Listen to Jim’s 3-minute podcast:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=scE5Qfu3LOg

or read his story below:

THE NEGATORY WARS

“How are you today?” I ask one customer at the bookshop.

“Well, pretty good,” he replies. A beat passes, he grins and continues, “I woke up in my right mind!”

After he shops, purchases a book and exits the store, I have a moment to think about what he said, “I woke up in my right mind.”

There are times…

There are times I do not wake up in my right mind. At those times, slumber has lowered my protections against the Negatories, those mischievous critters that inhabit and invade my saner proclivities and attempt to do them harm. I need my finer proclivities—how else will I get through the day in one peace of mind?

How else will I wake up in my right mind?

Negatories have one primary goal: Find the underside of every good inclination and dampen it just enough to create a smattering of fear and loathing.

Sometimes, Negatories are not just the critters in my head. There is evidence that they reside in other peoples’ heads, too. Check out the internet at any split moment and you’ll find proof.

Anyhow, I deal with these Negatories constantly. They are particularly active during moments of vulnerability–and during that curious period between sleep and the daily awakening.

How do I fight my way past the early morning Negatories and wend my way to bathroom and shower-singing and activities of day-long living?

Well, this morning, as my eyelids flutter and test the bedroom, as I lie here dismissing dreams and retrieving consciousness and preparing to make the Big Decision, I am working on winning the current Negatory war. One good thought is slapped around by all the downsides. Then, I challenge a downer of a thought by daring to impose an upside idea.

It goes on like this for a period of time—two Negatories for every positive, then two positives to face two Negatories, then on to three positives for every Negatory…

Eventually, the Big Decision is made. Negatories retreat to their dank caverns, positives prevail, I fling aside sheet and comforter and quilt and land feet first on the hardwood floor…and I’m off and running, motivated by air chill and bladder and sunlight.

I won’t even think about those naughty Negatories for another twenty-four hours. But rest assured, they will be there. Waiting for my attention lapse. Thinking they can win next time.

This pervasive cycle is silly and serious at the same time. But here I am, so guess who won this round

© Jim Reed 2018 A.D.

jim@jimreedbooks.com

http://www.jimreedbooks.com

http://www.jimreedbooks.com/podcast

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Listen to Jim’s podcast:

http://redclaydiary.com/mp3/gnatsandnoseeums.mp3

or read his story below:

GNATS AND NO-SEE-UMS FAIL TO CONQUER THE WORLD

Grand Master of All Things Thinkable speaks to Uninitiated Student:

“You say, oh Student, that your life is hard.” He gently turns to gaze into Student’s eyes.

“Yes, Grand Master, my life is hard,” replies Uninitiated Student, unable to return the gaze for fear of faltering or seeming weak.

“What is hard about your life?” Grand Master wrinkles his brow and pays close attention.

“I am poor.”

“Hmm. Tell me the other hard things.”

Student replies, “I am afraid. I am not brave. I am small of stature. I am not strong.” He pauses as if that’s the entire list.

Grand Master ponders a moment, then, “If I tell you I am about to die of thirst because I have never been instructed as to how to drink from a cup of tea, what would be your reaction?”

Student is startled that his opinion is being asked for. “Er, I do not want you to starve.”

“If you do not wish for me to die of thirst, will you first take a long time to list your fears and weaknesses and tribulations, and fret about them?”

Student speaks quickly before thinking. “No! I would lift your cup of tea to your lips and help you drink.”

Grand Master looks surprised. “What? What happened to your worries and fears? Are they not the most important things in your mind?”

“Uh, I did not stop to think about that before replying,” Student says.

“Do you mean that your concerns are suddenly less pronounced? And if so, why is that  happening?”

Student seems energized, not as diffident as when first in the presence of Grand Master. “Well, my first concern is with your thirst and your lack of skill in addressing your thirst.”

“You mean your immediate challenge takes precedent over your earlier concerns?”

