Monthly Archives: August 2023

WHICH FIRST? BOOK OR EGG?

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Hear Jim on Youtube:

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Life, actually…

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WHICH FIRST? BOOK OR EGG?

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Way back when, so many years ago I can’t count, I am a nine-year-old peering at a vending machine, sweaty-palmed nickel in hand, wondering…

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I wonder what will pop out of that machine once the coin drops. What Cracker Jack-type prize will next grace the innards of the battered cigar box I keep under the bed at home.

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Everything is nine-year-old magical in my mind. Everything glistens with mystery and meaning.

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The vending machine is Pandora’s Box to me, only I choose to make Pandora a guardian of good and fun instead of a portender of pestilence and horror. As an avid reader I have already experienced the thrill of changing lore of old to suit my own imaginary world.

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Whatever is in that machine will cause my imagination to take off and build a story to comfort me in the dead of night.

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The old cigar box patiently awaits the arrival of Pandora Boy—me. Whatever lovely memory I add to its contents will improve and enrich my short time on this small planet.

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Now, the time is Today. At the bookstore, Allie is searching the front display table for one elusive old book that will be shipped to one elusive old customer, once found.

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“What’s this?” she asks, holding open a hollowed-out book, a book containing no words. A book someone has carefully crafted to look normal to the casual browser. A book intended to hide some treasure.

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I explain that I have found hollowed-out books now and then for many years—some filled with trinkets and treasures, some hiding love letters, some securing diaries, some waiting to be filled with secrets.

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These time capsules almost always are nondescript, adding to their invisibility. If a book’s cover and title instantly bore you, you are not apt to open it for further examination. The hidden secrets remain hidden secrets. Think what you may have missed.

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Allie reverently closes the hollow book and makes it invisible again, waiting for someone—maybe Pandora Boy—to hide something really special within.

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I walk to the front of the shop and stand before the old vending machines filled with invisible delights.

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Whenever anyone—a child of fifty or a child of five—places two quarters into the metallic slots, turns the handle to dispense the surprises, a colorful plastic egg pops out. Each egg contains various miscellaneous objects designed to mystify or delight or puzzle the five to fifty child.

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Each egg brings a nine-year-old smile back to my face and jolts me into the Good Pandora parts of life that are always worth exploring

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© Jim Reed 2023 A.D.

THE GIRL IN THE FOREVER SMOKING BUBBLE

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Listen to Jim’s podcast: https://youtu.be/ZlksMgB8kQ4
or enjoy his written words, below:
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Life, actually…
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THE GIRL IN THE FOREVER SMOKING BUBBLE
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She takes her smoking breaks outdoors, right here in front of her office building, right next to the old bookshop.
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Puffing away on a cigarette or two, she stares at third avenue north and occasionally speaks to passersby, but mainly she speaks only when spoken to.
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On rainy days she actually retreats to the protection of the bookshop entrance, particularly during CLOSED hours.
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What does she look like, this inhaling exhaling denizen of the lawyered structure next to the old bookshop?
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I catch glimpses of her, since I don’t wish to impose on her hazy bubble, her safe space.
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But I do know what she looks like because we often exchange pleasantries.
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Here’s what I know—and it is more than I need to know:
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She is young, attractive, well dressed, neatly dressed, and apologetically smiling.
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What makes her imprint upon my own private bubble is the fact that she is pregnant with twins.
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This healthy-appearing pleasant smoker carries her twins within her protective cone of loneness, and all the things I wish to say to her are things that I will never say to her because I have some understanding of the preciousness of privacy and loneness.
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What do I want to say if only it would make any difference at all?
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Well, I’d like to plead with her about the smoking.
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“Please don’t smoke. Your twins will be affected. How you spend your later years will be affected. How you wind up will be affected.”
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Maybe something like that is what I would say to the smoking childbearer who speaks to me in the third avenue doorway.
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But what I actually say to her is something like, “How are you today?” She smiles and says Fine.
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One day I am so bold as to ask her about her pregnancy, Thankfully, she is not offended at all and shares her protected feelings. That’s when I find out about the impending twins. That’s when I become aware that the possible negative effects of smoking pregnant are in no way among her thoughts. She simply mentions how she feels today—good or uncomfortable, as the case may be.
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I leave her to her life, as she leaves me to my life.
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After all, there are things I’d rather she did not ask me, too.
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If all goes well, someday she will be delivered of healthy twins and will reappear in the doorway somewhat slimmer, with stories to tell about her babies and how they are faring and how she is managing. And she will light her second cigarette.
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Good bubbles make good neighbors
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© Jim Reed 2023 A.D.

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THE MAN WHO COULD PREDICT THE PAST

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 Hear this on youtube: https://youtu.be/BTvHspVBlJk

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Life, actually…

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THE MAN WHO COULD PREDICT THE PAST

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I live mostly in the past.

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Why, you ask, do I make such a statement?

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For one thing, back here in the Past, I can re-enact all things troublesome and make them somewhat more bearable. Or at least re-sort them into less mysterious configurations.

