Monthly Archives: December 2023

DINNER ON THE GROUNDS SOUNDS LIKE A WASTE OF GOOD COFFEE

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 Follow on youtube: https://youtu.be/FcXAsVORQQM

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Life, actually…

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DINNER ON THE GROUNDS

SOUNDS LIKE A WASTE OF GOOD COFFEE

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Here we are as in olden days, happy golden days of yore…

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A few choice words from an old song tend to immerse me today. As the comic Steven Wright might have said, “Whenever I think of the past, it brings back memories.”

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As ditsy as it sounds, this does ring true.

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One remembrance stirs other remembrances, then more flow forth.

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Watch out, Memory! You might make us smile or cringe, or both.

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One recent morning, a series of phrases started tumbling out. What if we (that is, Me and Y’all) resorted to the manners of ancient times and named people based on their behavior?

This might happen:

My spouse would become Liz of the Leaping Mind and the Quick Eye.

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Or Liz of the Patient Mate, Liz of the Wise Mom, Liz of the Powerful Presence

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A favorite friend is Joan of the Thoroughly Spun Tale, her husband is Frank of the Witty Well-Timed Quip.

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The list would continue:

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Becky of the sassy legs

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Jim of the Vocal Face, James of the Hidden Treasures, Jimbo of the Scrabbled Words

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Dotty of the speedy mouth

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Bill of the orange grove kayak

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Geoff of the Hilariously Spun Tales

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Others who pass through our lives might become Winnie the Whiner, Sam the Snarky, Gail the Giggler…

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Have you found yourself among this ragged list? Maybe not. Names are sometimes changed to protect the guilty.

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You can make up your own list of favorite acquaintances and their trademark idiosyncrasies.

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If you are not partial to quickie labels, you can go on a fully-described-character rampage:

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“Phil eats like he’s never eaten before, smacking and stuffing and sopping and glugging, blow-dried sprayed whitening hair and monogrammed track-pullover shirt…”

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or

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“Gary the Mustachioed baseball-capped good ol’ boy with hand in lap and mannerly dining habits.”

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Well, there you are…some 400 words later, I still have not revealed the Meaning of Life. Or even the menu for your next breakfast.

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If this is fun, go make your own list. It beats staring mesmerized at virtual images of virtual people doing virtual things both naughty and nice

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Happy, happy New Year, Y’all

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 © Jim Reed 2023 & 2024 A.D.

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JUST ANOTHER FRABJOUS DAY

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Life, actually…

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JUST ANOTHER  FRABJOUS DAY

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Here at the center of my little universe, I busy myself sifting through all Mortal Confusions, in search of sweet moments of pure human goodness.

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Looking for small kindnesses is not as hard as it sounds. It’s simply something you decide to spend your time doing. Or not.

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Two things I do on days when I am at my best: 1. Listen to visitors who pop in and out of my life; 2. Sort out the best parts of what they say and do, leaving aside what can at first glance seem negative and wasteful.

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As I conduct this unscientific research, I find that basically what is happening is that I am trying to cheer myself up.

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Being of good cheer is nice in any season of the year.

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For instance, I listen intensely to a longwinded orator whose every word causes his long nose to reveal more of itself. Later, I try to recall what he was talking about. Since his streaming verbal delivery is so tumbleweed random, I notate his accentuations and flourishes and digressions and usages and gestures and volume…they are more memorable than the content of his monologue. I mainly visualize the content of his characteristics. 

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Next time, I’ll record his ramble so that I can actually hear what he was saying.

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A visitor to the shop asks where the “classic” books are, causing me to jokingly retort, “All our books are classic.”

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To me, I’ve spoken a truth. To the browser it’s more important to tell friend and family he just obtained a work of “classic” literature.

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All I’m really wondering is whether he will display the book or actually read it.

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Using my pseudoscientific philosophy, what I should be doing is focusing on the positive—if the customer purchases a book, he’s doing the world a favor by not ignoring it, by making sure it isn’t tossed, by showing it off to others who might want to read it, by contributing to my income so that I can pay the rent and continue offering books classical and nonclassical to future perusers.

