Jim Reed's Blog, page 34
February 24, 2019
SENTENCED TO LIFE
Listen to Jim’s audio podcast: https://youtu.be/thCThWNlxyU
or read his words below:
SENTENCED TO LIFE
I’m shivering on the twilight streets of the big city, waiting in cool dampness for designated driver to appear.
The semi-darkness alters colors and textures just enough to make me re-examine my after-work surroundings.
To my left is the tall vertically-striped Watts tower glowing and glowering at the unstoppable passage of time.
Straight across the way is the large furniture store with forgotten neon OPEN sign defiantly staring back despite the fact that employees have locked up and headed home.
A large municipal bus pulls up, occluding the OPEN sign, awaiting permission of a traffic light. I gaze into the large windows where passengers move about under the eerie bluish hue of interior lights. It looks as if i’m gazing into an aquarium. The occupants tread air and brace for the journey.
Music of the asphalt accompanies all. Horns make horn sounds, tires screech, parkers try to park parallel in multiple back-and-forth wriggling patterns, cars with right-blinkers ablaze turn left anyhow, courier services idle their vehicles. Other drivers weave around them. Incredibly loud music vibrates the windows of one car, a sirened ambulance forces me to stop ears with fingers, pedestrians poop-pause their yappers, plastic bags at the ready.
Chattering teens stroll by on their way to an Alabama Theatre concert. A crestfallen shopper pulls the overtime shopping penalty ticket off his windshield and mutters sadly. One panhandler puts a hand out, a power-tailored attorney hustles ’round the corner, hugging leather briefcase.
I suddenly realize that I have been sentenced to life.
Life on the streets, life among strangers and friends and passers-by.
A life sentence is what I am privileged to serve, here in the tiny wonderland that is my ‘hood, my livelihood, my worldly world of pavement and people and creatures of the twilight
© 2019 A.D. by Jim Reed
http://www.jimreedbooks.com/podcast
February 17, 2019
CAPTURING THAT HIGH HEEL ATTITUDE MOMENT
Listen to Jim’s 3-minute audio podcast: https://youtu.be/xSDLsbfA3uE
or read his story…
CAPTURING THAT HIGH HEEL ATTITUDE MOMENT
At day’s end I find myself emptying pockets filled with detritus earlier stuffed into them in haste.
The predictables include loose change, wadded tissue, somebody’s business card, sticky notes, plastic toothpick, a polished stone, a lone dollar bill…
And the inevitable extended strip of CVS coupons.
How many miles of CVS paper have passed through hands and pockets on the way to trash receptacles this year?
Anyhow, I do spot one revelatory coupon that tickles memory and fancy:
GET $2.00 OFF YOUR NEXT EYE-SHADOW PURCHASE.
Can’t remember when I made my last purchase of eye shadow. Probably because it never happened.
But sweet remembrance kicks in and this snapshot of a phrase appears, SHE’S ALL LONG EYELASHES AND HIGH HEELS AND LEGS.
I wrote something about this beautiful and purposeful high heel person a long time ago, just after she breezed past me in hallways at City Hall.
Oh, here is part of the note. It’s called ATTITUDE HEELS.
She’s walking the walk
She’s jutting her chin
Her eyes are half-closed
She’s suppressing a grin.
Attitude heels
Attitude heels
Gotta get a pair of those attitude heels
Gotta stay cool
Gotta keep the beat
Strutting those spikes
And building up heat
Clicking and clacking
Staying on cue
She looks like she’s
Got lots to do
Attitude heels
Attitude heels
Must have must have attitude heels
You can’t be meek
You gotta be real
You must hang tough
And NEVER kneel!
You march right in
You strut straight through
You rule the wind
And the world follows you
Attitude heels
Attitude heels
Gotta get some of those attitude heels
Well, what more can I say about this apparition at City Hall? She speaks for herself. She remains a remarkable icon of efficiency and purpose and will and confidence. Wish I could find all that along with my other pocket stuffings.
