Monthly Archives: October 2025

THE HALLOWEEN THAT ALMOST NEVER WAS BUT COULD HAVE BEEN

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Hear Jim’s 3-minute podcast on Youtube: https://youtu.be/pfrq9Xzkn2o

or read the transcript below:

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Life, actually…

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THE HALLOWEEN THAT ALMOST NEVER WAS BUT COULD HAVE BEEN

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     I’m meandering the ever-changing aisles of a bargain chain store after work, trolling for Halloween candy with which to bribe any would-be evildoers who appear on our porch on The Night.

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Since we live in Norman Bates’ mother’s house, a beautiful 120-year-old carpenter gothic dwelling that fits us like an old shoe, I am constantly aware that we may or may not see trick-or-treaters this week.

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Some years, the ‘hood is too bereft of children and too daunting to parents who are afraid to drive down an unfamiliar street situated in the heart of the far past.

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Other years, parents are brave and adventuresome and bring their kids to see what’s what, in a community that just might nourish ghosts and notions about ghosts.

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    This makes my discount store task easy. Just in case nobody rings the bell this year, I stock up on goodies that Liz and I won’t mind having around—stuff we ourselves like.

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I pick up a bag of candy corn, but it tastes of Clorox and a bit of staleness, so I’ll have to find another brand in another place on another day.

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I get Reese’s Cups for Liz so that I can always tell from her peanut butter breath when she’s been into the stash. I buy a dark chocolate goodie because she loves that stuff. I pick up some small candy bars mixed together in a variety pack and try not to eat all the Mounds Bars on the way home.

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    By Halloween, we’ll be all set for the kids. I’m dressed as the weird-looking bearded geezer I am, just to play along—for me, it’s a come-as-you-are Halloween event. Liz dresses like the smiling and sweet and always-interested-in-kids person she is—she’s ready to play all year long.

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    Will the Munchkins come and will we see our fair share of Star Wars characters and princesses and zombie dudes and Bat Man midgets, or will we be sick to our stomachs by trick time, having eaten all that candy ourselves?

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Even wizards and dragons and bump-in-the-night creatures don’t know for sure.

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Stay tuned

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      © Jim Reed 2025

COWLICK BLUES

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Hear Jim’s 4-minute audio podcast:

https://youtu.be/Z_SMHqWgBKg

or read his transcript below:

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Life, actually…

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COWLICK BLUES

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Seeing as how long-buried childhood memories linger and magnify as the seasons speed past, my red clay diary is once again victim of the words that tumble out…

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Just as the 1950s rise and capture the world, I am barely a decade old today. I am gazing into the fogged bathroom lavatory mirror, attempting to tame a forehead cowlick.

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I still have hair back then.

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During this era of growth spurts, cowlicks take on an enormous importance. The idea of good grooming looms over me. Even though I am not quite sure what good grooming is.

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I do not actually know how I look to other people at age ten. Each passing reflection reveals a different version of yours truly. I don’t know which version depicts the real thing to onlookers.

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Since I cannot view the back of my head, l concentrate on what is visible. Forehead (yikes! a looming pimple!), eyes (I can only see my direct gaze, no idea how eyes look from a sideview.), mouth (chapped lips I understand), chinny chin chin (Where’s that dimple that’s supposed to make me look like a movie star?), teeth (gaps and enamel, gums and tongue), eyebrows (Do I look cooler if I raise one slightly?), runny nose (too big? too small? too wimpy?).

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And so on.

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When you’re ten with no duties and appointments and responsibilities eating up your schedule, this is one of the last years you can laze about and ponder such silly things as whether that stubborn cowlick will ever be tamed.

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I re-gaze into the mirror.

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The cowlick seems large and obvious to the world. Will people stare? Will they laugh? Will they feel sorry for me? Do they already shun me?

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“There goes that neighborhood boy with that grotesque cowlick.”

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I comb my hair, add a dab of Wildroot Cream-Oil Hair Tonic (“It’s made with soothin’ lanolin.”). I wonder whether I look more like Fearless Fosdick than Jim Reed.

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I wonder for a moment whether the hair tonic will divert attention from the cowlick.

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Being ten years of age, these enormous ideas and ruminations disappear in a jiffy as soon as I exit the bathroom, grab a piece of buttered toast and issue forth into the small front-yard world of whoever I wish to pretend to be this beautiful sunshined morning.

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Playmates await, redbugs pounce, the milk delivery truck revs up from the next block over, and my imaginary world once more garners all remaining attention.

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In the rush of oncoming playground projects, cowlicks and pimples and raised eyebrows mean nothing.

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Now I can just be a kid who never once noticed a mirror

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© 2025 A.D. by Jim Reed

 

LEGO MY JACKS AND SET ME FREE TO TRIP UP THE WORLD

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Hear Jim’s story: https://youtu.be/wEegSYk_b64

or read his transcript below:

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Life, actually…

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LEGO MY JACKS AND SET ME FREE TO TRIP UP THE WORLD

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“Ow!”

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The hardwood floor vibrates as a heavy foot hops.

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“Ouch!”

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There’s that adult voice bellowing pain, bouncing off the plaster ceiling of our tiny home many decades ago.

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I’m in deep trouble, so I slouch my way into the living room to find my mother sitting and rubbing her foot.

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Mom frowns at me, “Somebody left your sister’s jacks on the floor!”

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I am the only kid on hand. I have to take the heat.

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You see, my trusty Reader, this incident happened so long ago I’ve lost count. But it has a familiar ring.

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I recall loving parents carefully instructing small children to pick up their Legos and place them at a safe distance from adult bare feet. This is very recent.

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Hard plastic Legos and other improvised prickly devices (IPDs?) such as six-pointed jacks hide out under chairs and beds and counters and tv trays. Just waiting to attract human fragility. They tend to wax and wane as fashions visit and revisit.

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Fortunately for kids, there’s always some newfangled toy on the market to replace hidden Legos and jacks and Tinkertoys and Erector sets and Lincoln Logs and marbles and toy soldiers.

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There is always something available to attract tender feet.

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Maybe the Ouch! and Ow! exclamations are part of the game, the game of scattering tiny landmines onto unsuspecting floors for the entertainment of small kids who just want to see what happens next when playtime turns boring.

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I suppose IPDs will always be around. Just as long as self-entertaining young’uns strew their gags and gadgets onto fertile territory

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© Jim Reed 2025 A.D.