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And so on and so forth.

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Judging a patron by appearance and performance is just as dangerous, just as fun, as judging a book by its cover. Customers carry within them hundreds of stories and wisdoms. I like to turn their pages and appreciate their contents, before they are remaindered and forgotten.

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Come judge my books by their interiors. While here, appreciate all the unclaimed unconscious baggage each peruser carries down the aisles.

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Maybe on your good days you will reminisce about the marvelous tales that can only be known and appreciated by those who cruise slowly, carefully listening to the paginated whispers

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© Jim Reed 2023 A.D.

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The Last Christmas Tree in Pinellas County

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Hear Liz Reed’s Christmas memory: https://youtu.be/dTgwJ163jdM

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Life, actually…

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THE LAST CHRISTMAS TREE IN PINELLAS COUNTY

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It was the year we remodeled the house and because the contractors worked until the last possible minute, we waited until Christmas Eve to buy a tree. Not usually a problem. But the year before, merchants had over-bought, and this year, they over-compensated.

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Our father fared forth in high hopes of finding the perfect tree. First he went to the lots in our hometown, then in the next town, then on down the road a piece, then nearly to the county line. He finally found a tree, at this point settling for any tree remotely shaped like Christmas. As he was paying for the last Christmas tree in Pinellas County, a distraught man came running into the nursery. With tears in his eyes, he explained he was visiting from Michigan, his little girl was three years old and this would be the first Christmas she’d remember and there wasn’t a tree anywhere to be found.

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“Here,” Daddy said as he handed over the last Christmas tree in Pinellas County. “Merry Christmas.” The grateful visitor bustled the tree into his car, shouting his gratitude and wishing Daddy, his family, the nursery worker and anyone within earshot a very happy holiday indeed.

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Now what to do? Daddy turned back to the nurseryman and scratched his head. All the cut trees were gone, all the burlap-balled living trees were gone. “Well,” said the nurseryman, “How about a Podocarpus?” And so Daddy bought a small, green sort-of-conical-shaped tree in a ten gallon can. The can was bigger than the tree. We decorated it with one strand of lights and selected the smallest ornaments. We wrapped the can in red foil paper and set our tree in the middle of the dining room table. After Christmas, we planted the tree at 513 Scotland Street where it still grows, some 45 years later.

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When I think back on all the Christmas trees in all the years, that’s the tree I remember best.

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© 2023 A.D. by Liz Reed

liz@lizreed.com

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https://youtu.be/dTgwJ163jdM

 

ANGEL LITE

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Hear this on youtube:

or read transcript below:
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Life, actually…

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I share this true-and-actual story every decade or so, just in case you weren’t there when it happened…