Maybe I just did
© 2019 A.D. by Jim Reed
http://www.jimreedbooks.com/podcast
February 10, 2019
PUTTING SILLY STUFF IN ITS PLACE
Listen to Jim’s 3-minute vocal podcast: https://youtu.be/X7Cj-J6EScM
or read on…
PUTTING SILLY STUFF IN ITS PLACE
“Well, how is your week going?” someone asks me.
I pause before speaking. There are two ways to answer the question.
I try to decide which reply is worth the effort.
Want to hear the two alternatives?
I could say, “What a week! I totaled my car, traversed the intricacies of replacing it, the icemaker in my brand-new six-week-old refrigerator broke, our home furnace exploded and died and a replacement is in place and beginning to work, my bookstore rent will increase enormously in a few weeks, new tag and insurance and warranty activities suck up all our time…” I could say all that, feel appropriately sorry for myself and just come off as a self-centered whiner.
Or, I could say, “It’s a glorious week. Business is bustling, one old friend brought Asian food to the house for an evening chat fest, my best friend from Second Grade sent me a lovely handwritten note from far away, I am traveling East this afternoon to inspire and energize a meeting of booklovers, my lovely wife smiled and held my hand and began her fifth decade of keeping me balanced, and I am about to write yet another story about life love and confusion in my Deep South life.
Which of these confessions will do more to make the listener chuckle? Which will force me to appreciate and re-appreciate the wonderful life that awaits my order to resume full speed ahead?
And which true tale will make me drop the disparities and despair that seem so petty, compared to what other people are experiencing throughout the world right now?
Tumbling together in a merry melange of Life Happenings and Unexpecteds, stuff just seems to happen lately. I always hope the Law of Averages will catch up with me at a later date, but that date is just plain happening anyhow…without my permission, of course.
I think I’ll choose Door Number Two and add other pleasantries for the listener’s enjoyment.
Better still, at some point I’ll shut my mouth and listen raptly to what’s happening in the listener’s life
© 2019 A.D. by Jim Reed
http://www.jimreedbooks.com/podcast
February 3, 2019
NOTE TO SELF: MAKE NOTE TO SELF
Listen to Jim’s 3-minute audio podcast: https://youtu.be/EIZ1_pQYRqI
or read his comments below…
NOTE TO SELF: MAKE NOTE TO SELF
Note to self:
MACARINA MUTING is a possible title of a story about my propensity for obsessively muting every commercial message that intrudes upon my life.
Yep, among my many tics and habits and compulsions is the need to sound-filter all unwanted sales pitches. Out of ear, out of mind.
It’s its own form of entertainment, this quashing of audio. Once the MUTE button is pushed, I can pursue other endeavors until the original program content resumes. Or I can watch the muted performance and make up my own story lines.
I get my jollies by watching the commercials never intended for silence. You too can play this game. When the superbly pumped-up and unnaturally-friendly spokesperson begins her sales pitch, watch her silent hands. What in the world do those repetitive gestures and body movements mean? Does she learn them in Macarina Messaging School?
Watch a lawyer pound his silent sales presentation into the camera. Where did he get the idea that his dramatically splayed waving arms would induce me to buy any product or service he could possible imagine? Did he attend Commercial Shadow Boxing classes? Bless his muted mouth.
Unsolicited sales calls are also muted by the minute. PLEASE DON’T HANG UP. THIS IS AN IMPOR…just instructs me that hanging up is my only defense. CLICK. Muted!
Another call, MAY I SPEAK TO THE OWNER…”No, you may not, but thanks for calling.” CLICK. I do try to be polite and dismissive simultaneously.
One more phone pick-up—someone is trying to sell me something that would never be appropriate for a bookshop. “Have you ever visited my shop to see what we sell here?” I ask. UH, NO. “Well, come and talk to me face to face, allow me to give you a brief tour of the store, then we can have a nice face-to-face chat.” OK, I’LL DO THAT. CLICK. Quoth the marketer, NEVERMORE.