Uninitiated Student brightens up. “Yes. Yes!”

Grand Master of All Things Thinkable gestures to dismiss Student. “Our lesson will continue another day.” He glances into the eyes of Student and asks, “What do you think the subject of Lesson Two will be?”

Uninitiated Student’s mind is racing now. He hesitates, then speaks.

“I believe Lesson Two will involve my instructing you as to how to drink a cup of tea without assistance.”

Grand Master looks pleased and waves Student away.

Lesson One is over

© Jim Reed 2017 A.D.

jim@jimreedbooks.com

http://www.jimreedbooks.com

http://www.jimreedbooks.com/podcast

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Listen to Jim’s podcast;

 http://redclaydiary.com/mp3/hugwithcare.mp3

or read his story below:

NEW YEAR’S RESOLUTION: HUG WITH CARE 

I am a hugger.

Not a mugger, not a lugger, not a slugger…but a hugger.

I generally keep my emotional and/or physical distance from strangers, but when I really like somebody, and when it’s safe to do so, I tend to greet them with a hug—or at least a handshake.

Over the decades, I’ve evolved. One of the few advantages of aging is that I now see patterns in things, cause-and-effect phenomena in things…so that my behavior has subtly shifted.

Some things I’ve learned about hugging:

1. Some people respond readily to a quick hug and seem flushed with pleasure at this nice surprise.

2. Some people respond but quickly back away, as if they don’t know what to do after a hug.

3. Some people stiffen and don’t respond to the hug. These are folks I won’t hug again, unless they initiate.

4. Some people back away and will do anything to avoid a hug in the first place.

5. Some people hug a little too long and make me want to back away.

6. Some people, at first reluctant at each hug, now approach me as if they will actually miss the hug if I don’t provide it.

7. Some guys are huggable, but others try to avoid it because, well, they don’t think it’s guyish. These are often older or elderly guys, whose generation doesn’t cater to this kind of behavior.

8. Some people exude a kind of sensuousness when I hug them, so I tend not to try to hug them again, lest something be misinterpreted. This used to occur a lot more when I was young…with sometimes pleasant results. No more—I’ve been happily monogamous for more than four decades.

Even after studying hugging for sixty years, I still don’t know why most huggers pat each other on the back. Maybe it’s a kind of sign language that says, “Just hugging! Nothing more is meant!”

Anyhow, there’s lots of horror and sorrow and grief in the world that’s beyond my control. Maybe hugging is something I can do that reminds me that people can be pleasant to one another, even when they can’t think of anything comforting to say aloud

© Jim Reed 2017 A.D. 

jim@jimreedbooks.com

http://www.jimreedbooks.com

http://www.jimreedbooks.com/podcast

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Listen to Jim’s Christmas podcast:

http://redclaydiary.com/mp3/ifonlyinmydreams.mp3

or read on…

IF ONLY IN MY DREAMS

This is the home stretch.

It’s the time of year when all your feelings get jumbled together and you really don’t know what to feel except nervous, excited and oh I don’t know, maybe even thrilled.

You know you want to get a lot of good stuff for Christmas, but you also know that you shouldn’t feel too excited about just getting instead of giving…you know you want to give something to people you love or people you want to impress or people you know are probably going to give you something back, but you also know that there’s something vaguely sinful-feeling about just wanting to give for the sake of what you’re going to be given.

You read all those stories about Christmastime charity and how nice it is to give of yourself and your time and even of your money to those who won’t ever be able to repay you, but you also would like to get a bunch of nice things that remind you of the best Christmases you ever had.

You always want people to kind of read your mind and give you just the perfect gift that takes you back to your best years, but you don’t even know how to express this to them and so you just go on feeling like the best part of Christmas is the anticipation, the wanting part…not the actual getting and giving part.

