Monthly Archives: September 2023

BIG SHUNNARAH IS WATCHING YOU

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Hear Jim on Youtube: https://youtu.be/x_vkuJeV8LM

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Life, actually…

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BIG SHUNNARAH IS WATCHING YOU

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“How’s your mom’n’em?” asks Dora, as she fills a fresh-licked white plastic bag with thrift store wearables. Her register is asking for  payment of $15.45.

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Alice, her friend on the other side of Dora’s counter, is riffling through a large slouchy handbag in search of wallet and workable credit card. As she fishes she smiles and provides Dora with a truncated genealogy of life-up-to-now family facts.

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I’m the eavesdropper in line just behind Alice. I take my time and listen and observe. This is more fun than anything on the internet or the tube.

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I’ve dropped a few eaves in my time.

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Alice and Dora have known each other a long while, but at this moment one is customer, the other is accepter of payment. Family ties run through the conversation as smoothly as Jergen’s Lotion salves a rough spot. A few phrases transform updates into small endearing stories.

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I am relieved to learn that all is well with mom’n’em and, with an occasional sidebar about kin being arrested or taken ill, life is proceeding with surprise and predictability.

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Dora and Alice finish their exchange and part ways with smiles and warmth and mutual “Y’all come to see us!” declarations.

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I’m next up. I place selected books on the counter and Dora begins scanning prices into a keyboarded device, pausing each time the machine fails to do its job, mumbling while she has to hand-enter rows of numbers. She pulls a fresh plastic bag from its rack, licks her fingers to make opening the bag easier, slaps the bag by its body-shirt handles, and balloons it big enough to drop the books in.

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“You need to press this button and sign this screen with your finger and then sign this paper receipt in order to please the pencil-pusher who set up this redundant and time-wasting system,” she says. Only, she doesn’t say anything of the kind—she just thinks this with a bored frown. She and I silently agree that the only way to get through the day at the counter is to take breaks, grab lunch, gossip with other employees, and occasionally catch up on friends and relatives and strangers who pass by.

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As I drive away from the store and head back to my village, I glance here and there, amazed at the gigantic billboards mostly filled with images of a smiling attorney screaming “CALL ME ALABAMA.” No commas needed.

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What would my normal day be like if I didn’t see and hear a dozen BIG SHUNNARAH IS WATCHING YOU messages? What would my day be like if I couldn’t catch up on mom’n’em and all the real, living adventures that await friendly inquiry?

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Knowing about mom’n’em enriches my time and makes me want to call distant family and catch up. Big Shunnarah doesn’t seem to matter at all

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© Jim Reed 2023 A.D.

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NO-SEE-UMS AND DUM DUMS LIGHT THE WAY

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Listen on Youtube:
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Life, actually…
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NO-SEE-UMS AND DUM DUMS LIGHT THE WAY
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No-see-ums and Dum Dums light my path through another day of fun and perplexity at the bookshop.
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On the way to bookdom I encounter enough mysteries to last a week. Once within the store visitors offer me gifts they don’t even know they are offering.
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I accept these gifts with grace and understanding, even when I don’t quite understand.
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It’s all in a day’s time…and there is never enough time to appreciate all that I see.
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A focused no-nonsense customer breezes past me and heads for his special section of the shop. He knows what he thinks he wants to find but instead comes across irresistible treasures that distract and delight.
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A homeless regular greets me loudly and graciously while siphoning off a handful of Dum Dums I keep in a basket—one to a customer is a rule for other people, not him. It’s OK. Every year or two he saves up enough to buy a book.
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Another customer brags and browses jovially yet comes short of actually purchasing anything. He always promises to pick up some titles on hold but never quite gets around to it. When he’s not flaunting, he’s flouting or flailing. It’s all good—he does add energy and humor to the morning.
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A whimpering simpering child acts out his confusions while batting down all no-see-ums cautions from his hovering mom. Once she is down the aisle, he calms down and actually responds to my suggestions for books he might like. Mustn’t let mom know he’s enjoying himself.
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Another customer summons the courage to ask for my bookly opinion about what she should read next. Before answering I ask what she enjoys most, what her favorite childhood books were, what kinds of stories take her away to better times, or at least more unknown times. She returns to the stacks.
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Two energetic visitors ask for quarters with which to feed the vending machines wherein lie prizes and surprises. They giggle and appreciate and anticipate.
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The USPS letter carrier offers mail and good will each time she visits. I miss her when she’s late or absent.
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Customers from far away places troll the shelves in awe. I find a way to communicate with them, my goal always the same—make certain they leave with memories of a pleasant and friendly encounter within a pleasant and friendly village. Whatever I can offer them is meant to overrule preconceived notions about us Down Southers. We are generally a friendly group.
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“What’s this APP thing the parking meters want?” asks a frustrated customer. He’s not up to date on the intricacies of anything newer than a flip phone. I give him lots of quarters to override the Big Bro’ parking overlords.
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“Books! I have books for you!” This panting visitor is lugging a misshapen box of volumes. I accept the gift kindly, sight unseen. No book is ever thrown away. I offer the donor a bottle of cool water.
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“You have books about Helen Keller and Doctor King?” This is an easily-fulfilled request. We have lots. This is one happy customer.
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Chris, the next-door security director, is having a lively sidewalk conversation with a friendly passerby. I can hear his energy through the closed doors.
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Firefighters whiz by the shop on their way to taking care of people in need, their sirens reminding us that help is always nearby.
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A phone caller wants to know if we carry books by GO-eeth. He needs one for his son’s college class. I check on today’s supply of Geothe and assure him we are well stocked. He’ll be in later.
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Rhandrae  from the shoe repair place across the street calls to see if I’d like some cookies she’s brought to work. How can I turn her down? Another neighbor looking out for another neighbor.
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When things quieten down I begin the daily task of cleaning, pricing, sorting, cataloging and shelving this day’s trove of paginated wonders.
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Haven’t done anything this fun since yesterday and the day before. And tomorrow will be even better
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© Jim Reed 2023 A.D.
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DEEP COOLING THOUGHTS DOWN SOUTH AT NINETY DEGREES FAHRENHEIT

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 Hear Jim’s podcast:https://youtu.be/GsbU2rmI9Ag

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Life, actually…

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DEEP COOLING THOUGHTS DOWN SOUTH

AT NINETY DEGREES FAHRENHEIT

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Each summer in my Down South village, it gets so hot that all I can do is think back…recall icy cold days, and try to lower the weighted temperature.

