Category Archives: daily thoughts

O BRAVEST OF BRAVE NEW WORLDS

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Catch Jim’s podcast of this story:  https://youtu.be/ADQy4fMr6ZY

Or read it, below:

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Life, actually…

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O BRAVEST OF BRAVE NEW WORLDS 

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OR THE VIRTUAL MIRROR-COMPUTER-TEXTING-GAZE OF THE LONG-LOST SOULS

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Are you really there, and am I actually present here?

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It’s taken me years to almost adjust to the fact that when somebody seems to be in my presence, they often are not.

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I walk into a fast-food restaurant and it comes my turn to order from the menu. The fast-food woman smiles at me, wide-eyed and focused on me…but not really, since I realize that she is staring at a computer screen that is at eye level, she’s reading off her questions, and she hasn’t once seen my face—nor will she.

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The computer is me, to her.

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I enter the living room to greet and chat with a grandchild, but she only screams in protest when I innocently turn the TV off in order to visit with her. I thought I was doing us both a favor by reducing distractions so that we can actually visit with one another.

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She sees only the screen and wouldn’t know it if I were wearing a monkey on my head.

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I’m being interviewed on a TV show by an interviewer who never once looks at me, since she’s staring at herself in the monitor and adjusting her hair and angle the whole time.

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After recording a number of my stories for broadcast on a public radio station, I attempt to exchange pleasantries with the station manager, but I suddenly notice that he’s staring at his computer and clicking away the entire time he talks with me—he is responding to my comments with generic quips but doesn’t know what I am saying. I slink away and he doesn’t notice.

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The game-play kid looks at his lap as he visits with me, his thumb moving the images around, never once looking at my face.

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A texting teen stares enraptured at phone in hand and laughs at what she sees and what she transmits while almost listening to me but never knowing when the conversation has ceased.

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The hospital employee with pods in both ears looks at me but does not hear my question because the music he hears is the thing. I walk away uninformed.

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The hospital nurse talks as she enters and reads from the laptop before her, never seeing me but appropriately answering my questions.

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The man whose home I’m visiting watches his enormous television screen as we chat. He doesn’t see me at all.

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I am the interloper, the real flesh and bone person who is no longer needed in these people’s lives.

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In order to have them see me, I will have to become an entity submerged in their virtual world.

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I see their flesh, they see my electronic self.

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O brave new world.

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Uh, were you saying something

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© Jim Reed 2021 A.D.