You may even remember the few times in your life that you secretly gave something to someone who needed it and never ever let them know that it was you who did it. You remember the mixed feelings you had about that—how you knew it was blessed to give anonymously, but also how you wished you knew for sure that you were going to get credit for the deed in some celestial Big Book in the Sky.

You also know that you will never know for certain whether you’ll get credit for deeds like that, and it’s that special tension created out of this confusion that makes you much more alert and wired at this time of year.

And best of all, you also know deep deep down inside you that the best Christmases you’ve ever had or ever will have are those Christmases that exist in your memories and in your future hopes.

As the Grinch learned almost too late, Christmas happens whether or not there’s lots of getting and receiving and gimme-ing.

I hope this helps you know that there are others who are ambivalent about Christmas and about the spirit of giving and getting.

And know this, too: the best part of you is the part that is willing to admit ambivalence and is willing to struggle to walk the tightrope that carefully and precariously balances you between total selfishness and total martyrdom. You just happen to be human

 © 2017 A.D. by Jim Reed

jim@jimreedbooks.com

http://www.jimreedbooks.com

http://www.jimreedbooks.com/podcast

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Listen to Jim’s podcast:

http://redclaydiary.com/mp3/rollyerown.mp3

or read his tale below:

ROLL YER OWN AND REACH FOR YER SIX-SHOOTER, MATEY

A memory from twenty years back, when I am spending a week in the United Kingdom: 

I am standing outside a classroom on the Royal Holloway college campus near Egham, England.

It is tea time, so sessions have paused in mid-flight.

I’m sipping tea in typical American fashion–without the cream–and my scholarly British comrade has just put his teacup and saucer down on top of a marble container that reads, “CIGARETTE ENDS.” That’s so he can pull a bag of tobacco out of his pocket, along with some small tissues.

He begins to roll his own cigarette.

It’s something I haven’t seen anybody do since I was a child.

Back then, my uncles would roll their own with Prince Albert tobacco–and there’s never been a more skill-laden ritual. Of course, the ritual was taken one step higher in the western movies we saw as kids–cowboys and tough guys would roll their own cigarettes, using only one hand, the other hand ready at all times to draw a six-shooter from a shiny leather holster, if the need arose.

I remember watching one of my classmates in eighth grade perform the same feat–a feat so astonishing that it could only be rivaled by magicians and guys who could spit great distances from between clinched teeth.

We kid about it, my British scholar friend and I. He says he’s never been able to roll his smokes with one hand, but that he sure does save a lot of money not purchasing pre-rolled cigarettes. I figure he’s doing himself a favor, anyhow. After all, it would be difficult to chain smoke when you have to go through such an elaborate ritual. By the time you got one cigarette rolled, it’d be time for tea to end!

When teatime does end, we go back to the very serious business of studying H.G. Wells and his life, inside the college building. That’s how I happen to be standing here several time zones away from family and hearth. I’m doing what nerds have done since time began–studying something infinitely fascinating but almost totally useless. Like H.G. Wells and Rolling Your Own. What fun!

But this little twice-a-day ritual of sipping tea and watching someone roll & lick sealed a cigarette is one of those small pleasures that will play itself in my mind for a long time to come, now that I’m safely back in the U.S. with its pre-rolled everything and its inability to take time twice a day for a simple eye-to-eye visit and a singular meditation

 © 2017 A.D. by Jim Reed

jim@jimreedbooks.com

http://www.jimreedbooks.com

http://www.jimreedbooks.com/podcast

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Listen to Jim’s story:

http://redclaydiary.com/mp3/kindlydefeatssnarky.mp3

or read it below:

KINDLY DEFEATS SNARKY BY A HAIR’S BREADTH

It’s confusing some days, being human.

One moment I’m hugging my family and trying to help out by listening carefully. Another moment, I’m thinking something snarky about a dismissive associate. One moment, I’m being critical of the very person I admire. Next moment, I’m feeling sympathy for the dismissive character, trying my best to see things from his point of view.

