Monthly Archives: October 2024

WATCH OUT! ONE MORE DOWN-SOUTH BOOK IS ABOUT TO LAUNCH ITSELF

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Hear Jim’s 3-minute podcast at https://youtu.be/VnHy-Q0b0ms

or read his transcript below:

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Life, actually…

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WATCH OUT!

ONE MORE DOWN-SOUTH BOOK IS ABOUT TO LAUNCH ITSELF 

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Not so long ago, I published a book of random leftover thoughts that didn’t make it into  previous books. The book was called WHAT I SAID. It was fun to see people’s reactions to the original bits and pieces that leapt out of my mind over the years. It is filled with ideas mad, sad, glad, bad, silly, profound, stupid, wise.

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I thought it was done, this volume of going-nowhere notes. But after the book made its rounds, the thoughts kept coming. I could not stop my brain. So, next week, yet another book will go to press, a sequel called WHAT MORE CAN I SAY?

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Here are some lines that will appear in the new book:

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Page 6. Everything happens for no particular reason.

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Page 7. A galoot is someone who does not know what a galoot is.

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Page 8. Someday I’d like to gather a bunch of artists’ collages

and turn them into old magazines.

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Page 16. Profusely equals exactly how many?

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Page 19. How does a snail know when it has a runny nose?

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Page 20. I look forward to the day First Place comes in Second.

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Page 22. A trash can is actually a time capsule.

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Had enough? The book contains hundreds of unpredictable thoughts. I am giving you a heads-up in case you want to run for cover before it comes out.

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As a bonus today, here are some more:

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Page 25. I just realized that sooner is sooner than sooner or later.

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Page 29. Boarding the asylum elevator, he found himself ascending into madness.

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Page 32. When applauding, you get a better sound by using both hands.

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Page 49. Sometimes I’m wishy, other times I’m washy.

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Page 53. It is high time we re-invented the wheel.

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Wish me luck

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© 2024 A.D. by Jim Reed

BARNEY FIFE BECOMES WYATT EARP RIGHT BEFORE MY EYES

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LISTEN TO JIM: https://youtu.be/6W2RlgQ9tDU

OR READ ON…

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Life, actually…

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BARNEY FIFE BECOMES WYATT EARP RIGHT BEFORE MY EYES

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The behatted security guard stands stolid at his post, at full attention, totally focused on mission. He is there at the corner each morning for all passersby to ponder.

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In his hand is a Starbucks product, something to hold on to besides his weapon, which is neatly side-strapped and loaded for action. His dark eyeglasses perfectly match the starched and pressed khaki uniform and perfectly perched Smoky Bear hat.

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He is one notch braver than Sheriff Andy, one degree below freewheeling Dirty Harry, firmly entrenched in his stoic protector image, embedded in his role as Defender of the Bank.

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The Writer who passes by each day is like most folks in his reaction to the officer.

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Seeing him each day, perception changes in an orderly fashion.

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Here’s the order.

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1.  At first, he looks silly and out of place. In a neighborhood known for its eclectic populace—tattoo parlor right across the street, walls and alleys of graffiti everywhere, a beautiful and poetic water fountain nearby hosting panhandlers and the homeless as well as smiling tourists and over-the-mountaineers who are here to eat high and then maybe get high later, bored teenagers looking for what they wish they knew they were looking for, intellectual occupiers, new-age dreamers, clueless pedestrians, fearful drive-bys on their way someplace else, worldly shop-owners, vacuous police officers, bright and alert CAP officers, city workers…they are all intermingling and drifting past this neatly pressed officer of the law.

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2.  As you see him each day, each week, each month, he begins to look different. His belt-overhanging gut begins to seem appropriate to his loyalty to the corner, his hat is suddenly perceived as just the right hat with the just the right tilt, just the right fit, just the right symbol of dormant authority. His coffee cup is a compromise between doughnuts and diner hangout, his uniform looks like it belongs there, his demeanor again rises just above Andy, but now just below a modern-day Wyatt Earp.

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3.  After a while, this corner-protector becomes a symbol of stability and gentility, a throwback to the weaving chaos of Five Points South. The protector may be a mere bank employee whose job is to symbolize safety and dependability, but his presence is now morphed and iconic, what we expect  to see every day, a touchstone of reality in a Jello based world.

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We could use a few more street-based protectors around the rampant city—you know, officers who actually walk  the beat, merchants who dare to step outside their shops, blinking at the sun and showing us they are part of the ‘hood, elected city officials who actually dare to spend their wages inside the city instead of escaping to the shopping mall ‘burbs each night.

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I’m present here in the city, so is the protector, so are the people both enfranchised and disenfranchised. We want you to brave the city streets, too—and get to know these passing spirits as real and necessary beings.

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Y’all give it a try, you hear

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© 2024 A.D. by Jim Reed 

SMILES THAT DIM THE SUNLIGHT

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Catch Jim’s 4-minute podcast on youtube: https://youtu.be/Jwmr-IIBbfY

 or read the transcript below:

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Life, actually…

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SMILES THAT DIM THE SUNLIGHT

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Here’s something to ponder. That is, here’s something to ponder if you happen to be in a pondering mood.

