Jim Reed's Blog, page 2

CRISPY FRIES, LEMON MERINGUE AND THICK GOOEY ICING

Hear Jim’s Red Clay Diary: https://youtu.be/BGbT1SDIRbI

or read his transcript, below:

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Life, actually…

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CRISPY FRIES, LEMON MERINGUE AND THICK GOOEY ICING

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Here’s something I like about Down South.

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I was raised on country food, soul food, junk food, down-home food.

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Guilty admissions about my lifelong Down South diet: If it is breaded, crunchy, overcooked, crusted, sugary, salty, spicy and just plain bad for me, I tend to love it.

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I know, I know…this kind of eating is not endorsed by healthy, evangelical, disapproving whole-food progressives. They want me to live longer and more miserably by ingesting only those tasteless things that are good for me.

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That phrase, Good for Me, is the red line that rankles and holds me back from doing the Right Thing.

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I am not yet a complete idiot, but I am approaching complete idiocy. The sane part of me knows that the good-fooders are correct—I should be eating what they eat. And, of course, I do eat properly most of the time. Maybe I’ll live an extra two hours because of this.

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But Temptation is so…Tempting.

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I just have to revert to childhood now and then and eat everything that is holy and unhealthy.

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Sacred food is essential at times:  I tend to eat the icing and forego the cake. I chomp on the meringue and try the lemon maybe later. I munch the crunchy fries quickly, before they turn mushy. I crave the grooves in Ruffles. I always eat one too many seasalted cashews. I vow to stop at one Buddy Bar, then fail.  A whiff of hot dog produces catsup dreams. Triple-buttered-and-salted-and-peppered grits are the only grits worthy of consideration.

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Are you following me?

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All this stuff will eventually kill me.

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But I’ll go out with a pleasured smile on my face.

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What would that smile look like were I to die while eating kale?

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Scary thought, isn’t it

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© 2025 A.D. by Jim Reed

 

MARKING TIME WITH BOONDOGGLERS

Life, actually…

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MARKING TIME WITH BOONDOGGLERS

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Wasting time is the most productive thing I do in my little corner of the world.

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When I consider a book for possible acquisition, I look as if I am not doing anything at all. I hold it, stare, turn it over, riffle, check copyright page, sniff for contaminations, and so on and so forth. To the casual observer I am merely frozen in place, book in hand, doing a lot of nothing. You know—I’m that old guy having an old guy moment.

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I seem to be a boondoggler.

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At my writing desk in my writing room, I stare motionless at surroundings—walls, pictures, ephemera, fixtures, displays, bookcases. If you catch me in the non-act, I seem to be stop-motioned and absent-minded.

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I am thinking, I am thinking, I tell you! Busy busy.

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When a droner drones on, I am gazing deeply as though attention is being paid. In fact, I am sometimes somewhere else, though my alert body tells a fib. If the droner is infatuated with the droning, my diverted self will not be noticed.

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Honest, we authors and artists are doing our best work when static and mulling.

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By the way, the actual production of a ponderment seldom takes more than a few minutes. A fully-formed story may just stream through my fingers onto keyboard keys and produce a six-hour work of art in two minutes of typing. This may feel like cheating to you, but it is no more mysterious than cooking an omelet or laying a brick.

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Most of the time, I don’t get caught not paying attention until the very end. When the droning ends and my only reaction is to say, “There is a dab of chocolate on the tip of your nose. Thought you’d like to know,” the droner suddenly realizes nobody was listening.

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I don’t mean to offend, but this is the way it is, here in Boondoggle Land

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 © 2025 A.D. by Jim Reed

 

THE TWIRLING DRESS

Hear Jim’s two-minute podcast: https://youtu.be/qlOa5IQ_aGM

or read the transcript below…

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Life, actually…

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THE TWIRLING DRESS

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She designed it from sweet memory.

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Then she made it just for herself.

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A dress well-conceived and well executed.

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A dress that existed for celebrations to come.

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It was pretty when she made it so long ago.

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It was bright and fresh and new.

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It smelled so good.