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Here’s a ten-year-old winter memory from the pages of my tattered and true Red Clay Diary. Hope it cools your brow:

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There are more amazements on the frozen streets of Birmingham than are dreamt of in all philosophies.

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The vampire wind tries to nip a pedestrian beneath her scarf as she scurries to work. She tries valiantly to clutch the cloth to her throat. She successfully keeps the bite away, thus forcing the carnivore air to search elsewhere for her skin. She thinks: I have to face this again on the way home tonight.

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Ignoring the temperature and all parental precautions, a group of seventh graders and eighth graders invades the bookshop, writing students from the Alabama School of Fine Arts who hope to pick up new ideas in well-thumbed pages. They warm their hands and minds with ideas burning inside each volume. They think: This is great, but what’s to eat?

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I visit for an hour with students at Birmingham-Southern College, spreading the gospel of reading and writing and thinking outside the hum of the hive. They sit around the Arthurian table to see what I have to say, or to see what the teacher wants them to hear me say. Perhaps my most attentive listener is the teacher. She thinks: I wish class could be this much fun every day. Sigh.

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The college room walls are lined with books locked inside sturdy cabinets, longing to join their free-ranging comrades but resigned to the concept of Waiting. Waiting for someone to unlock the shelves and touch them once more. They think: I have all this wisdom. Wish I could share it.

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Back at the shop, an Atlanta bookdealer braves the weather to stroll and examine my paginated orphans, to see what’s in the store…to see what’s in store. He thinks: How can I make some money off all this stuff I’m purchasing?

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Outside the shop, the coldness becomes mundane. We all talk about it too much and want to go on to some other subject.

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But the vampire wind will remind us who’s really in charge, when we brave the sidewalks once more, with only large warm books hugged tight against the chest to keep the heart warm and the mind afire

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© Jim Reed 2023 A.D.

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NEXT UP! DANCING AROUND THOSE UNSOLICITED OPINIONS

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 Listen on youtube:https://youtu.be/V4zV9jPR1-U or read below:
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Life, actually…

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NEXT UP! DANCING AROUND THOSE UNSOLICITED OPINIONS

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“Duck!” is what I want to shout whenever somebody gets close to my face and begins to recite THAT STORY THEY KEEP TELLING.

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“Duck!” is my knee-jerk reaction when THAT STORY THEY KEEP TELLING begins to roll out and fill all available space.

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“Stop and really listen!” is my contrarian shout that immediately follows the duck! volley.

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Yes, you guessed it—my life overfloweth with characters like myself, people who have deeply-felt opinions—opinions with no place to go. Having no place to go with these long-held rants, many THAT STORY THEY KEEP TELLING folks pick on me. I am easy pickings.

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After all, I am a dutiful prisoner of my own workplace, a stalwart of my family, a casual victim of wherever I am at the moment.

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Getting trapped and encapsulated by one of these THAT STORY THEY KEEP TELLING people is something I must endure, something I am slowly beginning to appreciate.

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Being mostly an internal and private person guarantees that my basic instinct is to avoid at all cost being cornered by the rants and rages of strangers.

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But here in this lovely Down South village I am learning to stop and listen, pause and ponder, observe and ruminate…whenever a THAT STORY denizen needs to mouth off and show off and plead for attention.

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I am actually getting better at listening.

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Are you also a deflector of THAT STORY people? Maybe you know what I’m talking about.

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My entire life has been spent defending my small solitude of a mind, defending it against encroachment by those who would like to move in and take up space. Perhaps I have been unfair to many of these rant-tellers. Maybe not all of them want to storm my defenses and take over…maybe some of them simply wish to vent, then move on.

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As I learn to listen more, I make fewer wisecracks—wisecracks being my main weapon against alien or forbidden ideas that these ranters wish to implant. Wisecracks have protected me from many attacks by bullies and shamers and predators and needier-than-thou warriors.

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But wisecracks also can keep me so isolated that I miss the special gifts that some folks unknowingly offer. When I stop and examine what’s really happening during one of these storytelling episodes, I find that there is a kind of wisdom and fellow-human-being confidentiality that can be helpful or comforting.

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When I stop and lay down my armor and my weapons—in the form of defensiveness or resistance or smart-aleck remarks or fake emergencies—I can actually appreciate what is going on.

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Of course, the ranters have their own limitations. Some are beyond help, having long ago given up being taken seriously. Some have stopped looking for cues as to whether they are being heard.

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But now and then, now and then, one of those THAT STORY THEY KEEP TELLING people will pause and, taking my signal, take a deep breath at the same time I am taking a deep breath. Now and then, now and then, I and thou will leap from the swirling habits we’ve established…and actually hear each other.

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When that leap of recognition occurs, even if temporary, great understanding and humanity can rear themselves and actual real-life conversation can commence.

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This is something to strive for. I need this kind of progress now and then.

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I need to disarm. I need to peek into the abyss. Just to see whether a really good day is about to jump out and happy-fy me despite myself

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© Jim Reed 2023 A.D.

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