Hear Jim’s Red Clay Diary podcast: 

WINTER BLUNDERLAND

Deep, deep down within the deep, deep South, I find myself wading through the leavings of one year, preparing to encounter a newly-birthed year.

I am tempted to make New Year’s resolutions but I tend to come up with safe ones that in no way challenge me. For instance, I resolve to inhale and exhale repeatedly throughout the year. Or, I plan to floss no more than once a day. And there’s always that one resolution that I make and break within minutes—-lose ten pounds and work out.

Resolution-making being a farce, I resolve not to make any. Instead, I wish to continue the practice of exploring the world through furtive glance and direct gaze.

Here are some things that astound and entertain me:

My quest to find the proper fastener for a piece of split wood takes me to the hardware store, a haven of emotion-deprived semi-conscious barely-mobile texting clerks who don’t know much about hardware but know a lot about googling. I finally locate one of those rare birds—-an old-timer who actually leads me down obscure aisles to search in real non-virtual time for just the right implement.

In this copious den of visionaries both real and imagined, I await my tiny fate.

Everywhere I go today, I find the Leaf Blower Syndrome hard at work. Leaf Blower workers are in the business of transferring trash and particulates to Somewhere Besides Here. Leaf Blower wannabes practice the fine art of referring me to Someone Else or Somewhere Else, secure in the notion that they have earned their income and done their job.

I get it. Lots of folks just transfer and delegate challenges to That Place Over Yonder.

Another New Year’s vision:

I am amused at the fact that I am often polite to robots. I say Thank You to a drive-through ordering device. I say No Thanks to a robocall request. I begin confessing sidebar information to an automated questionnaire that only wants a Yes or a No—-and tells me so. My computer requires passwords that I do not wish to provide, but I must obey in order to get anything at all done today. If I follow procedure and instruction the robotic internet will grant me permission to ply my life, live my day.

In the midst of all this mindless soulless automation, I cherish the real human contacts that occur outside the electronic cyborg world. The tiny moments of revelation or joy.

On the way to the drop-off laundry, I tune in to a jazz radio station. It Ellingtons its way through the car as I pull into the parking lot. The jolly laundry lady opens the passenger door to retrieve my cleanables and laughs quite lustily when she hears the music. She says, “Oh, Jim, you be jammin’!” As I drive away, she smiles and says, “You keep jammin’!”

This makes my morning. This is amusing, warming, symbolic, humane. This makes me smile. This erases all memory of abstract encounters with gadgets and distracted automatons and flaccid clerks.

I drive on to my other errands.

I keep on jammin’

© 2019 A.D. by Jim Reed

Hear Jim Reed’s Red Clay Diary podcast:  https://youtu.be/sOxjLs3-0r8

or read the transcript below:

THE JOYS OF JAYWALKING 

I’m dodging cars and dancing through traffic to get to the north side of University Boulevard.

Whoosh! There goes a red pickup truck, missing me by inches. I feel the warm draft of air rustling my jacket. I come to a halt on the center yellow line, awaiting the opportunity to race the rest of the way across the street. Two more vehicles and I am in the clear.

This is called jaywalking, and it is a tradition, a habit.

The time is 1970. I am young and foolish and full of energy. As opposed to right now, when I find myself not-so-young and just as foolish and minimally energetic.

Being youthful and unaware of consequences, I dash around the campus of the University, plying my trade each day. My job as a Mad Man is to run the school’s news bureau. That means holding press conferences, writing news stories, reducing my bosses’ diatribes to palatable statements, schmoozing the media and in general attempting to display the University in a positive light. Jaywalking is a way to save time and meet appointments. Travelling all the way to the corner and waiting for a favorable traffic light to send me on my way is just a waste of resources.

As years go by, I find myself continuing to be a poor man’s adventurer by jaywalking everywhere I go. I’m playing a video game without having to fret over the trappings of electronics.

As a young 1970′s dude, I also have a life beyond the University. At home I am the victim of fad and fashion. In addition to purchasing trendy ties and classy shoes, I also fall briefly under the spell of exercise promoters. I begin jogging, thus awakening each day with new sorenesses and nifty muscle pains.

Again, back to 1970, here I am another morning on the south side of eighth avenue south, getting ready to speed northward to the Veterans Hospital to interview a visiting scientist. The opportunity comes amid traffic and I begin running to cross before a looming Chevrolet runs me down.

Suddenly, I freeze in place right in the middle of traffic, unable to move. Leg cramps hold me stiff and sore. Traffic has to dodge and swirl about me as I limp to the center line to avoid sudden death.

For the first time in my life my body doesn’t obey my commands.

I finally hobble to safety, humbled by DNA and the physicality of life.

My jaywalking days will continue, but caution and fear will train me to take fewer risks.

Being of unsound mind and unpredictable body, I give up jogging. Ain’t worth the trouble, I tell myself.

