feel uncomfortable when they are around him. He has also been known to take on different expressions. One museum employee wanted to take a picture of Robert and went to remove his hat. He reports the doll looked angry. The employee removed the hat and tried to take the picture, but his camera would not work. When he replaced the hat, the camera immediately clicked off four pictures. Robert is now encased in glass, a jail of sorts, keeping him out of mischief. Near his glass case is a sign warning visitors not to take Robert’s picture without asking his permission first, as he has been known to damage film and cameras. He is also blamed for the unfortunate accidents of many, including one man visiting from Buffalo, NY who refused to ask Robert’s permission before snapping his picture and upon his return home, died. According to reports, Robert still haunts the attic of the Artists house. After Anne’s death, her spirit has been seen roaming the turret room, forever trapped with Robert. It is true what they say, “Be careful of the objects you possess or one day they may wind up possessing you”.

Should it Matter Who Gets the Credit?

Cottage Food Industry (Article #5): JAM! That’s Good!

As promised, we will be looking at the cottage food industry. In the past, regulations made it next to impossible to produce food items for sale to the general public, unless those food items were produced in a certified commercial kitchen. However, in the past few years several states now allow individuals to produce and sell food items made in unlicensed home kitchens, but that doesn’t mean there are no rules or regulations regarding the production of these goods. For example, in Florida, the law allows individuals to use their unlicensed home kitchens to produce for sale certain foods that present a low risk of foodborne illness. This makes products like jams and jellies ideal for the cottage food operator, but before launching a jam and jelly operation, it is imperative to understand how to properly process and preserve these food items, as well as any other food items you might consider selling. Jams and jellies are a favorite of mine, especially after winning two Grand Champion awards at the county fair in Indiana. Check out these award winning recipes in the File Share section of our website. So, what do future jam and jelly entrepreneurs need to know? According to The All New Ball Book of Canning and Preserving, the most important factor in determining which canning method must be used to safely preserve foods for storage at room temperature is acidity—the pH level of the food (or recipe). Foods having naturally high levels of acid, or those with a sufficient amount of acid added to decrease the pH level to 4.6 or lower, may be processed in a boiling-water canner. Foods and recipes having very little natural acid (pH higher than 4.6), such as vegetables, must be processed in a pressure canner to ensure a high enough temperature is reached to kill harmful bacteria. The most common types of foodborne illnesses are caused from bacteria, molds, and yeast. Bacteria are not easily destroyed by heat; in fact, certain bacteria actually thrive at temperatures that destroy molds and yeasts and will continue to survive in the absence of oxygen within a moist environment—exactly the conditions inside a sealed jar of food. Toxin-producing spores of both the bacterium Clostridium botulinum and staph bacteria must be destroyed by heating food in a sealed jar to 240°F (116°C). This high temperature can only be reached using a pressure canner, since the steam it creates can achieve temperatures hotter than the boiling water in a water bath canner. Although some mold is relatively harmless, certain molds can produce mycotoxins that are lethal. Yeasts can also make foods inedible. Foods of low pH are largely protected from bacterial growth; however, molds and yeasts are ever-present and, if left untreated, continue to grow. That said, they are easily destroyed when exposed to high temperatures (between 140° and 190°F/60°C and 88°C). Since boiling-water canners heat food to 212°F (100°C), high-acid foods can safely be preserved using this method. The traditional production of jams and jellies using real fruit and sugar that contain no additives or preservatives, as opposed to factory-produced products, provides the unique character and flavor sought by today’s consumer. Time-honored traditions in canning fruits for jams and jellies are reminiscent of yesteryear and remind consumers of grandma’s homemade apple butter, or spiced peaches. This is a taste that cannot be found in today’s “super centers.” A Roper survey states, “3 in 10 Americans say they are always looking for new and unusual flavors.” The increased interest in food, an appreciation by many consumers for craft-produced products, and the potential revenue-generating opportunities have led to more opportunities in the cottage food industry. Next article, CANDY!!!!! NEW FILE SHARE is available! Become a member and download printable jam recipes from our file share library.

Ridgway Blues - Installment #4

Kay wheels Charlie into Dr. Lawrence's deserted waiting room. Mary emerges from the door leading back to the examining rooms with a look of despair on her face. “Oh, Dr. Drummand, I am so sorry, but Dr. Lawrence just left. I...” Just then Dr. Lawrence appears in the doorway behind Mary. Kay's eyes fill with tears and a wave of relief crosses her face. Charlie tries to sit upright in the chair in an act of defiance to whatever it is that's causing his pain. “Charlie, what in the world is all this commotion about?” Dr. Lawrence gently removes Kay's white knuckled grip from the wheelchair and takes her hands into his. He looks at her and reassuringly says, “Why don't I take him back and find out what all of this is about. You just have a seat and try to relax.” Dr. Lawrence wheels Charlie into one of the empty examining rooms and locks the wheels of Charlie’s chair in place. “Charlie, can you sit up here on the table?” “You'll need to help me. I can't believe how weak I am. I think all of this damned pain medication is knocking me for a loop.” Dr. Lawrence helps Charlie onto the table. “Can you get your shirt off?” “Yeah, I think so.” Charlie fumbles at his buttons and very slowly removes his shirt. “Doc, if you want to run some tests, I have to come to town tomorrow to see the dentist. Son of a bitch cancelled today's appointment.” Dr. Lawrence intently examines the lumps on Charlie's right shoulder. He stops his examination and looks Charlie square in the eye. “Charlie, you have more to worry about than your teeth. I want Kay to drive you over to the hospital emergency room and get you admitted to the hospital so I can start running some tests.” “You mean tonight? You think it's that serious?” “I'm not sure. Let's just wait and see what the tests reveal.” Charlie and Kay arrive at the hospital emergency room where they are greeted by a receptionist behind a waist-high counter. To the right of the small reception area is a large waiting room filled with a throng of people waiting to be seen by the triage nurse. To the left is a metal door leading back to the emergency rooms. Kay reaches into her purse to extract a form the doctor gave her before she left his office with a list of tests that needed to be run on Charlie. Kay approaches the reception desk and addresses a young redhead. “My husband's doctor instructed us to come right over and give this to someone here so he could be admitted for tests.” “Oh, yes. Dr. Lawrence's office just called. Someone will be right down to take you up to your room.” On cue, an elderly man emerges through the ER doors. His tag reads “Arthur” and “Volunteer.” “Good evening, Dr. Drummand. I'll wheel you up to your room.” In a defeated tone, Charlie replies, “Fine. Fine.” Arthur wheels Charlie into a private room and locks the chair’s wheels in place. He helps Charlie into a standing position and escorts him to the side of the hospital bed, “Your charge nurse will be down shortly.” Charlie gives a gruff, “Thank you.” Kay asks, “Charlie, what does the doctor think it is?” “Hell if I know.” “Well, I better call the girls and let them know you're in the hospital.”