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It felt like an elegant second skin.

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It reminded her of a good life on a good day on a one-day-only good planet.

 

It made her want to dance.

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It made her want to twirl.

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It made her want to remain within that moment.

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It made her wish that moment would be endless and forever accessible.

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She was fine and bright and filled with the goodness that forms from sacrifice and good will.

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She had done her share of nurturing and comforting those around her.

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The newly formed dress gave her permission to pamper herself for a change.

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A lovely creation a lovely creature a lovely chance to toss away past regrets and future fears.

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A lovely chance to soar free and easy for a few moments, to create special memories that could never be taken from her.

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The twirling is done now, the times have shifted.

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But the fine painting she created now hangs high in her room. Her painting of that wonderful dress suspends the moment and makes it so easy for her to occasionally float into the canvas and once more pilot the dress, don the dress, feel the dress, levitate those past moments so dear to her

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 © 2025 A.D. by Jim Reed

THOSE WHO LOVED ME ARE ALWAYS AROUND

Listen: http://www.jimreedbooks.com/mp3/thosewholove.mp3 or read on…

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Life, actually…

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THOSE WHO LOVED ME ARE ALWAYS AROUND

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I can’t seem to rid myself of all the long-ago formerly-living people who have filled my life, fleshed out my life, enriched my life.

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You’d think that, once people you know die, you’d be able to put aside your memory of them and get on with meeting new people, having new experiences.

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Just doesn’t work that way.

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There are many dead folk who continue to influence my life:

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Helen Hisey, my 8th grade speech teacher, taught me not to be afraid of speaking my passion in front of audiences. She taught me that it’s OK to slow down and respect the crowd, have faith in their ability to absorb worthwhile information when it is delivered to them with  zeal and humor and love. Helen still guides me.

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Sadie Logan, my 2nd grade teacher, brought me up from a very deep and fearful place to a position of importance. She never, ever stopped believing in me and letting me know that I was the most special kid on earth. All these years years later, I learn that she made virtually every student she’s ever taught feel the same way. We are all the offspring of Sadie Logan.

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Jon Charles Palmer and Elmo Riley and Pat Flood were my childhood playmates who just plain accepted me as their friend and never had any reason to harm or dismiss me, no matter how stupid I acted, no matter how far away and out of touch I became. I still hang out with them in memory ever fresh.

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Frances Lee McGee Reed, my mother, always laughed at my corny humor, always knew I was special, never let me get away with a lie or an exaggeration or a misdeed, forever believed that I was Number One in her book—even though my brothers and sisters felt the same way. She taught me that the greatest entertainment there is, is people-watching, and I spend most of each public day doing just that, with her invisible presence setting me straight.

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James Thomas Reed Jr., my father, taught by quiet example. He was clumsy aloud, but his image as a learned and wise man was powerful without words. He was my earliest example of what a real family man does—earn the living, bring home the pay, sit silently in an easy  chair after supper, reading books great and books seedy and books wise, from Mickey Spillane and Zane Grey and Edgar Rice Burroughs to Eric Hoffer and Harry Truman and Ogden Nash. A most educated man, though never a graduate, he set the example of steadfast tranquility.

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Other dead people who look after me:

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Pawpaw Burns was my elderly neighbor who showed me that if you really pay close attention to children, you can get through to them by simply noticing, simply respecting them for where they are at the moment. They can always tell.

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Adron Herrin and Jack McGee and Brandon McGee and Pat McGee and Annabelle Herrin and Evey Hartley and Effie McGee and Georgia McGee and Gladys McGee and Matty Wooten and John McGee and Dinah Hassell and Elizabeth McGee and many other kinfolk accepted me, warts and all, and treated me with respect and good humor, making me react in horror when anybody tells me they are separated from their kin, cut off from the nurturing care that can come from kindly people who share your blood, if you will only let them.

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There are crowds of dead people in my head and in my life and that’s OK.

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Even better news: there are scores of living people who have helped me, too, many without even knowing it.

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I see living people.