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What I shoulda done. What I shoulda said. What if I had turned this way instead of that way, at just the right moment?

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What really happened that time back then, instead of what I supposed was happening?

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Great questions to ask myself when my brain is in between heavy copings and lazy meanderings.

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Anyhow, come join me in re-organizing the past. Seeing life from different angles can be useful. Or at least hilarious.

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Let’s suppose I could actually alter the past, thus altering the future? Would I do anything significant, or would I just pick on the little things?

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I wave my magic wand and proclaim:

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NATIONAL NO HONKING DAY. Lay that heavy hand down and listen to the quiet.

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NATIONAL FILL YOUR LUNCH PLATE UP SOLELY WITH FOODS YOU DETEST DAY. You might surprise yourself by eating from a different perspective. I learned to love spinach when I last did this.
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NATIONAL TRIM THAT THREE-INCH HAIR GROWING OUT OF YOUR EAR DAY. There’s always something I missed. Catching up can be soul-relaxing.
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 NATIONAL THANK SOMEONE YOU WOULD NEVER THINK TO THANK DAY. Yes, this is painful. But I feel so much better when I’m able to accomplish this.
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NATIONAL SELF ESTEEM ADJUSTMENT DAY. Swipe away those negatories and concentrate on what’s good, no matter how small.
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SPEND EXTRA QUALITY TIME WITH YOUR MOST OBNOXIOUS CUSTOMER OR NEIGHBOR DAY. This is hard but surprisingly revitalizing.
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NO STEPPING ON ANTS DAY. Give them a day off!
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NO RANTING DAY. If my idea of bliss is mouthing off at everything I disapprove of, this could be the day I change course and reduce coarseness.
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And so on. You can make your own list.
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Who knows? Something good could come from this
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© Jim Reed 2023 A.D.
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WEARING PEE-WEE’S PLAY SUIT

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Catch Jim Reed’s Red Clay Diary podcast: https://youtu.be/UtFPkIHpt9I

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Life, actually…

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 WEARING PEE-WEE’S PLAY SUIT

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 After many decades of living, loving and getting by, I’ve come to the conclusion that everybody feels cool at least once in a lifetime–maybe even a few times in a lifetime for the lucky ones.

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Coolness is a state of mind, which means that you may feel cool to yourself, but you have no idea how you might look ridiculous–uncool–to others.

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There’s the time in my life when I owned and wore an exact replica of the Pee-wee Herman suit–you know, his trademark outfit–which consisted of this form-fitting neatly pressed narrow-lapeled suit complete with white dress shirt and bow tie. In my case, I wore the obligatory  Mad Men thin necktie. Also, in my case, I wore heavy black wing-tip dress shoes instead of Pee-wee’s white loafers. But in all other respects, I looked like Pee-wee Herman. I was skinny as a rail, still had my hair, wore horn-rimmed glasses, and thought the coolest thing in the world was my then-fashionable suit.

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You might have guessed by now a couple of things:

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1. This was back in the 1960′s, long before Paul Reubens had ever conceived of Pee-wee and his suit, so in essence, Pee-wee wore an exact duplicate of my suit, rather than the other way around.

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2. This was the era of Mad Men, when we all smoked and drank and caroused too much, and had miles to go before we became enlightened about the wrongness of smoking and drinking and carousing too much.

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Anyhow, I worked as an on-air personality at Tuscaloosa’s fledgling television station, then known as Channel 33. I would snazz up in that suit, grab my loaded, hand-wound 16-millimeter movie camera, and go off to cover some news event, hoping to get back to the station in time to have Curtis Lake develop and edit the film while I wrote the story to go with it. Then, I’d get ready to host the daily live Noon broadcast interview show, called “This is the Show that Starts at Noon,” which remained on the air for four years.

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Back in those days, you could LOOK cool while out in public being recognized as a TV personality, but there was no way to BE cool, once you got back to the station. At the station, you were just another employee, trying to keep your job, stay out of the way of the more hostile pointy-haired folks, and just having fun doing your job. It is thus with virtually all jobs: as long as you can concentrate on and perform the tasks you love, you’re happy. But office politics and office politicos will be working full-time trying to spoil it for you. Denial is your only weapon.

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Anyhow, for a few minutes at a time during those years at Channel 33, I could overcome my insecurities and self-doubts, don the Pee-wee suit, leave the station to cover a story or host a panel or judge a beauty contest or make a personal appearance, and just plain forget the other facts of life I had to put up with.

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The Pee-wee suit was my magic time machine, my way to beam up and away each time conflict threatened to douse me. It made me feel like somebody, even though I wasn’t. It made me feel stylish, even though I wasn’t. It gave me a few chuckles many years later, when I saw Pee-wee himself wearing that outfit and feeling like a million dollars.

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Wonder if Pee-wee found my suit at a thrift store

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© Jim Reed 2023 A.D.

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(Thank you, Paul Reubens, for all the joy you brought us.)

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