Makes me feel good & happy & romantic...in the Broede sense.

I keep defining myself as a liberal, a free-thinker and a romantic. But more than anything, I love being a romantic. Maybe it’s like saying I’m a dreamer. I see my life filled by romantic interludes. Dreams. Dreams that have come true. Of course, the nicest dream of all was Jeanne. An idyllic life, as I reflect on it. Oh, there were rough moments. But an overwhelming amount of happiness. I felt at ease. Relaxed. Yes, in love. Like a romantic. Even today, despite the loss of Jeanne to Alzheimer’s, it’s been a good life. Good moments daily. Romantic moments, as I define romantic. Deep love. Spiritual love. The love evolved. Took time. That’s a key ingredient. Time. And shared experience.

And oh, I could cite so many instances of romantic interludes. The decision to explore my roots. In Germany. That was a romantic venture, too. I felt something extraordinary would come from it. Right from the start. It was like my ancestors’ spirit was talking to me. Wanting me to some day walk the same ground they walked. To return to Germany. A mission of the spirit. Like their genes were in me. A part of me. They were talking to me. From inside my soul. My being. My heart. My gut. And everything unfolded, as if in a dream. Another dream come true. Oh, so many times a chill went up and down my spine. A feeling of romance.

Even as a writer. As a youngster. I felt a romantic mission. To write. For newspapers, of all things. No other writers in the family. But it seemed like a romantic notion. A romantic career. For an idealist. I asked for a typewriter for Christmas when I was in the 6th grade. Because I wanted to write. To put out a little neighborhood newspaper. The River Lawn Gazette. And I wrote of neighborhood events. Often in a satirical manner. Before I even knew the definition of satire. It just came naturally. I’d write stories in my English class in the 7th grade. Parodies. In which I made characters of classmates. Funny stuff. And the teacher would have me read the pieces out loud, and I’d have my classmates rolling in the aisles. With laughter.

I don’t see myself as an exceptionally good writer. But writing has always been a romantic outlet. Helps me to understand myself. And others. An opportunity to reflect. In a romantic way. Since I retired, I’ve written daily. In a journal. Called Broede’s Broodings, just like this blog. And in a weekly newspaper, I had a personal column called Broede’s Broodings. It was really a column of romantic notions. One could laugh. Or cry. Over the same column. Just depended on how one chose to take it. I talked of love. My sort of romantic or dream love.

When I wrote for newspapers, I focused mostly on ideas. And ideals. Often romantic ideas. I went south in the 1960s, and wrote for papers in Lakeland and Vero Beach. And I got sidetracked. Into the civil rights movement. I was on the executive board of the NAACP chapter in Vero Beach. And I was a militant. And I got into trouble with the political big-wigs. And more or less got run out of town. It got to be a dangerous time. But I saw the whole ordeal/experience as romantic. As spiritually fulfilling.

In my younger days, I moved around a lot. From job to job. I was editor of the college newspaper. At a small liberal arts college. And then I went into the Army. And I went to the Army Information School at Fort Slocum on Long Island, just off New Rochelle, and I got into New York City on weekends. How romantic.

And then I was sent to Europe. Stationed in Frankfurt for 2 years. And guess what? My primary job in the army was sports editor of the 3rd Armored Division’s weekly newspaper, The Spearhead. And I got to travel covering sports events. And on my leaves, got to places like Vienna and Prague. But mostly, I spent lots of time in London. My favorite place. Again, I felt a sense of the romantic. I loved it.

Well, I came to Minnesota by a circuitous route. Went to work for the daily newspaper, the St. Paul Pioneer Press. writing government news, breaking stories, and feature stories. Often on controversial topics. With a sense that I was leading a romantic life. And I met Jeanne.

And the romantic odyssey continues today. Meeting strangers. Like you. And thinking -- isn’t it romantic becoming acquainted with strangers? People I’ve never met face to face. Potential friends.

And as I sit here writing this, I tell myself I’m enjoying the moment. Savoring life. And offering opportunities to strangers. For dialogues. With me. Feels romantic. Makes me feel good and happy and romantic…in the Broede sense. –Jim Broede