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And, because of the wisdoms and comforts and joys left me by the deceased, I am better prepared than most to carefully weed out the unwise and hang only with the people who trust and accept me and make no judgements.

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Thanks to those long-ago-passed, I have become a good student of life, and the lives they lived help me manage the bad days well, and enjoy the good days even more

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© 2025 A.D. by Jim Reed

 

 

 

TEDDY BEAR SAVES THE DAY

Hear Jim’s Red Clay Diary: https://youtu.be/Jt68asaspa4or read his transcript below:.Life, actually….TEDDY BEAR SAVES THE DAY.Eight or more decades ago…I am hugging my best friend, Teddy. I am about as happy as I will ever be..Lying here in my cradle, all rested and cleaned up and fresh-diapered, all well-fed and comfy, I am the center of my own little universe. This coziness is made possible by family, made joyful by Teddy, the small stuffed teddy bear lying next to me..Teddy and I go way back. Well, back a few days at least..Teddy will accompany me for many years from this moment on. Indeed, he is still within sight. From atop loaded bookcases in my writing room, Teddy gazes at me and keeps vigil..Together, Teddy and I ponder the perplexities of life. Throughout the passings of time we solve and re-solve the problems of the world, the problems of day-to-day life. Our journey is sometimes difficult, often scary, once in a while brutal. But, side by side, our adventures have also exposed us to hilarity and love and sudden kindly wisdoms..Teddy and I share disappointments and despairs, successes and victories. We age together. He is my Dorian Gray, I am his Dorian Gray..His vision impaired, old buttons enhance his sight. My vision lacking, lenses and frames make things seem normal..His fur is mangy and spotty. My skin is mottled and bumpy..And so on..Teddy and I age gracelessly. But to each other, we are beautiful..Best friends sometimes remain best friends because we can remember how lovely and young and hopeful we were at first. No matter what changes occur, these powerful remembrances cloud and enhance our path. We don’t notice the flaws and failures. We simply remain fresh and true to one another..And we hold hands at the threshold, ready for the Next Thing, knowing we can get through it all in one piece.© 2025 A.D. by Jim Reed

GOOD FATHER DAYS

Listen to Jim’s podcast:

https://youtu.be/lRTZ9p37RpI

Life, actually…

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GOOD FATHER DAYS

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Today is Good Father Day. Tomorrow is Good Father Day. Every day is Good Father Day.

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Good fathers come in many forms and packages.

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Here’s my toast to:

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motherless fathers

fathers who’ve lost their children

fathers whose children have been taken from them

fathers of mothers

fathers of grandmothers

absentee fathers

honorary fathers

mysterious fathers

fathers who are always there

poster fathers

flawed fathers

stepfathers

adoptive fathers

bad-example-but-still-trying fathers

adopted fathers

fathers in name only

clueless fathers

clumsy fathers

fathers we wish we had known better

fathers we know only too well

highfalutin’ fathers

humble fathers

welfare fathers

imprisoned fathers

hugging fathers

distant and cool fathers

dream fathers

dreamy fathers

fathers we would give anything to see again

creative fathers

fathers who do what they can do, just for us

brilliant fathers

caretaker fathers

sacrificing fathers

storybook fathers

protective fathers

biological fathers

test-tube fathers

guardian fathers

only-in-their-imagination fathers

good-pal fathers

uplifting fathers

grandfathers

great grandfathers

fathers  both great and grand

not-so-grand-but-still-trying fathers

foster fathers

stand-in fathers

well-meaning fathers

wanna-be fathers

to-be fathers

long-gone fathers

faraway fathers

gentle fathers

good example fathers

gay fathers

straight fathers

not-quite-sure fathers

surrogate fathers

trans fathers

black fathers

brown fathers

red fathers

pale pink fathers

pasty complexioned fathers

swarthy fathers

fathers we wish we had

fathers we wish we had back

fathers and grandfathers who serve as mothers

fathers on bail

disenfranchised fathers

hospitalized fathers

fathers in nursing homes

fathers who never ask for thanks

funny fathers

fun fathers

sad fathers

sacrificial fathers

attentive fathers

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AND ESPECIALLY: fathers who always take the time

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In a way, I love them all, these good fathers, mainly because we never appreciate them enough and they never feel they give enough.