Eventually, I abandon my Mad Man career out of sheer conscience, weary of trying to make iffy policies and procedures seem sterling, tired of spinning semi-truths, anxious to begin a new career over which I will have some control.

“The gunman was a loner who lived with his mother,” an oft-heard phrase employed by diffident reporters. I’d like to re-write this to read, “The jaywalker was a loner who lived with his wife.” The story might extend as, “He was known to keep to himself and read books whenever he could.”

I am preparing the news release now, at this moment. I might add, “The jaywalker emerged from his books now and then to mingle with family and friends and customers. Neighbors report that he seemed suspiciously drawn to writing stories and selling books, though no-one could say for sure what else he did in his private moments.”

Jaywalking, exercise-avoidance, doing bookie things like reading and writing…all seem to calm me down and give me purpose.

There could be worse ways to live a solitary life

© 2019 A.D. by Jim Reed

WEBSITE

Hear Jim’s podcast: https://jimreedbooks.com/podcast

or read his transcript below:

THE APPLESEED UNIVERSE

I’m sitting on a rock some 500 feet above sea level, making notes.

The time is the 1970s, and this is the road to Mount Palomar observatory, way out west. Far away from my Deep South Alabama roots.

My small notepad with hardware store letterhead is filling up with penciled thoughts and memories and hopes and fears. Right now, nothing bad can happen because each time I glance at the valley below me, a deep sigh of relief issues forth involuntarily.

This is a special moment in time, and I know it will never happen again.

One of my lifelong dreams—to visit the world’s largest optical telescope. I have just done that. All it took was to wish upon some stars.

Now that I’m descending the mountain, I stop to absorb what has just occurred. The observatory is what I thought it would be—a symbol of my never-ending latent desire to know what’s beyond all visible boundaries. To know what’s out there. To find some hope beyond an encapsulated daily existence.

The very earthly presence of this telescope is a sign. A sign that there are others who, like me, want to find things out…just in case humanity has thus far managed to overlook something important.

So what’s the big deal? With bigger telescopes we learn that yet another billion galaxies exist. Does that help me pay the rent, feed the family, comfort the deprived?

Years later, I will find this quote from Martin Luther: ”Even if I knew that tomorrow the world would go to pieces, I would still plant my apple tree.”

Sounds as if Luther and you and I intuitively know the same thing. We know that whatever is out there or down there or over there is worthy of inspection, just because and despite. Because it’s there. Because it might be there. Because it’s important to know if it’s not there.

Bits of wisdom, carefully accumulated and notated upon a hardware store notepad, are worthy of archiving, because and despite. Despite the forces that suppress. Despite the naysaying cynics. Despite the persistent tendency to deny and avoid.

Apple trees must be planted. Stars must be counted. Attention must be paid.

Just despite. Just because

© 2019 A.D. by Jim Reed

WEBSITE

GLOVING UP FOR WINTER CHUCKLES

I am counting down the final days of autumn.

I am indeed approaching the winter of my contentment.

These days, I pay more attention to tiny things, tiny moments, tiny feelings, tiny thoughts…things and moments and feelings and thoughts that may go unnoticed should I forget to record them in my red clay diary.

So, why are these seemingly insignificant bits and pieces so…surprisingly significant?

Why do they matter?

To work through these ponderings, maybe I should name my new car, Eloquent.

That way, neighbors can observe, “There’s Jim, waxing Eloquent again.”

Try and stop me from going on about this. Just a few more words:

The first cold morning of autumn finds me digging through the detritus on the floor of the passenger side of Eloquent. I am searching for matching gloves.

Long ago, I purchased some gardening gloves, on sale, four pairs for two dollars. Who could resist?

With every spell of low outdoor temperatures, I grab the first pair of gloves in sight. One for the right hand, one for the left hand—who cares if their shades of brown don’t match up?

But this particular morning, I can’t for the life of me locate a right-hand glove. After diligence is spent, after time is squandered, I can only come up with four left-hand gloves. Has there been a glove rebellion?  Have the righters escaped?

Hmm. Have you ever tried putting a left-hand glove on your right hand? Two ways to do this, maybe three.

I turn the glove backwards and slide my hand in. A bit clumsily, since the gloves are formed to bend palmward, not the other way around.  Then I try donning the glove properly, but the little finger tends to be smaller than the thumb—ever noticed that?

Maybe I should try turning a glove inside-out. Think this will work? I’ll let you know.

Now…wasn’t that refreshing? Spending two minutes contemplating something so different, so silly and so engrossing that you can’t help but chuckle at the effort?

Well, at least I got a chuckle out of it, even if you didn’t.

An old Russian proverb states, “If you can tickle yourself, you can laugh when you please.”

Here I am, just tickling myself for the sheer fun of it

© 2019 A.D. by Jim Reed

WEBSITE