Tag Archives: nostalgia

Once Upon a Time, Long Before You and Me

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Saturday, October 12, 2013 A.D.

Once upon a time, long before you and me, my mother was born.

Yesterday would have been her 100th birthday.

“WOULD have been her 100th birthday” doesn’t sound exactly right. Actually, it WAS her 100th birthday, she just couldn’t be here to celebrate in person. Or rather, I couldn’t be where she is to celebrate. There are cosmic barriers to such things, you know.

Tomorrow, I will travel to Cuba, Alabama, to visit my mother’s baby sister, Aunt Margaret McGee Hardin. The occasion, husband Uncle Lamar’s 90th birthday, is as good an excuse as any…an excuse to enter the heart of the heart of the Alabama countryside and check up on the Theory of Relativity—that theory being, “In the long run, after all is lived and almost done, it’s Family that matters most, in both memory and reality.” No use trying to escape this theory, because olde times from childhood will not be forgotten, will continue to make themselves  known, will persistently rise up and remind you of your evolution from child of the womb to child of the universe to child of the unknown After Here.

On the way to Aunt Margaret’s home, Liz and I will pick up sister Barbara Reed Partrich at our mother’s home on Old Eastwood Avenue in Tuscaloosa. Barbara has traveled from Columbia, South Carolina, to attend Uncle Lamar’s party.

On the way back from Cuba, maybe the three of us will visit Mom’s burial site to wish her a happy birthday, and stand at the nearby graves of our father and sister Rosi.

We will chat and laugh and reminisce and wipe away an occasional tear, and the lively conversation will include all six of us, since we know in our hearts exactly what Rosi and Mom and Dad would say if we could only hear them.

It will be a nice visit.

And maybe—just maybe—once upon a time in the near future, someone Liz and Barbara and I have left behind will do the same with us, be we coffin-bound or ash-scattered. We’ll be Somewhere Else, but the reunion will be fun anyhow.

At least, maybe the remaining celebrants will get a chuckle out of my epitaph, which will read, NOT EXACTLY WHAT I HAD IN MIND

 

© 2013 A.D. by Jim Reed

jim@jimreedbooks.com

http://www.jimreedbooks.com

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Under the dome of Birmingham: Stalking the elusive mom and pop breakfast places

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The man of a certain age sits alone in the diner, his girth mastering most of the booth space.

He eats his breakfast as if he’s never eaten before, smacking and stuffing and sopping and glugging, like he’s not had a meal for days, though it’s evident that he’s been frequently well-fed and well-groomed. He leans into the food and stuffs away, his blow-dried sprayed whitening hair and monogrammed track pullover shirt quivering in the morning fluorescent light.

He is his own world for a few minutes in the crowded eatery.

Across the room, a mustachioed baseball-capped good ol’ boy with hand in napkinned lap eats mannerly and methodically, gazing all the while into the indiscernable space before him, ignoring the blaring TV set hanging from the ceiling.

Worldly waitresses, ears slanted from cached pencils, skillfully walk the tightrope assigned to their lot—the tightrope walk between appearing simultaneously aloof and chummy, careful to balance the roles of Mom and Flirt and Nurturer and Businesswoman while keeping all these morning shovelers of food happy and distant.

Four elderly men at Table 4 grunt and chat and laugh and tease as they relate oft-repeated stories about how the world is going to hell and how the young people these days…

They are having the best time they’ll have all day, for a smattering of minutes avoiding all responsibility and duty and honey-do tasks which will face them down later in the morning, no matter what.

One four-year-old sits with his grandmother and diligently stabs into waffles and syrup and butter with zeal usually assigned to a nervous dog digging for its favorite bone. In just a few years, he, too, will be trying to find the perfect breakfast place that replicates this perfect childhood experience he’s having right now.

He, like all of us in the diner, is imprinted with the combination of taste, texture, fragrance, feel of what it’s like to be in a safe, familiar, non-threatening place, being cared for by kindly strangers whose only goal is to feed you well and stay out of your way while you soak up all that nurturing atmosphere, the nurturing atmosphere you take with you to start the day right, even if later on, some grumbly non-breakfasted bastard wonders why you’re in a better mood than he is, and tries to take it all away from you

jim@jimreedbooks.com

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HOW TO READ A BOOK

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Things people say about books and the written word:

1.