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FOND MEMORIES SPRING TO LIFE AT THIS BOOKSHOP

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FOND MEMORIES SPRING TO LIFE AT THIS BOOKSHOP

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Life, actually…a public radio interview with Jim Reed
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How a Birmingham shop owner brings memories to life through books
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Jim Reed has collected books and memorabilia for over 40 years for his store. He hopes to share a love of books with his customers.
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History and nostalgia dwell inside Reed Books, also known as The Museum of Fond Memories, in downtown Birmingham. There are floor-to-ceiling memorabilia with packed shelves of books, writings, boxes of photographs and records. Even an antique post office box filled with old letters. Jim Reed opened this shop 41 years ago, to become his own boss. But he chose to sell books because they are what he loved most growing up.
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“I teach the love of books, the care of books, and the importance of books as memory triggers,” he said.
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Some items in his shop are over 500 years old. But if asked which one is his favorite, Reed will balk.
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“That’s like asking what the favorite part of the orphanage is,” he said. “They’re all my children.”
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The white-bearded 80-year-old said he hosts a quarter of a million objects in his downtown store, and he takes in new shipments of stuff every week.
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“I look upon it as an ark,” Reed said. “It’s like Noah’s Ark because [there are] samples of everything from 500 years back to now.”
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But Reed is not only a jolly shop owner. He is an author and podcaster. He considers himself a curator, archivist and a teacher.
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“I teach the love of books.”
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Part of Reed’s mission is to show people that reading is fun. He said he often has customers who say they do not like to read and takes it as a challenge to prove them wrong.
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“I just can’t help wanting to let people know about the beauty of books,” he said. “And how they are different from the internet. That’s fine. I use it. Everybody uses it. The books? They have ‘the real.’”
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By “the real,” he means that books are more than just words on a page. He sees them as time travel devices.
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“When you throw a book away, you’re throwing people away.”
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Reed said he never throws a book away because he believes when you touch a book, you are touching the essence of all the people who read and loved it before you.
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“These are people’s dreams. We respect them and we keep them,” he said. “When you throw a book away, you’re throwing people away. Sounds like a stretch, but it’s the way people like me feel, so I can’t throw a book away. It represents so many people. The older the book, the more people it represents.”
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Reed said the age of many books and items in his store can be intimidating to some because of the history they represent, but he considers it exciting.
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“You can take things home with you.”
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In a museum, history can seem off-limits. Often, visitors are expected to be quiet, you can’t get too close to exhibits and if you did want to buy something, you’d probably have to be very well-off.
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“When you go to a museum, you can’t touch anything. You can’t take anything home that you like. Here you can. This is the Museum of Fond Memories. You can take things home with you.”
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You can buy a 120-year-old pocketbook for about $15. In his store, Reed tries to make history accessible, especially for young people.
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“I’ve noticed that a number of people younger than me, which is most people in the world, they’re afraid to touch an old book. And I said, ‘No, this is made to be touched.’”
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Evelyn Crowe, 17, recently stopped by and bought a newspaper clipping that’s five times older than she is, from 1930. It was her first time visiting Reed Books.
“Something that you pick up and you just flip through like a book, or you go through these records someone could have really, really loved,” Crowe said. “I really, really like the idea that I get to keep it and I get to find it and cherish it.”
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“It tells you, be free.”
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Reed wants all visitors to his store to leave with a respect for books and an excitement for the journeys they can take you on.
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“As a kid or an adult, when you read it, as you turn the pages, you begin to identify with each page. That turns on your imagination, gets it going. It tells you, be free,” he said.
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Kyra Miles is a reporter for America Corps Member reporting on education for WBHM.
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Hear this story on public radio:
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© 2021 A.D. by Jim Reed
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WHERE DO JOHN WAYNE’S MATCHES GO?

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Life, actually…

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WHERE DO JOHN WAYNE’S MATCHES GO?

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Hitching up pants and tucking in shirt, I am exiting the downtown movie theater of childhood in this Deep South village.

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Bright sunlight reminds me that it is only nighttime inside this film palace. Outside, atop the concrete sidewalk, real life blindingly resumes.

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Even though I am just a kid, I strut slowly and deliberately, eyes darting back and forth, down and up, searching for signs of lurking danger. My hands at my sides prepare to do imaginary quick-draws should fate decree.

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This is way more years ago than you can count. In fact, this is way more years ago than I dare to count, since I have lived way longer than the gods must have intended.

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Watching cowboy heroes on the big screen for two hours transforms me for a few minutes. For just a little while, I amble like a gunslinger. I pick popcorn bits from my teeth, using a wooden toothpick dispensed at the concession stand.

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I return to daily doin’s slowly, enjoying the fantasy of living in a world more action-packed than my own. A world without school teachers and parents and Sunday school instructors hovering about.

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I return to reality with enthusiastic reluctance.

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Living as I do, inside this fond memory, one tennis-shod foot in the past, the other in the present, I fortify myself against the encroachment of reality. But being a creature of mythology and science at the same time, I can’t help wondering about those cowboy heroes.

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For instance, when Roy Rogers dips his head to duck an incoming bullet, my curiosity is tweaked. Can Roy actually see the bullet coming, judge its trajectory, and move aside just in time to stay alive? When I am older, maybe I can study this puzzle with more experience and maturity.

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Another thing: every time John Wayne lights up a stogie during an intense dialogue, how come the wooden match is simply tossed aside out of silver screen range? Where does it go? Even in indoor settings, John Wayne continues to drop extinguished matches, rather than looking for an ashtray.

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My mom would never approve of this behavior.

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And if I dare try to discard my used toothpick at home, using John Wayne’s technique, how much trouble and fury would ensue?