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I just want them to know that I thought about them for a few special moments, that I wish them well for all they’ve done or hoped to do for us, their babies old and young

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© 2025 A.D. by Jim Reed

TIME TO LAUGH, TIME TO PONDER

Catch Jim’s 3-minute podcast on youtube: https://youtu.be/_pgnmerjXbI

or read the transcript below:

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Life, actually…

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TIME TO LAUGH, TIME TO PONDER

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I am about to drop a dozen or so of my latest brain droppings upon you. You may now proceed to pay attention, or you may simply click to something else until I am finished.

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These are spontaneous thoughts that appeared without permission in my head. I will generously share them, while at the same time sparing you the dozens of other things that currently float about. Those may come later.

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Here goes:

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Be careful what you fail to wish for.

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It feels good to believe what is convenient, even if it is fake.

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This is a day the mind planned out the activities, but reality had its own plot.

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What would happen if nothing happened?

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When I share my burden with you I am somehow delegating part of that burden to you. If this is not my intention, why am I sharing it?

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I believe in mutually assured kindness.

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I run on three ascending states of mind—underwhelmed, whelmed, overwhelmed.

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Exactly when did I learn when to say When?

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I made him an offer he couldn’t accept.

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I always enjoy the storm before the quiet.

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Does hokey always precede pokey?

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Seven days have passed since last week occurred.

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I caught a Glimpse. It struggled a bit so I released it.

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When roaches abound, Flamenco dancers come in handy.

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Take today by the shoulders, give it a good shaking. Make it so that you will recall it with fondness and goodwill.

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Happily comport yourself as if you are somebody worth saying “Good morning!” to.

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Each day, make every effort not to make things worse.

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Thanks for mulling over my meanderings. I hope you jot down some of your own. There’s a lot of goofy and wise stuff floating about you. Might as well examine and learn to go with the float

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© 2025 A.D. by Jim Reed

 

 

 

WHAT’S BETTER THAN INHALING BEHIND AN IDLING BUS?

Listen to Jim’s podcast:

http://redclaydiary.com/mp3/idlingbus.mp3

or read his story below:

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Life, actually…

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WHAT’S BETTER THAN INHALING  BEHIND AN IDLING BUS?

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She is standing before an old stained-glass church that houses the honors program at a local university. She is working on her tobaccolaureate degree.

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Alone, she puffs away, gazing wistfully at the branches of a big tree, who knows what,  going through her mind.

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If you take time to look, you’ll see other nicotined scholars, only they seem more isolated than they were prior to the advent of palmed phones.

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Way back when, puffers were the last sociable people on earth. They stood in groups before buildings high and low, chatting and sharing and signifying and learning more about each other than they’d ever learn inside their cocooned work places, where they stared at  screens or dozed spasmodically or filed nails or filed files.

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Outside, in the particulated air, they grew to know little things about the people they seldom spoke to once inside the buildings.

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Then, the pod-people devices came along, so that now, even though puffers still stand outside, many only talk into the ether to people whose bodies are not present, ignoring fellow solitudes who stand just inches away, talking into their armpits as if their conversations deal with life-threatening issues. Or they speak silently with pecking thumbs.

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Me? What do I inhale each day that is half better than what these folks inhale?

.Well, here at the shop, the fragrances embedded within old books and newspapers and magazines and ink blotters and documents and brochures and maps are fragrances unlike any you’ll ever experience elsewhere. They blend with the inherent fragrances of old high-rag-content paper, old highly acidic paper, to be fermented and reborn as new and more mysterious fragrances..To gain the attention of an old bookie like me,  just dab some of that fragrance behind your earlobe and pass by. “There’s something about that customer,” I’ll say to myself..So, a book addict is standing inside the 1890′s building that houses the last and final old rare bookstore in the village. He is working on his bookalaureate degree.

