Monthly Archives: January 2024

RIGAMAROLE YEARS, IN-THE-MOMENT JOYS

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Hear Jim on Youtube: https://youtu.be/boAnWXsOCUE or read him:

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Life, actually…

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RIGAMAROLE YEARS, IN-THE-MOMENT JOYS

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One of the advantages of living a long time (yes, young’uns, there are a few perks that arrive with the encroachment of elderlyness)…as I was saying, one of the advantages of living a long life is, I just don’t have to go through all the rigamarole of no-see-um swatting.

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I recognize that I am now using decrepit words that you may or may not be used to, but then that’s another perk—my gift to you is the opportunity to look ‘em up and add archaic depth to your vocabulary.

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We are now officially in Malarkey Land.

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No-see-ums are all those annoyances we have to tap dance past in order  to make it from now till bedtime, things we do that we in no way have to do.

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Do I really need to hair-spray the few strands remaining on my pate? Been doing it so long—that is, ever since I had a thick head of hair—that I don’t even notice.

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Does it matter whether I suck in my stomach as the nurse practitioner enters the exam room? Who am I kidding?

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Do I really have to say to no one in particular, “Pardon me!” each time I sneeze? Actually, it’s the polite thing to do, so I’ll probably retain this antiquated notion of manners.

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Can I take time to lovingly enjoy my family’s eyeroll reaction to the hundredth time I make the same smart-aleck wisecrack? You bet I will. It means said family is still listening. It means they must love me, else they’d leave the room. It means I appreciate their idiosyncrasies as much as they tolerate mine.

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Yet another perk of elderlyness is that I am no longer required to join political conversations. These days, instead of arguing my opposing view, I just wander off—why feed the flames?

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And I love making you laugh or chuckle. Before you can dismiss my presence I’m going to toss an oblique and funny remark out of the air and surprise you. You could use a laugh or two.

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And eye contact is a pleasure. I keep trying to engage you in conversation till you look up from your palmed device and actually acknowledge my presence. If we exchange pleasantries we are at least acting more human, more humane, for just a moment.

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And here’s something you can look forward to as you span the years to become a village elder: There will come a time when people will no longer ask you to do heavy lifting…a time when you don’t get invited to that annual party you did not enjoy anyhow…a time when someone will open the door for you, as payback for all the doors you opened for others through the decades.

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There will come a time when people will register surprise when you, the ancient denizen, spout a witticism indicating you are still alert, still In There.

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My New Year’s hope is that you and I will occasionally take an extra second to really see each other. What unexpected eureka! moments we might share!

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There’s always the hope that the world will shift one inch toward goodness and mercy as it tumbles down the Universe

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© Jim Reed 2024 A.D.

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NEVERENDING STORIES BEGIN WHEREVER YOU ARE

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Listen to Jim’s youtube storytelling:

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Life, actually…

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NEVERENDING STORIES BEGIN WHEREVER YOU ARE

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My beat-up old leather wallet bulges with everything but money.

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So why do I carry this musty time capsule around each day?

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I can’t let go of it because contained within are dozens of notes and notations…notes and notations I do not wish to toss. Notes and notations I never wish to forget.

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Here’s one folded sheet of browning paper. And I quote…

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Sometimes, great literature, inspiring literature, is literature that has never been read by anyone but its author.

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For instance, if you write in your diary or journal and no one else ever reads it, does it have any significance at all? It is that old tree-falling-in-the-forest question–does the falling tree make a noise if nobody is there to hear it?

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At last, that age-old question will be answered right here, right now! For some of the greatest passages in the history of storytelling will never be heard or read by you or me–and they will still be great passages.

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Here are three true and honest passages. Each was written long ago through the eyes of an eleven-year-old. Can you tell me which were composed by now-famous writers? Can you tell me which was written by a young girl in an unpublished—till now—un-read diary?

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Here goes:

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PASSAGE #1: “I lay in my bed and the town slept around me and the ravine was dark and the lake was moving quietly on its shore and everyone, my family, my friends, the old people and the young, slept on one street or another, in one house or another, or slept in the far country churchyards. I shut my eyes…”

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PASSAGE #2; “And then I went to bed. Looking through my bedroom window, out into the moonlight and the unending smoke-colored snow, I could see the lights in the windows of all the other houses on our hill and hear the music rising from them up the long, steadily falling night. I turned the gas down, I got into bed. I said some words to the close and holy darkness, and then I slept.”

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PASSAGE #3: “I got up at 5:15, ate breakfast, then went to Philadelphia all day. We went with Rev. Ammons, but we were in Paul Dean’s machine. We saw some interesting sights, and we saw the zoo. I had an ice cream cone and some candy and a pin of Betsy Ross’s house, and a picture of Jesus. And then we came home and I went to bed.”

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These are excerpts from three paragraphs of great writing, all told through the eyes of children. One passage is taken from a discarded diary I found at a flea market. The others are from works by renowned writers.

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Perhaps they all were first conceived on scraps of wallet-paper, then later saved from perdition. Now all three are published and available to the world.

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Now it is time for you to issue forth your own diary entries. As you compose them, do not judge them. Simply hold on to them for a few years, then re-visit. You may be astonished at their simple beauty, their simple power.

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If curiosity keeps tapping on the windowpane of your imagination, just drop me a note and I will identify the three writers, the writers whose works remain timeless and forever pure

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© Jim Reed 2024 A.D.