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Maybe that’s why John Wayne and Roy Rogers are so special. They know how to get away with dodging bullets and littering without shame or punishment. I still haven’t learned how to do these simple but mysterious things. I guess I don’t need to.

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Later, it’s bedtime and I lay me down to lie awake.

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While I await drowsiness and slumber, I have a fading s’more memory or two. I dream of heroes and their impossible behaviors, moms and their guiding nurture, old movie theaters with their daytime nights and nighttime daylights, salty popcorn kernels, discarded stogies and toothpicks…

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I have just the right amount of fond memory to get me through till sunrise waves at me through the open screened window next to my bunk bed

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Jim Reed © 2021 A.D.

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YouTube podcast - https://youtu.be/DSyXBvw_dms

 

 

ALL THINGS ROTTEN AND TEMPTING GET THEIR COMEUPPANCE

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Life, actually…
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ALL THINGS ROTTEN AND TEMPTING GET THEIR COMEUPPANCE
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 I  have a thought or two to share. First, try your best not to roll your eyes. Sometimes incredulity can be helpful to the soul.
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To issue my idea, I must not name names or label causes. Therefore, I will simply call these Blips, or glitches in the kindly firmament. Let’s go with Blips.
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Blip 1 wants me to follow Blip 1′s rotten path, lock-stepping and blindly trusting. I tend to advance to the rear of all lemming surges like this.
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Blip 2 leads the charge toward our better selves but is found momentarily asleep at the wheel. The fact that I, too, am human enough to cat-nap does not connect with my criticisms of Blip 2, who is otherwise a well-meaning and trustworthy soul.
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Blip 3 worships power and all things that make power possible. I have no interest in money and power and find Blip’s activity puzzling. Poor but happy is my preference.
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Blip 4 rants and rattles so convincingly that hordes follow and obey and parrot all Blip 4 utterances. Why do I listen to everything entertainingly snarky that Blip 4 has to say, even though I claim not to believe it? Am I slowing down just to view road kill? Guilty as charged, I suppose.
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I waste my time intaking Blip 5′s rages. Something in me loves the spicy  feeling it gives me for a few minutes…ye gods! Does that makes me complicit?
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In my calmer moments, my stretches of maturity, I resist the urge to take off about anybody, unless the subject matter is sweet and helpful and uplifting.
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Why do I sometimes falter in my quest for good behavior and kindly interaction? Well…it requires effort. In order to display my better nature I have to work at it. Laziness just gets in the way.
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Down with lazy!
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Whenever I am on the tried and true, straight and narrow path, I resist the urge to rant. I resist even if I feel justified. Indeed, the times I feel justified are the times that an alarm goes off—feeling good about being bad is the worst of all feelings.
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So, on the best of days, I find myself pulling back from the temptations of gossipy critiques and self-righteousness.
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If bad feels good, then I’d rather feel bad while doing good.
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If none of this makes any sense, just go forth and find something steamier to read. You have choices.
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If I decide to blend all the Blips of the world into a harmless stew, I predict that I will just pull back, re-imagine behavior, and simply follow basic instincts, the instincts that instruct me to drop the negative, latch onto the positive, and leave a trail of tasty and trustworthy crumbs for all who are lost to follow.
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Like I say, it ain’t easy, but it does make me feel better about myself now and again.
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The challenge: Now I’ve got to repeat this entire process tomorrow and the next day and the next…for I must remind myself that I am human, despite all wishes that make me want to be superior to that.
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Let’s see, how do I start tomorrow with sunshine thoughts and angerless deeds?
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First, I awaken.
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If at all possible
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Jim Reed © 2021 A.D.
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AN IDEA FROM THE MUG SHOT MAKEOVER STUDIO

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Hear Jim tell his story: https://youtu.be/zwlRuE1A2Es

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Life, actually…

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AN IDEA FROM THE MUG SHOT MAKEOVER STUDIO

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My thoughts, dreams, reflections, ideas, rants, ponderings, inspirations…they are squirreled away here in the Writing Room. They await my random attention. They may even hope to be retrieved, reviewed, dusted off, updated, corrected, edited to make sense to readers other than myself.