Oh, and there is another wise-guy retort I employ now and then, according to mood. IS THIS THE OWNER, MISTER JEEM? “What are you selling?” I ask, hoping to get to the point quickly and resume my day. OH, I AM NOT SELLING ANYTHING, MISTER JEEM. I know this to be untrue, since this is the dozenth call from this particular company. Nobody ever admits to wanting to sell something to me until the Pitch is completed—then, Surprise, Surprise! My smart remark, “Oh, that’s too bad that you are not selling anything. I just came into some money and was prepared to buy whatever you are offering. Thanks for calling!” CLICK.
Actually, I don’t enjoy making these quips, but something comes over me.
I’m much happier watching the silent-movie screen presentations of actors pretending to be just like me, hoping they can charm me into rolling out some moolah. Or lawyers reminding me that, like congressmen, bad hair or enhanced hair or preternatural comb overs are common characteristics of this species. Pretty funny stuff.
The Macarina continues until the Time of Unmuting resumes.
I enjoy these cheap thrills. They are actually much more fun than the programs themselves
© 2019 A.D. by Jim Reed
http://www.jimreedbooks.com/podcast
January 27, 2019
THE PLACE OF ASSIGNATION WHEREIN ALL SWEET MEMORY ORIGINATES
THE PLACE OF ASSIGNATION WHEREIN ALL SWEET MEMORY ORIGINATES
Things are bigger, in the times of yore I’m reminiscing about this morning.
Back in my day, young’uns like me race to the mail box just to be first to grab enormous issues of Life Magazine and discover what bigger-than-life people command this week’s cover. The nearly life-sized faces influence the way I view the world. For instance, there is gaunt Gandhi, to this day my idea of how a normal human, warts and all, can influence millions through exemplary behavior.
I learn from Gandhi that people actually watch what I do. When I misbehave, their expectations descend. When I do something right and good, they rise up to meet me.
Even larger than magazines in these pre-television years, are movies and the people who tell me big-screen stories I cannot forget. There is James Baskett, a charismatic actor who tells me the morality tales and behavior parables I will need for the next seven decades. For instance, as Uncle Remus, Baskett taught me to look for the humor and humanity in every situation:
Everybody’s got a laughin’ place,
A laughin’ place, to go ho-ho!
Take a frown, turn it upside-down,
And you’ll find yours I know ho-ho!
To this day I return to my laughing place whenever things loom sour. It is my assignation shelter, where no-one can pound me with negativity.
And actual real-life people influence me enormously. Uncle Brandon McGee becomes my model for how to excite the imagination of a withdrawn kid. He is always accessible to visitors like me, showing me how to candle eggs to ensure quality, how to take an old piece of metal advertising signage and turn it into something useful, how to make his pet dog memorable by naming him Stinky.
Uncle Brandon, like Uncle Remus, makes me find a smile where none is apparent, forces me to make my imagination and innate energy useful.
Many decades later, I take Ray Bradbury’s advice and jump off the mountain, building my parachute on the way down, landing beyond the walls of corporate incarceration I endure for too long. I land on a splintery bench in a pocket park near my home. Each morning, I walk to the bench, sit for a meditative period, and allow my laughing place to rise up and comfort me.
Nowadays, my laughing place–my sweet assignation zone–is portable. I take my gifts from Uncle Brandon, Gandhi, Uncle Remus, and dozens of others who matter to me, dozens of others to whom I matter, and I escort them safely along the way. They are not where you can see them anymore. And I am still learning from them the neverending lessons that remain to be learned.