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ANGEL LITE

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HER STORY:
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I’m walking along the sidewalk near the St. Vincent’s Hospital
parking deck and I just plain topple over something. I don’t know
exactly what’s happening, but all of a sudden I’m flat on my back
and my head is cut and hurting and my eyes are closed because
I’m dizzy. I keep squinting, and I’m afraid to look around because
I don’t know whether I’m dead or dreaming, or what.
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I hear this deep voice saying, “Just lie still, you’re going to be
all right.” I want to see who is talking, so I open up and everything
looks dark red and I think maybe I’m blind.
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“I can’t see,” I say to the voice. I think maybe I really am dead.
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The deep voice says, “You will be fine. Just be calm. Just be calm.”
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I try to take a deep breath and hold on. I feel a warm hand touching
my forehead and soothing me.
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It isn’t long before I wake up in the emergency room and learn that
I really will be all right. The nurses have cleaned the blood out of my
eyes and I’m just fine.
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I’ll always wonder how my deep voice angel knew how to comfort
me at just the right moment. I wonder if I’ll ever need him again.
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HIS STORY:
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I’m walking along, near the St.Vincent’s Hospital emergency room
near Christmastime, absentmindedly trailing behind a large woman
who is in a hurry. Suddenly, she trips over a partially off-center manhole
cover and falls flat to the ground, her head gushing blood. Her eyes are
closed, and I lean over to see whether she’s conscious.
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She moves and squints, but the blood from her cut fills her
eyes so that she probably can’t see. I don’t want to cause further
damage, so I figure the best thing to do is stick by her till somebody
comes from the emergency room.
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I sit down beside her so that she will know that she’s not alone out
here. I lean close to her ear and quietly speak so that she won’t be
startled. “Just lie still, you’re going to be all right.”
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She turns toward me and says, “I can’t see.”
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All I can think to do is reassure her whether or not I know she’s
going to be fine. “You will be fine. Just be calm. Just be calm.”
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She responds and seems calmer. I remember the comforting healing
power of my father’s large hand when he touched my forehead so
many years ago, hovering over my sickbed and worrying. I reach
over and my hand becomes my father’s hand and warmly touches
her forehead.
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She lies quietly, almost smiling.
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Within minutes two casually-moving ER employees show up with
a wheelchair and escort the woman away. Even though her eyes
are still closed, I feel she’s going to be taken care of.
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I walk toward my car and go about my life.
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And I often wonder what this unknown woman thinks about when
she remembers her Christmas blindness near a hospital parking
deck. Does she wonder who I was? Does she know that I gave
the only Christmas gift I knew how to give
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(c) Jim Reed 2023 A.D.

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THE HEAVENS DECLARE THEMSELVES

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Life, actually…
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THE HEAVENS DECLARE THEMSELVES
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When young, I used to lie nights on the roof of my parents’ home and listen to the stars.
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You can hear stars, you know. It just takes some patience.
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All you need in order to listen to the stars late at night on a roof is a ladder, a quilt or blanket, a notepad, a pencil, maybe some binoculars or a small telescope, perhaps a penlight, possibly some long sleeves and pants to deter the biting and stinging critters.
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If you can’t find all these objects, you will discover that you don’t need them at all.
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All you have to do is find a way to the roof and hope against hope that ambient human-made lights won’t occlude your view.
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Just lie flat on your back face-up, cradle your head in your hands, and spread yourself open to the immediately viewable universe.
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Don’t expect to be overwhelmed at first. It takes a couple of dozen minutes for your eyes to adjust to the night.
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Then, hold on to the sky and traverse the heavens with ears and eyes and all operating senses.
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There will be color. You will see every fine shade of color you can imagine, colors you never knew were there all along.
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If you lie still long enough, you’ll see meteors—tiny instant streaks of literal stardust that etch the view. Now and then a lone and steady aircraft will arc from horizon to horizon. On really lucky nights, you may glimpse an earthling-crafted satellite scurrying above to the nearest available rabbit hole.
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During special times, you can spot a comet floating solid against the turning sky.
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Sometimes the Moon grins at you, its mystic reflection of the Sun often so bright you can’t see the surrounding sister suns. Once the Moon has gone away, on another night, the points of light will reappear, even though they never went away at all.
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If you’re fortunate, an hour or two of this ancient practice of staring up will set everything in life in proportion, make daily annoyances seem petty and time-consuming, make you humble and grateful all at once—humbled by the incredible expansiveness of it all, grateful that you bothered to stare somewhere besides at the consistently pervasive abuse of the spirit caused by activities of daily living on the small planet.
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Once your eyes begin accepting the handiwork of the heavens, you’ll begin to hear the stars. They will speak to you, tell you stories, impart their philosophies and ideas, cause you to grin ear to ear, make you shed a tear in wonder…and maybe, if you are among the fortunate few who are not afraid of words, you will want to start taking dictation, becoming the scribe of the night, passing forward your wonder and wizened knowledge.
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Maybe you will write down something so ancient and perfect that some reader somewhere will be inspired to sneak outside on a clear evening and play hooky to life…
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On a roof under the dome
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© Jim Reed 2023 A.D.
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