Miss Mae's Page

The Long and Short of It Reviews will be celebrating their one year anniversary the whole month of August. I'm privileged and excited to participate. It's got to be fun when a gaggle (LOL) of authors convene to chat with readers and give away prizes. Friday, August 22, is my day to be spotlighted. Hope folks will come over to see what it's all about and to enjoy the scavenger hunt!

I read that Burger King is now offering Spam for breakfast in Hawaii. I guess the islanders love the stuff. You know the product Spam? It comes vacuum-sealed in a can that you have to peel open. It’s pale pink and when you shake it from the can it lands—kerplunk!—like a giant pencil eraser onto your plate. Except there’s icky, gooey stuff sticking to it. They said that’s gel, but they surely don’t mean jell-o. It’s nowhere as appetizing.

I just stare at it and go, “Bleech!” and then dispose of it.

Years ago, the business where I worked gave all employees a two-pound vacuum-sealed can of ham. Not to be confused with Spam, because this ham came in a larger container. We unpeeled it, dropped that weight onto a plate, looked at it, and gave it to the dogs. Guess what? The dogs smelled it and looked back at us. You could hear their thoughts going something like, “You don’t expect us to eat this stuff?” The memory of my canines’ expressions have always stayed with me. I respect their intelligence. If they refused ham, there’s got to be a reason. So I no longer touch the stuff. 

And now there’s this blob of Spam. Kinda reminds me of a miniature ham.

Interestingly enough, with the internet and email, there’s something else going around called spam. Could there be a connection to what I’ve been talking about? I wonder.

This spam sure gets a lot of bad rap. No one likes it and no one wants it. Even though it’s very popular and shows up everywhere, folks want to get rid of it. When I read about it, I recall my dogs’ looks.

I find spam crammed in my own email boxes. I never ordered the stuff. I don’t care if it is free. Why are these ‘spammers’ wanting to push it on me? I get the same revulsion I had when that pale pink ooze slammed onto the plate—“Bleech!”

I wonder about those folks in Hawaii. If they like Spam so much they’re willing to pay for it, does that mean I can sell my free spam to them? Hmm, now there’s an idea.

I don't believe second person is called for in most writing articles today. But here's one I wrote for a writing class...



WHIM OF THE WIND


You arrive as the sun yawns over the horizon. You glide slowly, almost hesitantly to the ground, skimming the top of the silent pool, careful to disturb not a ripple. You moan with dismay as you swirl over the victims of last night’s rampage. You didn’t flatten the grasses to lifeless straw; the icy-hearted hailstones murdered them. You didn’t scorch the mighty oak to a charred stump; the crackling lightning sizzled it. You didn’t smash the anthill and flood its tunnels; the pelting rain drowned it.

You had no hand in those things. Instead you attacked the pine tree. You buffeted it with your fists, bending it to one side and then twisting it to the other. You ripped off its hairy needles, its explosive pops of pain from snapping limbs swallowed up by the roar of your demented screams. Deer raced from you, their white eyes and flaring nostrils begging for mercy. Rabbits scurried away, their giant feet tripping over the knot of broken branches you scattered in their path. Your mad howls nipped at their heels, deriding their fear.

You’d spied something lodged in a crotch of the pine’s waving boughs. Whirling over, you’d seen a lone fledging cowering in its fragile nest. Outraged that you’d missed this in your earlier assault, you’d snatched the tiny twigs and hurled them to the ground. You’d watched, watched, watched as the helpless bird plummeted to the forest floor, the sticks that’d been its home stacking tent-style over its still form.

Satisfied that your authority went unrivaled, you’d swirled upward, tightening yourself into your most commanding posture. You’d ordered all the dark clouds to cluster around and, together, you’d merged and shaped into one being, billowing into a raging monster. Your staff of lightning, hailstones, and rain joined you to wage war. Nothing withstood your fierce army. Yet after the onslaught, when the lightning ceased and the rain halted, your fury abated and you’d slunk away like a defeated coward.

All through the night, you’d remembered what terror you elicited. You’d regretted how the forest animals distrusted you. You’d cried at the thought of how you mutilated the pine tree.