They are all secure in my laughing place, my bench of lovely assignation
© 2019 A.D. by Jim Reed
http://www.jimreedbooks.com/podcast
January 20, 2019
THE HANSEL AND GRETEL TO AND FRO TRAIL
Listen to Jim’s 3-minute audio podcast: https://youtu.be/ADVsvAuS_LQ
or read forth…
THE HANSEL AND GRETEL TO AND FRO TRAIL
A crinkly Fritos bag peeks out of the driver side window of the vehicle I am trailing up 20th Street.
Suddenly, the world at large sucks the empty orange package out of the car. I watch as it twirls itself onto the middle lane. It resides there only a moment, then is pulled aloft by an errant breeze.
In my rear view mirror, it waves a confused good-bye and tumbles forth to an obscure destiny.
Then, a plastic drinking straw appears as the hand of the driver tosses it forth to join its Fritos pal.
Is the navigator of this motorized conveyance marking the roadway for later return navigation? I’ll call him GPS-less Hansel, since Gretel left him in a huff some time back, the thirtieth time she disapproved of his careless use of public byways as personal dumpster. Among other infractions.
By the time Hansel retraces his journey on 20th Street, searching for the uncyclable markers, his way will have been long obscured by breeze and street maintenance personnel.
“Dammit,” Hansel will mutter. “Where am I?”
Alone tonight, in his battered lounger, gazing at an enormous screen, scarfing canned beverage and micro’d popcorn, he will have forgotten his adventure.
However, tomorrow is another day, so his can and buttered bag will rest beside him as he once more marks his way up 20th.
“Maybe today will be better than yesterday,” he mumbles half aloud, as he extrudes a sausage-egg wrapper onto the noncommittal street
© 2019 A.D. by Jim Reed
http://www.jimreedbooks.com/podcast
January 13, 2019
ONE AIRBRUSHED REALITY DAY AT THE BOOKSTORE
Listen to Jim: http://jimreedbooks.com/mp3/airbrushedreality.mp3
or read an excerpt from his Red Clay Diary:
ONE AIRBRUSHED REALITY DAY AT THE BOOKSTORE
I’m in the right-hand lane on 20th Street heading north to the shop.
A van pulls abreast to the left of me, pointed in the same direction.
In the passenger seat of the van is a young woman staring straight down 20th, only her vision is blocked by the hand mirror in which she views herself. In her right hand is a small artist’s brush with which she dusts her face in rapid, skillfully coordinated motions. In the process, her lovely skin is covered by a fine beige powder that serves to hide her distinguishing marks, such as moles, pores, birthmarks, discolorations, scars and any trace of eccentricity.
She slowly becomes as smooth-complected as the life-sized mannequin in the front window of Reed Books/The Museum of Fond Memories.
The van takes off and passes by and I am left to wonder about the airbrushing ritual. Does the young woman continue dusting her neck, shoulders, chest, armpits and all points south of 20th Street? Is she now a living beige mannequin ready to face the day? Could I identify her in a line-up, since she’s all smooth and featureless now? Is she happy with her newborn self?
Should I airbrush myself and would anybody notice my lovely new complexion?
This seems like a lot of trouble, the things some of us do to remake ourselves each day, but I do understand it to some degree.
I spend each day airbrushing my comments and opinions and behavior, based on what I need to accomplish.
Eating is important, so I brush over my suppressed retort when someone is rude—so that I can complete the sale and continue feeding my family. I tamp down my political opinion when someone rants a thought I don’t share. I hold back a funny remark when I sense that this particular customer is bereft of humor or spirit. I avert my eyes when someone unconsciously bends down to peruse a book and displays an intimate tattoo or bit of string underwear. I pretend deafness when someone spouts outrageously personal asides to a companion shopper. I hold my breath when it’s clear a customer hasn’t bathed or brushed for days—once they leave, I sigh and spray so that the next customer won’t have the same experience. I listen patiently to the extended tale someone spins in order to impress me or make me want to buy something they are trying to push.
And so on.
I can shapeshift and play-act as much as possible when it’s important to do so.
But it’s also so much fun to relax and chat freely with those customers who are obviously open to verbal intercourse, receptive to ideas and remarks, relaxed within their own skin.
