Listen to Jim: http://www.jimreedbooks.com/mp3/howtomakelove.mp3 or read on…

HOW TO MAKE LOVE TO A BOOK

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The grizzled browser stands frozen in statue-like meditation, peering at

the bookshelves before him.

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He hesitates to reach out for a volume, lest he break the spell of anticipation.

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Finally, after a long, suspended moment, his wrist rises before and

above eye level, the first two fingers of the right hand perch atop the

spine of one particular book. He pulls it gently forward, tilting the

volume outward, allowing it to float into his caressing palms.

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The front cover gazes up at him, whispering its title, Fireflies. He

lowers his gaze, noting the author’s name, RabindranathTagore, and

the illustrator’s name, Boris Artzybasheff.

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He dares to open the book to a random page and sees that a passage has

been marked in orange ink by a previous owner, some 34 years back.

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The marked passage:

“From the solemn gloom of the temple

children run out to sit in the dust,

God watches them play

and forgets the priest.”

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The browser is visibly startled at the power and simplicity of this

passage and steadies himself against the bookcase before summoning

the courage to turn the page.

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What orange-highlighted thought could possibly top this one? he

wonders.

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Taking a half-breath that feels almost like a gasp, the browser turns to

another section of the book.

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The marked passage:

“My clouds, sorrowing in dark,

forget that they themselves

have hidden the sun.”

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His brow wrinkles, the fine hairs on his neck stiffen. He is aware that

there are additional marked passages to absorb.

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He closes the book and holds it close to his chest, fearing that, should

he lay it down for a moment, someone else, noting its beckoning glow,

might grab it. Since he has no way of knowing whether this is the last

remaining copy of Fireflies in the known universe, he hasn’t the heart

to leave it for later.

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He turns with his trove and walks quietly to the front of the shop,

determined to purchase and adopt it, regardless of the price

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©  by Jim Reed 2011 A.D.

http://jimreedbooks.com

Listen to Jim: http://www.jimreedbooks.com/mp3/isitjustme.mp3 or read on…

IS IT JUST ME?

Is it just me, or did you notice this, too?

1.           An NPR interviewer asking an interviewee whether

he was filled with guiltiness.

2.           Representative Anthony Wiener saying, “We need

to look at the entire totality of the problem.”

3.           The movie theatre screen promo stating, “Concessions

are located in lobby.” (Kind of like saying, “The urinal is

located in the men’s room.”)

4.           The disembodied voice-mail lady saying, “You may hang

up when finished.”

5.           The large metal sign in the drive-through line at the Power

Company saying, “To provide faster service a bill stub will be

required at the drive thru beginning January 1, 1997,” which

means a lot if you’re still living in 1996.

6.           The customer mentioning his “sparodic activities.”

7.           A commentator reporting, “He was hung at midnight.” But

was he ever executed?

8.           The attorney actually labeling a crime as “HEE-nuss.”

9.           The transit system bus sign stating its destination as,

“17 Century Plaza.” Wow! Time machines DO exist!

10.   A customer saying, “His remarks were derogatary.”

OK, so maybe I listen too carefully. What have you heard today?

Being an editor can be hilarious

© 2011 A.D. by Jim Reed

http://www.jimreedbooks.com

Listen to Jim: http://www.jimreedbooks.com/mp3/noticing.mp3 or read on…

SEE HOW BEAUTIFUL THIS IS?

The Museum of Fond Memories at Reed Books is not quite what you’d expect. The shop stocks everything your mother and grandmother threw away…but at the same time, the shop is everything your mother and grandmother wished a real museum would be.

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May I explain?

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From my mother, I received the gift of noticing. Sometimes the gift was a bane, but put to good use, it turned out to be life-affirming and motivating—you know, the kind of motivation it takes to get up in the morning and find hope awaiting.

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Wherever my mother journeyed, she always reached out to her surroundings in order to experience them as completely as possible. Passing a fencepost or garden or a lost child, she would stop to find out what was what. She touched the fencepost to feel its texture and temperature, she touched the plants to draw nutrients from their essence, she spoke to the child to see how she could make it found again.

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At museums, Mother’s proclivity for touching was forbidden. She didn’t want merely to see and smell and exalt, she wanted to reach out and touch everything on display. Security guards had to watch her closely, and we had to remind her that touching art and artifact was frowned upon.

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So, many years later, in honor of Mother, I put together the first vestiges of the Museum of Fond Memories at Reed Books. I dreamed of a museum that provides two services most all museums forbid. In my museum, you are encouraged to touch what you see. In my museum, you can actually purchase what you crave and take it home with you.

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No virtual museum for my customers…no hands-off museum for my customers. This is a place my mother would have loved.

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This is a place where all Mother’s aesthetic clones in the world are free to enter, touch, appreciate, purchase and adopt what their wishes dictate.

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Does this resonate with you? Does it help you understand why my museum is what it is?

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If you’re a dreamer and toucher and adopter, you are welcome to my sanctuary.

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Come see what it’s like to feel a museum of fond memories

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© 2011 A.D. by Jim Reed

http://www.jimreedbooks.com

Listen to Jim: http://www.jimreedbooks.com/mp3/museme.mp3 or read on…

ADVENTURES OF THE BOOKENDED MUSE

I’m bookended this week.

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Today (Sunday), the Word Up! county-wide poetry contest for high schoolers

tickled my Muse and made me smile to the brim.

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This coming Tuesday night, an inspiring reading/reception at the Hoover Library

will tickle me again, this time with a joyous mishmash of poets, authors, artists and

photographers, all celebrating their work in the pages of the new issue of

Birmingham Arts Journal (y’all come! 6pm).

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What’s in it for me, these two energizing events designed to make us all

want to tell our stories with zeal?

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Well, each event is mandatory for me. I’m the annual emcee for one and the

quarterly editor/emcee for the other. The commitments themselves keep me

focused, keep me attending. If I were not on the program, my interest would

likely trail off, replaced by some new endeavor. The best way to keep myself

involved with any enterprise is to make an ironclad promise that holds me

responsible for the outcome.

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My dad’s old-fashioned but never-really-out-of-fashion work ethic was

passed on to me.

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If you encourage me to participate in something or other, my natural inertia

will probably prevent me from following through, since it’s easier to go home

after work and collapse into a meditative but sluggish heap. The good news

is that once I’m signed on and responsible, I’ll likely carry on with dedication

and zeal. This is good for me, since it keeps me from finding excuses to disappear.

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This particular weekly column, then, is something I’ve promised my Muse and my

Self to continue ad almost-infinitum and, looking back, I realize I’ve been writing it

for way more than 25 years.

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Yep, even when my weekly commentary was seen by a mere 400 bookdealers in

four countries, I always produced it. Then, when it started appearing in various small

newsletters and magazines around the region, even more folks had a chance to read

it—at least I think they did. Then came books that reprinted some of the columns.

And, for the past two or three years, many hundreds more are exposed to them through

the internet via blog, blast, tweet, facebook, website, links, etc.

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My bookends are always driving me. Behind me is one deadline, before me is another,

and at this moment, while writing this, one deadline is encompassing me.

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Thus proving that my Muse is really just Me

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© 2011 A.D. by Jim Reed

http://www.jimreedbooks.com