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E EQUALS A QUIET AND KINDLY ELDER

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Life, actually…

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E EQUALS A QUIET AND KINDLY ELDER

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Decades ago, when we were younger and mostly hopeful, when stars above were stoically pure, when we were on the verge of dismissing all the surrounding beauties, when we nevertheless continued our quest for perfection, our search for impossible perfections in all dusty pasts…

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Way back then, before Now seemed impossible…

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This actually happened:

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My since-childhood friend Pat, who now resides in Arlington, Virginia, keeps telling me she wants to take me to see Albert…I just have to see Albert, she keeps saying. So, petite granddaughter Jessica and petite spouse Liz and dumpty Me visit my lifelong pal and follow her.

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One night in the still and cold darkness near a famous boulevard next to the seat of human power in North America, we four make our way to see Albert.

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As we round old greenery, we come face to face with Albert.

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There, seated beneath the godly stars, atop a fabricated field of stars, sits Albert, ruminating upon the universe, a larger-than-life-itself presence who at once seems both dignified and cosmos-struck,

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The impressionistic and truly wonderful statue of Albert Einstein, star-molder whose thoughts have toyed with the heavens and thus begotten users and abusers—those who seek to re-form the world in peace and those who seek to control by fear the very solemn and gentle people like Einstein, who simply want to be left alone to live and eventually with grace dissipate into the ether once more.

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The statue is a magnificent tribute to the human gossamer spirit that brings us joy, and now and then gets us into trouble.

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Albert just sits there, gigantic, small, solitary…holding a writing pad in his lap with a few simple formulae jotted down, his sandals and sweater and flowing hair the very symbols that bring nonviolent power to a moment in time.

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The sculptor has done the right thing, for Albert’s statue is not your typical noble horse-astride general nor your toga’d god nor your brave-in-battle fighter. Albert’s statue is designed to be touched and hugged by humans. You can sit on his knee, gaze at The Formula. Stare along with him at the twinkly-scattered universe.

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He is hidden from direct view, so that he is not beckoning tourists.

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He is waiting to be quietly discovered in the middle of a quiet night, where he sits and contemplates the uncontemplatable and thinks the private thoughts we all have the right to think, too

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© Jim Reed 2024 A.D.

BEING PRIVY TO THE PRIVILEGED PRIVACY OF THE PRIVY

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Listen to Jim’s podcast on Youtube:

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Life, actually…

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BEING PRIVY TO THE PRIVILEGED PRIVACY OF THE PRIVY

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I was brought up in a two-bedroom asbestos-shingled bungalow housing two parents and four brothers and sisters, and me.

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Sounds crowded, but we didn’t know it.

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My younger younger brother, Tim, slept in the den (where books and television and dining room and family room mingled), my older younger brother, Ronny, slept on the bottom bunk and I on the top bunk of our own bedroom, older sister Barbara slept in a room that was once our paneled-in front porch, and younger sister Rosi occupied Barbara’s room, then our bedroom, once we elder kids up and moved away.

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Our parents had their own bedroom.

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So, we made do. And it all seemed perfectly natural.

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But the one sacred room in the house was our sole bathroom.

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It was the primp room, the reading room, the telephone booth (our single phone cord reached from the hallway into the bathroom)…the only place any member of the family could disappear into for a little privacy.

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The primary challenge was timing.

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In order to escape the merry chaos of seven people and assorted visiting pets and friends and neighbors and relatives was to find the bathroom vacant and maximize your private time. That’s why the bathroom always housed books and magazines and notepads. It was the only place you didn’t risk having somebody look over your shoulder.

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All spaces were small, in that little home on Eastwood Avenue in Tuscaloosa, Alabama. You learned to get a lot done in a tiny area…and to this day, I tend to work within a few square feet, no matter how much space is at my disposal. I surround myself with books and diaries and papers and magazines and keepsakes wherever I am.

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I even write and edit and record my voice in small spaces—it just doesn’t feel right, sitting in the middle of a large, vacant room with plenty of stretch space. It’s not quite as extreme as hunching over your food, prisoner-like, guarding your plate on three sides, but it is the way I’ve survived all these years.

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Five out of the seven of us Reeds are what you call introverts. For instance, I take my privacy with me wherever I go. Even in a crowded room, you’ll often find me in a corner looking at books or examining artifacts or talking with just one person at a time.  Two of us introvert Reeds are performers, so sometimes you’ll see us entertaining large groups of people and mistake us for extroverts. Not so. We’re merely performers, actors. I am comfortable in front of a crowd when they’re all paying attention, when they have brought me in to entertain. It’s exhilarating. But, in the true tradition of introversion, it’s also exhausting.

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After a performance, I re-charge by being alone and quiet.

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All these years, I’ve been grateful for learning at the age of 13 that I was an actor, performer, public speaker at heart. This skill enables an otherwise shy person to excite crowds and classrooms—easy to do, so long as I know that I can ride away afterward, saying, as the Lone Ranger used to comment to his companion, “Our job is done here. Let’s go!”

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It also allows me to run a very public bookstore and love it. I can perform for each customer, one on one or in groups, playing the part of  kindly old book dealer. Then, I can go home to my quietness and re-charge for the next day.
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Because of who I am, because of how I was raised, I have the best of both worlds. I’m able to be alone anywhere anytime, whether or not I am with people…and I’m able to switch on, enjoy, joke with and entertain whenever I feel like it.

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I get my jollies, then ride off into the sunset. Or hide out in the privy

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© Jim Reed 2024 A.D.

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