When this happens, I can be myself and not be judged, the customers can be themselves and feel safe, and for a few moments, we can all put aside our airbrushes and get on with pleasuring ourselves with the dialogues of the day
© 2019 A.D. by Jim Reed
http://www.jimreedbooks.com/podcast
January 6, 2019
THE EVER-READY THIRD AVENUE HAN SOLO SECURITY FORCE
Listen to Jim’s 3-minute audio podcast: https://youtu.be/cs9oooFOuy4
or read his comments below…
THE EVER-READY THIRD AVENUE HAN SOLO SECURITY FORCE
A note from my way-back-when Red Clay Diary. Seems like yesterday:
Harrison Ford stands outside the Museum of Fond Memories at Reed Books and gazes intently at the passing Third Avenue North traffic.
A cardboard life-sized stand-up, Ford is disguised as weapon-drawn Han Solo, ever alert and ready for action. He is just in front of the perpetual two-dollar-each rack of old LP recordings we sell each workday to any eager collector or passing afficionado.
No-one ever shop-lifts our recordings because they are guarded by, you know, Han Solo.
Way across four lanes of Third Avenue, inside Goodyear Shoe Hospital, Rhonda, the owner, keeps looking up from her tasks, wondering who that guy is, the one who for hours is staring at her store from the vantage point of the bookshop.
Is he waiting for a ride? Is he a vagrant? Is he spying?
This becomes annoying. Doesn’t this stranger have anything better to do?
Finally, she deploys an employee to come into my store and find out what the heck is going on with this unofficial surveillance behavior.
“Why, it is Han Solo, protecting the neighborhood,” I tell her later.
Rhonda laughs and relaxes when she finds out that our guardian guard is just a facsimile, not FBI or IRS or Neighborhood Watch or CIA or anybody else who might be onto us merchants plying our variegated trades.
That was then. This is now:
Nowadays, Third Avenue is missing Han and his gaze—somebody made me an offer I dared not refuse, then took him home to guard his family.
What we are left with is the security we have grown to accept and appreciate—security guards posted 24/7 at the the tall buildings…CAP officers who keep an eye on all suspicious goings-on on the streets…law enforcement officers who are back and forth at random intervals, parking meter and maintenance personnel, firefighters who whiz past, sanitation workers who always receive a smile and a thanks from us, and our fellow merchants and professionals and live-in neighbors. We all comprise the unofficial Han Solo Force.
We take care of each other.
Within this humongous city, inner neighborhoods such as ours still thrive and glisten. Each block is a small town within itself, each resident or proprietor a potentially vigilant and helpful denizen.
When things are smooth, we take each other for granted, when there are crises, we come together to share and assist, when there is the need, we coalesce.
It’s remarkable, come to think of it. And it is something that lends comfort and stability in times of larger, more threatening issues.
We can huddle together on our tiny block, and pretend that all is well that starts well each morning, all is well that ends well each evening.
Thank goodness there is no place like…Here
© 2018 A.D. by Jim Reed
http://www.jimreedbooks.com/podcast
Posted in daily thoughts
There
December 30, 2018
DECK US ALL WITH HUNKS OF JOLLY
Hear Jim’s 3-minute audio podcast: https://youtu.be/vLEihLpv7es
or read forth…
DECK US ALL WITH HUNKS OF JOLLY
Way back in golden days of yore, we who populate this particular species would make what we still call New Year’s Resolutions.
Some of us still do this. I list the things I want to change in my daily life, then proceed with the difficult task of living up to those aspirations.
It seldom takes much time for me to own up to the horrifying fact that changing myself for the better will require…Effort.
Effort?
Effort!
If I want to decrease my dietary intake and acquire a sleek body, why can’t I just push a button, employ an app or take a pill?
Effort is so…efforty.