“I don’t read.” (My brother Ronny states this most emphatically. He explains after noting the alarm on my face:  “I don’t read books. It’s boring. I fall asleep.”  He admits that he reads trade publications, newspapers, the Internet, road signs, instructions, legal notices, spread sheets, etc.—but to him, that doesn’t count as reading. Ronny’s not alone…I hear this statement in one form or another each and every week.

2.

“I only read two books in my life—ALL OVER BUT THE SHOUTIN’ and that Bear Bryant book.”  Here in Alabama, it’s acceptable to brag about not reading books, but the manly thing to do is admit that you will read something by Rick Bragg or something about late Alabama football coach Paul “Bear” Bryant. Rick would have a ready-made audience if he’d write a book about Bear Bryant.

3.

“I’ve been meaning to read some good books, but I can’t start till I’m retired and have the time.”  Kind of like saying you’d like to run the four minute mile but won’t get around to it till you’re 65.

4.

“I plan to read MOBY DICK and James Joyce and Marcel Proust and MEIN KAMPF someday.”  These are at the top of a list entitled, “Books and authors everybody means to read.” Word is out that no-one has ever really finished any of them.

And so on and so forth.

My rant to the non-reader:

Failing to read a good book is like ignoring that beautiful, seductive person sitting in the corner of the room yearning to be noticed and cuddled  and appreciated by you and you alone. To a person who seems oblivious to the gorgeous potential of a great book, I say, “What’s the matter with you?”  Well, I want to say that but don’t.

Mark Twain’s comment remains etched in my mind, “A person who doesn’t read has no advantage over a person who can’t read.”

My judgmental self thankfully remains silent, but I just wish I could inspire you to see books the way I see them.

If the aforementioned beautiful, seductive person sitting in the corner of the room yearning to be noticed and cuddled and appreciated were hidden inside a book, wouldn’t you want to turn the pages, experience the  sensual joy and intellectual excitement of true love, real romance? Especially since the affair would be legal and perfectly acceptable?

Nobody will come to take you away just for reading a book to yourself.

Want to try some delightfully adventurous experiences without getting caught?

Are you listening?

Well, if you’re a non-reader, I know you’re not seeing these words.

Guess  those of us who know how to travel to the Moon and back in an hour without anybody’s knowing it, will just have to be the people who are having all the safe fun.

Sorry you missed out

(c) 2012 A.D. by Jim Reed

http://www.jimreedbooks.com

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PONIES WALK THE STREETS OF BIRMINGHAM

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PONIES WALK THE STREETS OF BIRMINGHAM
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http://jimreedbooks.com/mp3/ponieswalkthestreets.mp3 
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My Red Clay Diary continues to write itself each day. Here are a few things that flashed across my path this week:
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Third Avenue North in front of the shop (Reed Books/The Museum of Fond Memories) has been barren but fun today (Friday). The Jackie Robinson film “42″ is being shot—in part—in Birmingham.
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I’ve met film crew members who became customers (thank goodness! since regular customers were not allowed on the set)…strutted down a street bereft of traffic (going the wrong way on a one-way street—legally—is akin to walking naked down Madison Avenue)…eaten a hotdog prepared by Rhonda at Goodyear Shoe Hospital (Goodyear has been Downtown since 1919 and is still going strong)…discussed Birmingham and its beauty and style with the movie’s artistic director (these folks work really hard—they’ll be filming all night)…been dismayed by the rude attitude of a city employee (no matter how much the City attempts to bring wonderful things like moviemaking and sports to our area, the message never seems to trickle down to most workers, since they are just plain mannerless and humorless)…been delighted at how out-of-towners love our city (“It’s green, architecturally lovely, friendly, and the site of great eateries.”)…been happy to acquire some great books to add to our shelves (a carload came in today and another is due tomorrow).
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And Saturday night, the entire experience was enhanced one degree by John Marc Green, the director of a new short film (Lippidleggin’), who hosted a screening at Five Points South. It was strange and exhilirating to see myself and fellow actors Whit Russell and David Seale on the big screen. They did a great job! Guess you’ll have to wait till film festival time to see the flick yourself. Stay tuned!
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So…what’s a Red Clay Diarist to do next? The dilemma is always there—each time you see something fun and artistic and inspiring on the streets of the City, there’s often something that doesn’t quite fit with the rosy picture.
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The good news is, the moment you get over your annoyance at those folks who just don’t care about Birmingham, there’s always something great and positive to note and ponder on.
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Thanks goodness for the ponies we find among the haystacks of detritus. They keep us coming back for more
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(c) 2012 A.D. by Jim Reed
http://www.jimreedbooks.com