But, oh, the worst—what anguish torments you now with the knowledge of the life you stole. You recall during the spring how you’d watched the baby bird grow as its parents nurtured it. You’d smiled with the realization of how in two more days it’d join its older siblings when it’d take the first brave step at leaving the nest. But then—the sun angered you. During the long hours of yesterday, your resentment had risen along with the relentless baking degrees. By evening you’d lashed out in defiance. You’d robbed the sun of its strength. Because of your combat, the suffocating temperatures dropped to those reminiscent of a cool fall day. But, at what cost your victory?

Now you whisper between the strands of grass that survived. You find the spot you’re searching for beneath the skeletal pine tree. Gently, carefully, you blow away the twigs that’d been the nest, and then you see it. Downy feathers ruffle under the sigh of your breath. And then, one little eye blinks open. The bird shakes itself and stands to its feet. Stretching its wings, it lifts itself and you, with joy singing in your heart, provide the support it needs. You cup the fragile life in your hands and carry it to a high branch where its mother is only now awakening. As chick and parent greet each other by lightly touching beaks, you breeze away to seek out the deer and rabbit. Today you’ll caress their fur with gentle fingers. Today you’ll soothe away the fear of the storm during the night.

copyright 2007 L.M. Thomas

Everybody knows (unless your pulse rate has suddenly gone silent) that most of our paychecks these days go to feed our hungry vehicles with ever more costly liquid food. I suspected with so much moola being spent on gasoline, it'd be a pretty quiet Fourth. Hey, who can buy fireworks, right?

Well, wouldn't you know? Our out-of-work neighbors. Okay, maybe you like fireworks, and I agree they're beautiful to watch as a display at fairs. But when the Fourth came and went and it was silent next door, I was sure fireworks was a luxury no one in our neck of the woods could afford. Then comes Friday night. And Friday night ends the Fourth, right? Isn't the logical thought to welcome in the anniversary? 

After the Fourth has ended, we hear these "squeeeeels" from across the fence. Yep, those pop-pop-pops ain't popcorn gone crazy. It's fireworks and bottle rockets.

After I'd gone to bed. After my dog has gone to bed. After we'd gone to sleep.

The "celebration" has started.

I thought for sure Friday night would be safe. I lay there, blinking my sleep-heavy lids and wonder if the folks next door got their timing all messed up. Well, they have my sleep all messed up, that's for sure. 

The dog gets up, goes to the back door, watches all that weird light sparkling and crackling and hissing, tucks her tail between her legs and heads back to bed. Together, she and I lay there, waiting for the merriment of the Fifth of July party to wane.

Hmm. Maybe they're wanting to start their own tradition.

I just have to share this. My friend who wrote the hilarious "take" on my forthcoming book, "Said the Spider to the Fly" (scroll on down and read the conversation between Mr. Spider and Mr. Fly), has done it again!

This time it's targeted toward my first book, "See No Evil, My Pretty Lady".  This deals with Jack the Ripper's cousin, Jack the Wrapper...You gotta read this, folks....

"...See, there I was, watching TV when I got this GREAT idea...How about writing a book about Jack the Wrapper!
 
Yea, see Jack the RIPPER, we all know about him but, bet you didn't know he had a cousin who worked in Sears and was a GREAT gift wrapper..His name was Jack, also, and, he was SO good he was titled Jack the wrapper.
 
Now, Jack the wrapper could wrap a gift in 11 seconds flat! He was SO good, Sears entered him in the Gift Wrapping Olympics and he won FIRST prize!
 
He had to be careful when he was wrapping stuff 'cause sometimes he ended up wrapping himself in the BIG packages...That's how fast he was!
 
Unfortunately, for Jack, the OTHER Jack was doing bad things and he, Jack the Wrapper, had to give up his profession as a Gift Wrapper, moved to the United States and he became Jack the Rapper....He wrote five thousand Rap "Songs" and retired to Miami, where he opened a Taco Stand. 
 
Yep, there's a book there...Maybe even a movie!..."

My friend's name is Chayisun, and he's a classic. Oh, if anyone enjoys this as much as I do, ole Chay likes to be paid in the biggest, thickest, darkest piece of chocolate candy you can buy!!!