Catch Jim Reed’s Red Clay Diary 3-minute podcast: https://youtu.be/9HO3b6u9yig

or read the transcript below:

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Life, actually…

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A TASTE OF COOL CLEAR WATER

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Cousin Little Pat Hassell is slowly pulling an old rope downward, leaning over the side of a deep front-yard well. As he pulls, a clunking sound from below signals the ascension of a wooden bucket filled with water.

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Eight-year-old Jimmy Three watches coverall-clad Little Pat as he labors to secure the bucket, swings it to rest on the edge of the well, then reaches for a large ladle.

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We’re back in actual time now, some seventy-five years ago. Jimmy Three and Little Pat stand in sight of a breezeway clapboard family home on the North River  of Tuscaloosa County.

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The well is the source of all water for the Hassell family. Jimmy Three is just visiting. A nearby outhouse stands guard, as does a grunting plow mule and Aunt Dinah’s simmering collard greens.

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Jimmy Three licks his lips in preparation for the well water that he considers to be magical, coming from the depths of the earth and all. At home across the Black Warrior River, Jimmy’s family has indoor plumbing, thus indoor running water on tap at all

times—no effort required.

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This is like being a Davy Crockett explorer, this retrieval of deep water from the original source. He learns later that Davy himself once explored the North River country and entertained the idea of settling down here. That did not work out, but the pioneers and Indian tribes who populated the area did drink the same water that Little-Pat and Jimmy Three are about to drink.

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The ladle is full of cool, clear water. Nothing ever tasted as good as this water. Jimmy savors its fullness, its heft, as he glugs.

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Little-Pat does the same, but in a more routine fashion. This is an everyday occurrence for him, a once-a-year adventure for Jimmy Three.

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For the rest of his childhood, in fact for the rest of his life, Jimmy Three will cherish this baptism from sacred groundwater.

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Whenever he slurps from a public fountain, sips from a garden hose, peers into a plastic restaurant cup of suspicious fluid, grabs a convenience store bottle of unknown-sourced refreshment…whenever he splatters his face in the wee morning hours, whenever he tilts an earthen mug, whenever he wonders how all those fizzy bubbles showed up in that cola…he recalls the North River and Little Pat and deep dark places where water hides out.

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All this time later the grown-up Jimmy Three is still momentarily captured by memories past whenever he hears the Sons of the Pioneers sing,

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“Can ya see that big, green tree where the water’s runnin’ free? And it’s waiting there for you and me? Water, cool clear water.”

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The squeak and clunk of rope and bucket remain sweet music just in time to take me back to the loving protection of memories that refuse to go away

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© 2025 A.D. by Jim Reed

Catch Jim’s 3-minute podcast at https://youtu.be/4Upi-kTkOHo

or read his transcript below:

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Life, actually…

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SHARING OUR LOAD SIDE BY SIDE

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“Oh we ain’t got a barrel of money, maybe we’re ragged and funny,

But we’ll travel along, singing a song, side by side.”

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I am plying my trade at the pc keyboard. Trying to make sense or silliness of the world around me.

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Either will do for now, you know. If I can’t delve deeply and discover the good the gooder and the goodest in life, at least I can search for silliness and a good laugh.

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Sometimes silliness and a good laugh will guide me through the day.

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“Through all kinds of weather, what if the sky should fall,
Just as long as we’re together, it doesn’t matter at all.”

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That song, that song. It keeps circulating through my daily activities. It is reaching out. Maybe it wants to tell me something.

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It does go on.

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“When they’ve all had their troubles and parted,
We’ll be the same as we started,
Just trav’ling along, singing our song, side by side.”

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At last it occurs to me that this is an old, old, 1920s song. A cheer-up song. A merry-distraction song.

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And now I recall the best performance of this song I ever witnessed.

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It is grammar-school time in my life, a time so far back that you could not possibly have been present to witness it. Here’s what I remember:

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Schoolmates Betty Jean Raiford and Betsy Boyer are all decked out for a short show they are about to perform right in front of the classroom of small students such as me.

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They wear coveralls and straw hats and imagine themselves to be merry hoboes on their way to who knows.

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Betty and Betsy are dancing and singing this old song. It is fun and funny.