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I’m about to ponder, so let this be a warning to you. If this is not your Ponder Day, maybe you can avoid a preponderance of ponder by skipping today’s Red Clay Diary. There may be much better ways to spend the next four minutes.

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For us, the stragglers who decide to stick around and see what the Reed guy has to say, here it is:

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I am squinting at the front door of my little bookshop. Squinting because the outside sunlight behind an entering customer is brighter than the customer herself. I can’t make her out against the competing glare.

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Still, I do what I think is the right and polite thing to do, I greet the customer with a smile and a “How are you today?”

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The customer scours the merry clutter of the store to locate the source of my genetically deep and loud voice.

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She spies me, then responds to the friendliness within my words. Suddenly the light of day reverses itself. That’s because her smile dims all sunlight and brightens her surroundings. Sunlight is secondary for a moment.

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“I’m fine, how are you?” she replies.

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“I feel great because I’m in a bookstore,” I say.

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She adds a giggle of recognition to her smile and begins her awe-filled journey into the interior, her smile illuminating the darkened aisles.

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As all book people are aware, there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in most philosophies. (My apologies to Billy Shakespeare.)

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I am taken by this person’s smile. I am taken aback. I am reminded of all the many smiles, light and dark, broad and fleeting, slow and startling, joy-filled and slightly sad, self-conscious and uninhibited…all the many smiles that have graced my life throughout these flowing years.

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This customer’s smile reminds me that I have not always taken time to appreciate the unconscious gifts of happiness that visitors offer me. How could they possibly realize the effect of these smiles on people like me?

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A natural and spontaneous smile contains more uplifting data than a thousand words of cheer could ever absorb. No preparation or editing required. No apologies or clarifications needed. No politics or wayward beliefs need intrude. No challenges or arguments or explanations are on the agenda.

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Just a good smile.

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I don’t need an interpretation or explanation or retraction. I just need to enjoy the smile, enjoy the effects of the smile, enjoy the moment no-one can take away from me.

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Is this too thoughty to ponder today? Or is it OK to take a mo’ and simply recognize the smiles that are dormant within us? Is it OK to grant permission to the interior smile, permission to surface, take over the face, turn the frown upside down? Just smile?

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I’ve had my say. Now I think I will take a few seconds to appreciate the Land of Smiles. Now I can hope that, despite all disturbances to the contrary, you, too, can be amazed at how easily that buried smile can rise up and give you hope, if only in your dreams

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© 2024 A.D. by Jim Reed

PARALLEL PARKING A PORTA-JOHN

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Catch Jim’s Red Clay Diary podcast at https://youtu.be/DT12u58CyL4

or enjoy the transcript, below…

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Life, actually…

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PARALLEL PARKING A PORTA-JOHN

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After all these years living here in my Down South village, I have learned not to be surprised by just about anything that happens.

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In fact, if something not surprising takes place, I find myself taking a second look to see whether there is a hidden surprise at the bottom of the box. I remember the days when a new Cracker Jack box always contained a swell toy, a fun collectible toy. That shows you how aged I must be.

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My biggest and final Cracker Jack surprise came the day the prizes disappeared, replaced by attorney-approved harmless and boring little squares of paper that seemed to be telling me, FOOLED YOU!

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I miss those Cracker Jack surprises.

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Today, as I turn the main street downtown corner on the way to work, orange construction signs and barriers abound. There’s always something.

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I weave my way through an array of service vehicles and flashing lights and find a parking spot almost in front of the bookshop. The only thing keeping me from landing directly in front of the shop is a parked porta-john.

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I parallel park in the marked space, admiring how neatly the porta-john in front of me is situated. And I wonder whether village street workers have to take lessons in how to parallel park a porta-john.

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Silly boy, I think to myself. I’ll never unravel the porta-john mystery because there are way too many questions to ask. Such as, how long will the porta-john grace the space in front of the shop, should I triage customers to the porta-john if the shop restroom is occupied, shall I post a Reed Books sign turning the metal obelisk into a useful billboard, does a street worker feed coins into the meter every two hours, will the local predatory tow-away company remove the porta-john if it parks too long?

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This is heady stuff to ponder on an otherwise routine day.

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Well, there is no such thing as a routine day in my little section of Down South. It is best to grab  a soft drink, take a deep breath and watch for the next surprise-free surprise.

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I have never been a bartender but I may know how one feels. If you are sole proprietor of a bar or a bookshop, you do not have the luxury of delegating difficult duties to someone else. The plight stops here and you have to deal with it regardless of knowledge or skill.

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For instance, a young women enters the shop, wanders around for an unusual amount of time and winds up lying on the floor to thumb through a book, all the while blocking other customers from browsing.

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When I lightheartedly suggest she make room for others she smiles sweetly and says, “No.” I try again, politely. She again says No and spread-eagles, making a considerable part of the store impassable.

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This is what I mean by bartending and bookkeeping. You have to find a peaceful way to solve a problem without risking offending other customers, without coming across as a jerk, without escalating the situation, without creating problems both legal and time-consuming.

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I am up to the task. I act as if this is just part of my day. I take action…

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What would you do?

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I guess learning to parallel park a porta-john is easy compared to this

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© 2024 A.D. by Jim Reed