Throughout my time on Planet Nine, I’m never of one opinion, one attitude. My observations and proclivities hop around, probably dependent upon how comfortable I feel about myself. Probably just a symptom of mishmashed DNA.

Jekyll one time, Hyde the next.

I think about Reverend Harry Powell’s right hand of LOVE versus his left hand of HATE.

I ponder Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s idea of Interrelatedness, his belief that we are all related, the good, the bad, the indifferent…and that we get along much better when we decide to embrace.

I can’t get Atticus Finch’s words out of my kindly-but-snarky mind, “You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view . . . until you climb into his skin and walk around in it.”

Am I naughty and nice all rolled up into a prickly bale? Am I more nice than naughty?

As Bryan Stevenson tries to teach us, “Each of us is more than the worst thing we’ve ever done.”  To paraphrase, each of us is more than the best thing we’ve ever done. We are just plain complicated and contradictory.

My only self-salvation is to try to end each day hoping the good things I’ve accomplished outnumber the snarky things that creep about.

Maybe I should tattoo KINDLY on my right hand, SNARKY on my left, as a constant reminder that I feel better about myself and you and the world itself each time kindly defeats snarky by at least a hair’s breadth

 © 2017 A.D. by Jim Reed

jim@jimreedbooks.com

http://www.jimreedbooks.com

http://www.jimreedbooks.com/podcast

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Listen to Jim’s podcast:

http://redclaydiary.com/mp3/ijustdonatedaspecialmomenttoyou.mp3

or read his tale:

.

I JUST DONATED A SPECIAL MOMENT TO YOU. YOU’RE WELCOME.

Listen to Jim’s podcast:

 http://redclaydiary.com/mp3/SMALLWISDOMSOFTHEREDCLAYHILLS.mp3

or read his diary below:

SMALL WISDOMS OF THE RED CLAY HILLS, THE RED CLAY VALLEYS

The iron man is more than fifty feet tall, so he’s hard to ignore.

Sitting here in my uneasy chair, riffling through pages of a red clay diary, I can see the iron man outside the window, even when not casting my gaze his way. He’s in line of sight so much that I don’t realize I’m observing him. But I do.

This cast iron statue dominates the city and the valley 24/7, which means that locals ignore him. But visitors seeing him for the first time are attracted and puzzled. What’s that big statue all about? they ask.

Out-of-towners meander the streets and byways of the city, trying to find out how to approach the statue. A van full of family pulls up next to me as I pluck a morning newspaper from the front yard.

“Hey, how do I get to that big iron man on the hill?” the driver asks. I know exactly what he’s talking about and point him toward the man of iron’s domain.

Transients have never heard the iron man’s name, so the metal signs pointing to Vulcan Park are no help at all. Only we indigenous denizens know that the statue’s first and last name, his only name, is Vulcan.

Details about Vulcan are readily available to research, so if you do your homework you’ll be well educated. You’ll know more than I.

From my point of view, all I need know is that Vulcan is two years older than my home. He was cast in 1904, my residence was built in 1906. Both have endured storm and temperature and humidity and humiliation and rebirth a few times. But they still stand.

Vulcan’s inanimate gaze takes in everything and nothing, as does my animate gaze. Opening my eyes to the red clay city floods me with thousands of overlapping images that would take a lifetime to describe, a millennium to appreciate, an eon to wholly understand. And even then, the Why would not be clear.

Vulcan is a symbol of what each generation decides to emphasize. My home is an inexplicable sign that many lives have visited and vacated the premises. My easy chair in which red clay rifflings occur is a temporary structure that will persist with or without me.

It’s all like an iron asteroid that flashes nearby, momentarily appreciated, creating stirrings that soon settle and await the puzzlements to come

© Jim Reed 2017 A.D.

 jim@jimreedbooks.com

 http://www.jimreedbooks.com

 http://www.jimreedbooks.com/podcast

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