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Here’s one, fetched from the neverending Red Clay Diary:

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Let’s somebody out there start up an Arrest Photo Prep Service.

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Don’t you want to look your best should you ever be arrested and booked?

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Chances are, if you don’t prepare in advance, your widely-published police snapshot will show you at your very worst. You don’t want to look like you just got mugged in a Cracker Barrel parking lot.

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The Arrest Photo Prep Service will depict you in your most flattering pose—taken solely from your Good Side—then airbrushed and color-corrected.

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That way, your image will utterly charm the media as well as attorneys on both sides. How could anyone who looks like a super star be guilty of anything at all?

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The DMV could use this service, too. For an extra fee your driver’s license photo could be done professionally with just the right lighting, thus avoiding that I-just-got-out-of-bed-deeply-frowning-and-ungroomed-when-this-paparazzi-snapped-me look. You’d never again be embarrassed to display it when required.

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A Mug Shot Makeovers While You Wait pop-up studio would be most welcome.

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Even at your worst you could look your best.

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I take full responsibility for this goofy idea.

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Now, go forth and come up with something better

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Jim Reed © 2021 A.D.

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RUSHING HEADLONG INTO THE UMPTEENTH CHRISTMAS

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Hear Jim tell his story:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=afyjwFI8FFQ

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Life, actually…

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RUSHING HEADLONG INTO THE UMPTEENTH CHRISTMAS

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About to drown in a sea of stress and confusion and disorientation and political insanity and way too much directionless chatter?

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Back up a couple of steps with me and consider focusing on better times to come. 

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This isn’t easy, but it is not as hard as it looks.

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There are those among us who are filled with dread at the prospect of a Holiday Season coming up.

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There are those among us who wait with entranced expectation, hoping the season will arrive just a week earlier for once, so that we won’t have to suffer so.

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On the other hand, the Holiday-Dreaders remember only the bad: the requirement to give a gift to someone you not only don’t like but someone who never gives you anything back…the memories of frayed nerves and too much imbibing and too much candy and too much screaming and shouting and straining to please.

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Then there are the Holiday-Delighters. They just know that, despite the fact that they might be surrounded by Holiday-Dreaders, this year will be different: this year everybody will be happy and mellow and smiling and hugging and just plain relaxed and pleasant for a change.

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The Holiday-Dreaders know that Christmas will be a dreadful pain and they hope it will not happen this year at all.

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The Holiday-Delighters know somewhere in back of their very souls that not all Christmases have been wonderful, but they persist in carrying forth the dream of what Christmas might be could be should be oh please just this one time will be!

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And so Christmas slowly inexorably marches our way, oblivious to the Delighters and the Dreaders, not at all aware that there will be misery and joy juxtaposed throughout the land, not at all aware of the turmoil going on in Delighters’ heads— all those sugar plums and magical wistful Santas and Frostys and Rudolphs and Deck Us All with Boston Charliers…not at all aware of the turmoil going on in Dreaders’ heads—all that tension and feeling of incompleteness and feelings of no-gift-will-be-good-enough in the eyes of the receivers.

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Christmas will come again and go again and the Delighters will hold whatever good memories they salvage in a safe place to bring forth in the hot and humid days of July, to be treasured anew…and the Dreaders will try to forget it all and hope that another Christmas doesn’t come too soon.

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You can wait for Christmas with open arms open heart open mind open soul and find the gentle goodies therein.

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You can pace the floor hating the very idea of Christmas and dreading each thought of it again and again.

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Whether you decide to become a Dreader or a Delighter, you most certainly as long as you are on this earth will not be able to avoid Christmas.

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Select the attitude you want and embrace it and don’t let the bed bugs bite on this next wonderful opportunity that’s being offered to you as a precious gift.

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If you’re worried about the fact that Christmas just might slip up on you and make you feel good, just use Thanksgiving as a dry run: See what good will and good wishes and an incredibly stubborn decision to have a nice peaceful disposition for once can bring you.

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You just might surprise yourself

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Jim Reed © 2021 A.D.