Making a New Year’s Resolution always ends in the same dead-end manner. I slowly sink back into the morass of habit and sloth and narcissism and comfort that has always misdirected my Activities of Daily Living.
It is with ease that I resume being whoever it is that I am. My resolve quietly evaporates.
A month from now, I will awaken to the fact that once upon a time, just days ago, I resolved to be a better, healthier, nice person…and thus be adored even more by family and associates.
Now I will have to face the fact that Things are as they are and have been and will be.
As Popeye reminds me, I yam what I yam and that’s what I yam.
Whatever it is that I am today and down all the upcoming days is what I will continue to deal with.
Folks who like me the way I am have no outward complaints.
Folks who wish I would change for the better just throw up their hands and decide whether to accept me or obfuscate the memory of me.
Folks who accept me as the me they will always know will be polite enough to continue humoring me and dealing with me.
How dare I ask for more?
On my best days I am rather jolly and energetic and bedecked with goodwill toward other folks of goodwill. On my bad days, I just stuff it and present my best side to you, because why would I be so selfish as to visit my mood upon you?
Probably the best I can do.
Maybe I should at least try.
Here’s a possible Resolution to experiment with:
I’ll try to understand you as who you are. And if you try to understand me as who I am, things might be hunky-dory for a while.
String enough of those whiles together and you and I can come up with a pretty good life and a bunch of hunky-dories to share.
Happy Every Day of Your Life, Y’all
© 2018 A.D. by Jim Reed
http://www.jimreedbooks.com/podcast
December 23, 2018
HAVE YOURSELF A MERRY LITTLE CHRISTMAS
Listen to Jim’s 3-minute audio podcast: https://youtu.be/nZZBn7zZBKM
or read his true Christmas story below:
HAVE YOURSELF A MERRY LITTLE CHRISTMAS
One of my favorite true Christmas stories came to me from a friend, the late Belle Stoddard.
Here’s how it goes:
When Gedney Howe was a little boy, his favorite companion was an elderly neighbor everybody simply called, “Frasier.”
Frasier loved Gedney and was often making toys for him or giving him other presents.
One day, Frasier proudly presented Gedney with a beautiful, most unusual type of seashell.
Everyone was impressed, especially the child. Gedney’s grandfather, Chief, recognized the shell as one that could be found only on Edisto Island, a very long way from where they lived in Charleston.
Chief asked, “Why, Frasier, however did you find this here in town?”
Frasier patiently explained that he had not gotten the shell in town. He had found it on the island. Back then, there was little private–and no public–transportation available.
Chief asked whether Frasier had caught a ride.
“No, sir, I walked all the way and back.”
Chief exclaimed, in amazement, “Why that must’ve been fifty miles.”
“Well,” Frasier said, “I caught a ride part way, but the long walk was part of the gift.”
***
This is the kind of story that sticks with me and re-surfaces every Christmas.
I suppose it resonates because my mother always monitored my attitudes about giving and receiving. She made sure we kids understood that the act of giving, the effort and care expended in gift-searching, gift-wrapping, gift-offering, were all part and parcel of the gift itself.
Mom had no tolerance for anyone who complained about the quality or price or brand-name or appropriateness of a gift received.
To this day, each time I am presented a gift, I hesitate before removing the wrapping. I re-imagine Mother’s lesson about gifts, Frasier’s lesson about gifts.
I try to imagine what must have gone through the mind of the giver. I try to appreciate the fact that receiving a gift at all is somewhat miraculous, considering all the people in all the world who are not being remembered and gifted this Christmas.
In the altar of my mind, I hold the unopened gift up to the beaming faces of Santa and Mother and Frasier and everybody else who remembers with love somebody besides themselves on special occasions.
Then, all ceremony aside, I return to earth and tear into the package, looking for the object that represents the gift-giver’s kindness and generosity.
And here’s my gift to you:
Have yourself a merry little Christmas
© 2018 A.D. by Jim Reed
http://www.jimreedbooks.com/podcast
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