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Here’s the best part: It’s bunches of decades later and I still remember the lyrics and the dancers and the schoolroom and the slanted wooden desks. I still feel the electricity in the air, the toothy smiles of the best-friends-for-life duo, the sound of soft hands applauding.

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Whatever happened to the bandanna-wrapped walking stick these merry hoboes waved about during their skit?

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Anyhow, Betty and Betsy did a good thing that day so long ago. They created a fond memory for me. A fond memory I can recall anytime I please.

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Incidentally, Betty Jean Raiford and Betsy Boyer remain best friends to this day. They are still a great team though they live far, far apart.

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All my far-back pals and playmates and friends still run amok and amuck in soggy, happy old memories, side by side by side.

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They can’t become mortal and finite because I won’t let them

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© 2025 A.D. by Jim Reed

Visit Jim Reed’s Red Clay Diary at https://youtu.be/ZbcLI9F1NwM

or read the transcript below:

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Life, actually…

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SPAM: THE FINAL FRONTIER

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It is one of those make-do nights in my Down South home.

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The refrigerator is filled with stragglers from dinners past. Now that the family is fed, it is my time to determine what is edible for me. Time to pick through what’s left and prepare something for my dining pleasure.

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What’s here?

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There is always mayonnaise. I retrieve it and place it on the stove counter.

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Some peanut butter rests next to the sink. It goes next to the mayo.

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Let’s see…there is a semi-ripe banana within easy reach. I could use that.

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Lettuce. Hmm…is there usable lettuce in the crisper? Yep, here’s a wedge. It clusters next to the other victuals awaiting their lonely fates.

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OK, what else will satisfy me on the run? My main criterion is to feel temporarily full, so what can I add to the mix?

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Half a loaf of seed-strewn brown bread is hiding behind a block of butter in the fridge.

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Two slices coming up.

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Wife Liz is munching on her own leftover meal and warily observing my meanderings.

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She is a patient soul.

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Shall I add marmalade? Nope, not this time.

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I grab a can of dried fried onions from the wall cabinet, place it in the display.

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What about salami? Nope, my stomach is not as tough as it used to be.

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I find a small red plate and place it on the counter, arrange side-by-side two slices of seedy bread.

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Next I kitchen-knife a dollop of mayo and spread it evenly onto one slice. Using a second knife, I drop a hunk of peanut butter onto the other slice and caulk the surface.

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With yet a third knife I peel and slice the banana, then row up the mushy circles onto the peanut butter.

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A couple of lettuce leaves top the peanut butter and banana disks.

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Where was I?

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Oh, a sprinkling of onions will add crunch to the meal. And maybe a palmful of shredded cheese I just remembered to fetch from the crisper.

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I glance at Liz, who is successfully not verging on nausea.

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I pick up one slice of bread, flip it face-down onto the other slice. Yet another knife is employed to slice the sandwich into four symmetrical finger foods.

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I generously offer Liz one of the mini-snacks, she politely declines.

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Now I grab my nearby fizzy drink and transport the red plate and myself into the studio, where we will eat side-by-side, chat about the day, enjoy each other’s company, and marvel over the fact that we can still appreciate our mutually exclusive eating habits.

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Damn! I suddenly remember that there is a can of Spam in the pantry. Guess I’ll save it for another day. I can only push the relationship so far

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 © 2025 A.D. by Jim Reed

Catch Jim’s 3-minute podcast at https://youtu.be/wbtKFmcZRn8

or read the transcript below:

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Life, actually…

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BIG BOTHER IS WATCHING ME

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As a big-hearted and lovely region of the country, My Down South manages to escape some of the steamrolling distractions that chase the day-to-day quest for peace and quiet and smooth sailing I hunger for.

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As Mister Cool himself, Ferris, said, “Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.”

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Noticing can make my day a tiny bit better.

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I discard most of my random thoughts as being, well, random. Random and useless. But now and then I listen to the Voices, just to see if anything new vies for attention.

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For instance, it feels good to believe what it is convenient to believe, even if it is fake. No joke. This is a thought deserving a second take. Quick, before it sinks: Sometimes it is good to believe something just because it is convenient and pleasant, even though deep inside I know it to be temporary and rather worthless.

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Another passing fancy: Today is the day when happening almost happens. You know, what I want to happen, what I am certain will happen, simply does not happen—at least for today. I can live with that.

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