Catch Jim’s podcasts of this and all his stories:

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(adapted from Jim’s memoir Christmas Comes But Once A Day www.christmascomesbutonceaday.com )

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ZEN THOUGHTS, ZANY UNANSWERABLES

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Life, actually…
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ZEN THOUGHTS, ZANY UNANSWERABLES 
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In the wee small hours of the toss-and-turn morning,  when the whole wide world–with the sole exception of me–is fast asleep, I lie half-wakened and try to re-direct my rabbit-hole imaginings.
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If I don’t get some control of these overlapping dreams and intrusive ideas, I fear that I’ll be lost, lost and drifting in an endless sea of space and time unfettered.
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See what I mean? Things can get out of hand if I don’t jump out of bed and refresh the daily realities.
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But some leftover thoughts hound me, make me ponder, make me laugh.
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For instance:
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How many ouchies make a boo-boo? Or vice versa.
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How many more museums do we need to satisfy the needs of preservationists?
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I suggest one more–The Museum of One-Time-Use Objects. You know, an exhibit of things we toss aside and never again explore. Like toilet seat strips in motels, coffee-holder bands, self-adhesive labels on fruit, band-aid strips, gift tags, cardboard squares the car service department leaves behind, ticket stubs…when the mind veers toward ideas like this, the list seems endless. You have my permission to complete the compilation.
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What is the relationship between duct tape and Velcro? Have they ever dated? When unrolled or pulled apart, which sound is more irritating?
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Why is Saran Wrap out to get me?
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Why aren’t all batteries the same size and shape? Just when it seems safe to assume I have a variegated supply on hand, some toy or household necessity arrives with a weird-shaped battery only available in…some faraway, unknown place.
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What about a Museum of Unreadable Instructions? I have stacks of mixed-language mixed-literacy instructions piling up and ready to be donated.
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And one more thought fell out of this morning’s dreams and rests in the part of my brain where escape is possible…escape from mind to fingers to keyboard to published work. It’s about writers and writing. Here goes:
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A writer doesn’t say, “Oh, no, what terrible thing is about to happen?”
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A writer instead says, “I wonder what will happen next?” or “I wonder how that happened?” or “I wonder what she is really like?” or “I wonder what’s up?” or “I wonder why I wonder?” or “I wonder what it’s all about?”
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You see, when you stop wondering, dogma begins to set like concrete. It can take root and become immutable. Then, the worst of all possible things can happen: Your imagination freeze-frames.
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My point is, at my best, I try never to stop wondering one more step beyond whatever appears to be a universal truth. I am suspicious of any situation that smugly folds its arms and defiantly says to me, the writer, “You don’t  have to wonder any more. Just consult me–I know all the answers. Depend upon me to resume your thinking for you.”
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That’s when I run for the hills and hunker down till the Defiant Blockader gets distracted and picks on somebody else.
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This leaves me time to get back to what’s important—thinking my own thoughts, finding my own way.
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It frees me up to return to tomorrow morning’s dreams and ideas. If I’m going to wrestle with uncontrollable inspirations, I have to be willing to face the unpleasant. I have to be wiling to acknowledge and find beauty in the scariest possible things.
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If this doesn’t make any sense at all to you, please proceed at your normal pace and try elsewhere to find written words that make sense. They must be around here somewhere
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Jim Reed © 2021 A.D.
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A RECORDED PHONE MESSAGE I WILL NEVER HAVE ENOUGH COURAGE TO LEAVE

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Life, actually…

A RECORDED PHONE MESSAGE I WILL NEVER

HAVE ENOUGH COURAGE TO LEAVE

 RingRingRingRing…

CLICK

My voice…

Hello.

I may or may not be the person you are attempting to contact. If you do not wish to leave a message you may hang up now.

If you leave a message there’s a good chance I will return your call…provided it is not a sales pitch or a survey or a hustle.

If you do not leave a voice message I will not know that you called, since I live in another century and do not check Caller ID.

When you leave a message it would be helpful to know what you want to communicate to me. If you just leave a name and number and I have never heard of you, you can be assured that I may not return your call.