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Alone, he inhales the gossamer essences, gazing wistfully at centuries of tomes stacked about him, who knows what going through his mind

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© 2025 A.D. by Jim Reed

HOW TO PLAY PLOWSHARE PEEKABOO

  Here is Jim’s Red Clay Diary story:  https://youtu.be/imtWDsZn_MY

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Life, actually…

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HOW TO PLAY PLOWSHARE PEEKABOO

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During my amazingly long life (Nature has been more than generous.) I have come to realize that just about everything repeats itself…repeatedly.

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My uncles returning home from World War II combat, brought with them small souvenirs, reminders of what they had endured under fire.

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There was a hollowed-out hand grenade, repurposed as an ashtray, re-imagined as a toy or living room gewgaw. There were small German-made toys plucked from bombed-out playgrounds. There was a section of silken parachute saved by my paratrooper uncle, two purple heart medals now available for children to wonder about, a cloth soldier’s cap ready for us young’uns to wear proudly. There was even a luger deactivated as a showpiece.

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And there were all those painful memories of combat that no-one dared share in unedited original versions. Our uncles told hair raising adult stories to adults…but only in private. They told the same stories to us tots and toddlers and teens, but only as carefully expurgated and humorous tales. They never talked about the horrors. They made sure we laughed at their wartime antics. They had learned the hard way how to turn swords into plowshares, how to compress the past and expand the outlier goodness that can also occur in conflict.

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They had already experienced in youth what we too would have to learn one way or another—that if you believe in “an eye for an eye…” pretty soon the world itself would be blind.

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When everything eventually repeats itself, when repetition itself is impossible to halt, then in between times become the most important, the most cherished times. Diving into the good life, holding on to family and friends and humankind…that must be the thing that there is always time for.

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We know that the repeated hard days will return, but we must learn to live as if this is not true. Hope and love and longing is the path worth taking. Respecting the past is reverent and human, but focusing on the good that is within us is worthy of our time here

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© Jim Reed 2025 A.D.

EVOLUTION OF A SMART ALECK

Life, actually…

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EVOLUTION OF A SMART ALECK

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Maturity is highly overrated, according to Garfield the cartoon cat.

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Dipping back into the far past, long before Garfield existed, I find myself remembering how I learned to be noticed once in a while. Living within a family of two parents, five kids and various pets and neighbors and relatives, one must be clever but never destructive when vying for position.

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If I make a scene, throw a tantrum, spout something outrageous, mistreat siblings, I will never hear the end of it. But if I can capture interest, engage everybody in a special activity or diversion, attention will be briefly paid.

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Briefly-paid attention from others is my basic need as a child, my basic need to this day.

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I notice that the most insignificant things often rise up and become big-time important for a few seconds if properly executed.

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For instance, if I run through the house hoisting a large hosepipe attached to a vacuum machine, announcing, “I’m going to pressure wash my teeth. Be back in a minute!” I might receive a modicum of attention. Those familiar with my behavior will barely blink, those who do not know me might panic or duck for cover. Or laugh.

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If on the other hand if I simply mention that I’m about to brush my teeth, no-one will notice or care.

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But wait—there’s more. If I say, “I think I’ll go to the bathroom and scrub my teeth,” people may look at me peculiarly but immediately continue their daily routines.

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To gain attention and a few laughs, I might yell, “It’s time for me to brush my nose and blow my teeth.” At that point I become the family entertainer. People might pause and wait to see what else I’m going to do—just in case it turns out to be funny.

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And so on.

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My main goal in life is to be so invisible that I can quietly take notes and write about everything that goes on, everything that does not go on, everything that I wish would go on, everything I wish would never go on.

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Invisibility is comforting. It is my cloak, my blankie.

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Now and then, I must emerge from invisibility to enjoy contact with other humans. This is when I find my smart aleck behavior to be useful. I can enjoy the interactions but I can also quickly vanish when enough is enough.

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Does this make any sense? If not, you too can escape me by descending into your own private briar patch. You don’t have to put up with people like me.

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I just provided you with an escape hatch.

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You’re welcome

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© Jim Reed 2025 A.D.