If your message is polite and mannerly I may wish to talk with you anyhow.

Just sayin’.

You may proceed to leave a message or not leave a message…wait for the beep. Have a good life!

BEEP.

(OK, OK…I admit that I would never be this blatant on the phone…but having a fantasy now and then couldn’t hurt anybody. Could it?)

You may click to something more interesting on the internet now.

I’m done for today

 Jim Reed © 2021 A.D.

 

YouTube video blo9g - https://youtu.be/Shwu70AP_fc

MOMENTS MISSED, MOMENTS RECLAIMED

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MOMENTS MISSED, MOMENTS RECLAIMED

Now that healing is reassembling life into some semblance of its former order, I can glance over my shoulder and re-cherish, re-appreciate what was lost, what was recovered.

It’s all good.

Standing in the kitchen of our 1906-era home I recall the swoosh of the upstairs shower, the way it sounded prior to the months-long affliction that silenced it. Now the swoosh is back. She is back.

Her distant morning sneeze is a comforting signal that she is moving about again, getting done the things that she loves getting done.

Her musical voice via zoom or phone reassures me that her soul is bouncing once more, reanimated by friends and family.

Her rhythmic breathing next to me at night makes up for the weeks we could not share a bed.

The halo fragrance of her morning routines, soap, shampoo, perfume, ointment, settles me down and renews my smile.

Creaking wooden floorboards provide evidence of her presence, mingled with the creaks and croaks emanating from my movements.

And now that she laughs once again at my worn-out quips and jokes, I feel hope and joy once more.

That look she gives me when I’ve gone too far. That look she gives me when I have not gone far enough. These are my anchors.

Let me summarize:

She pulls me toward the light.

What more could I possible wish for

 Jim Reed © 2021 A.D.

YouTube Video Blog - https://youtu.be/oaX90r804jw

CATCH AS CATCH CAN’T

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Life, actually…

CATCH AS CATCH CAN’T

Long, long ago, in a galaxy located exactly where I am now, I am in memory sweet a kid with no sports skills…attempting to be a young Babe Ruth in order to please everybody but myself.

I am trying to turn dream into reality.

But here is my reality:

The leathery-skinned ball is speeding directly toward my face. My hands and fingers are splayed in an attempt to catch the ball or at least deflect it from my nose.

It’s coming at me. I close my eyes and try to grab it with both hands.

The ball coming at me seems to be an act of aggression. What did I ever do to this object to make it wish to attack me?

I know that I have to learn not to blink, but how do I do that?

If the ball arrives at waist level I can try to snare it. But my hands are not positioned correctly. I do not know how to coolly intercept it like the playground athletes surrounding me.

I’m also afraid to chase a grounder because the ball will not let me know where it will bounce next. For some reason I have an abiding fear of a broken nose, particularly if it is mine.

“Hey, boy! What team are you going out for?”

The outfield gruffy behind me is wondering how I was allowed to be on the field in the first place.

I have no idea what “going out for” means so I say, “The Red Sox!” The gruffy bites his tongue.

I am destined to be anything but an athlete.

I contract athlete’s foot from the school locker room. As close to living an athlete’s life as I will ever get.

I feebly try again.

At bat, I take the classic stance I see in the movies. The ball surprises me with its intrinsic speed and power. It has already slapped the catcher’s mitt before my swing even begins.

I now realize that the bat must aim at a spot I predict will contain the ball. If said ball does not meet expectation, a strike will be called.

My only strategy is to hope that the pitcher will miss the strike area four times and that I will get to first base by default.

I am overcome with the miserable idea that I cannot play ball, thus disappointing family and humiliating myself.

To make a short story shorter, I do go on to other activities in my long search for a place in the sun. Eventually, I sort of excel at lots of things having nothing to do with sports and macho heroism.

I am grateful for what I can do and I only look back once in a while, at moments like this, to imagine for an instant that it is possible to become an instant Babe Ruth kid.

If only in my dreams

 Jim Reed © 2021 A.D.

YouTube Video Blog - https://youtu.be/n1WQirxdvF0