It seems like yesterday.

Well, the Cubs 7-game winning streak came to an end yesterday (June 30, 2007). The Cubs lost big, 13-4, to first-place Milwaukee. They play Milwaukee again this afternoon. Would be nice if the Cubs took 2 of 3. Funny thing about baseball. Sometimes, you catch the magic. Everything goes your way. You win games you shouldn’t win. It’s a streaky thing. When things go right, you expect ‘em to keep going right. Like you’re in a groove. And when they go wrong, you expect them to keep going wrong. One captures an attitude. Positive attitude. Negative attitude. Vibes. It makes a difference. The good teams go on hot streaks. And then they play .500 baseball for a while. Maybe they go 5-5 over the next 10 games. Then maybe they get relatively hot again, and win 5 or 6 straight. Over the span of a 162-game season, if you can win 15 to 20 more games than you lose, there’s a decent chance you qualify for the play-offs, and you have the possibility of getting a hot streak then and into the World Series. Last year, St. Louis got lucky. At the end. Won only 4 more games than it lost. In the Cubs’ division. And won the World Series. It was a fluke. Just happened to get hot during the play-offs. And lucky. It happens sometimes that the best team doesn’t win it all.

I find it easier taking a 13-4 loss than a 5-4 loss. Because when you lose a ballgame by one run, you look back and reflect on the missed opportunities. When you lose by 9 runs, like the Cubs did yesterday, you just write it off. As a bad day,. You were never really in the ball game. The Cubs started off the season losing so many, many one-run games. I think they went 3-14 in their first 17 one-run decisions. So many, many games they could so easily have won. If they had won only 5 or 6 of those games instead, they’d have 5 or 6 more wins and 5 or 6 fewer losses. A 10 or 12-game swing. If. If. If. So many ifs. One ponders the ifs. Which is a dangerous thing to do in life. To speculate about ifs. Instead of accepting what happens. And always wishing for something else. That’s what so many of us do. I see it on the Alzheimer's message board daily. I see it around me. With the people I encounter daily. Even with myself to some extent. But not nearly as often as it used to be.

Anyway, baseball and the Cubs often get me thinking. The Cubs, by the way, have won 7 of the last 8 games decided by one-run. They're winning the close ones. That's the difference.

Baseball fascinates me. I was drawn to the game. Not as a player. But a spectator. It’s a game that develops slowly. So many surprises. So many strategies. You have to think. And play the odds. Make difficult decisions. And a game filled with errors. Mistakes. Failures. The best hitters bat around .300. Which means you get a hit about once every three at-bats. You make out two out of three times. In a sense, you fail far more often than you succeed. Isn’t that a refection of life? You play a long, long schedule. With so many ups and downs. Even for the best teams. And hey, it’s a real team effort. Nine players on a team. So many opportunities for each one to succeed, and for each one to fail. It’s got to all come together. You have to help each other.

Baseball used to be our national pastime. But I think it’s lost much of its luster. With people. Maybe they have better things to do. But I’m hooked on baseball. On the Cubs. Because I grew up with ‘em. I became addicted as a kid. And it wasn’t just the Cubs. It was baseball. So many of us were addicted. When the World Series or a big play-off game came, they even broadcast the big game in school, over the PA system, at Watertown High School. Imagine that happening today. No way. But in 1951 when I was in the 11th grade I was sitting in Myra McInnes’ social studies class and the PA system was on and broadcasting a National League play-off game between the New York Giants and the Brooklyn Dodgers. It was an historic moment. An historic baseball season. One I won’t ever forget. In mid-August, the Dodgers had a 13 ½ game lead over the Giants, and it looked like the Dodgers would run away with the National League pennant. But in the last 6 weeks of the season, the Giants got hot. And they caught the Dodgers on the last day of the regular season. Tied ‘em for first place. And I was listening to the play-off game that would decide who went to the 1951 World Series. And it was the bottom of the 9th inning. And the Dodgers were ahead, 4-2. Ralph Branca was pitching for the Dodgers. And the Giants had two runners on. And Bobby Thomson at the plate. And he hit a home-run to win the game for the Giants, 5-4. And everybody (the Giants fans really) went nuts. And the announcer shouted. And I remember teacher McInnes was confused. She didn’t quite understand what had just happened. And I had to explain it to her. And so I remember that day. Very vividly. A day I’ll never forget. I know where I was when Bobby Thomson hit that homerun. And I imagine the same goes for many, many baseball fans who were alive in late September 1951. A long time ago. But it seems like yesterday. --Jim Broede

I'd find that soothing.

Occasionally, I am pissed. But not today. I'm getting over it. I always do. Because I can't stand to be pissed and unhappy. I have better things to do. Always. If I'm getting out of sorts, I need to find a way to get back on track again. I refocus. On the positive. On nice thoughts. On sweet dreams. I get pissed. But I know enough not to stay pissed. Some folks are pissed forever and ever. Imagine living that way. It's got to be consuming. Detrimental to one's being. Anyway, I was awakened the other morning by the pitter-patter of a steady rain. It sounded so good. Do you ever listen to rain? I think I'd like to have a metal roof. A tin roof. And every time it rained, I'd hear ping, ping, ping. And maybe pong, pong, pong. I think I'd find that soothing. --Jim Broede

...what keeps me alive and going.

I have a dear friend with a pain in the neck. Which means, I’ll try not to be a pain in the ass. I'll treat her nicely. I guess this is what happens when one starts to age. The body breaks down. Bit by bit. Thank heavens, I’ve held up pretty good. I try to stay in decent physical shape. So that when I drop dead, people can say I was in good condition. I’m really not supposed to be living this long. I'm 71. My dad died at 38. Of course, that was suicide. But my dad’s brother died in his 50s. After three heart attacks. And my mother had angina. And had quadruple bypass surgery at age 78, which gave her an additional 10 years of life. Heart troubles on both sides of the family. Anyway, I work out daily. I watch my weight. I keep my cholesterol in check. My blood pressure, too. But I take medications to keep these under control. And, for the most part, I’ve learned to not get too stressed. Albeit, I earned my living in a stressful job. Writing. Sometimes breaking news. On deadline. Under hectic conditions sometimes. I don’t think I could handle it today. I wouldn’t want to. Just the idea of having to report for work daily – it’s a turn off. But I used to love it. Now it’s more important to just ponder and think and reflect. And irritate people. And find reason to be reasonably happy. I like to irritate unhappy people by being happy. Maybe that makes me mean. And condescending. Maybe deep down, I really don’t like people. Oh, I like Rosie and Cherie and a few others. And I like myself. And I was capable of falling in love. With Jeanne. And with life, in general. I’d much rather be alive than dead. I’d like to live forever. I could handle it. But I suppose that would all change if I were dreadfully ill and in pain. I can stand some physical and mental and emotional pain. But only to a degree, I presume. Some day, the pain may be too much. Too great. Too debilitating. But love can offset pain. This whole notion of love is what keeps me alive, and going. --Jim Broede

I'm not going to allow anything...to ruin my life.

I wish we lived in an ideal world. A perfect world. But we live in a world in which many unhappy and disgruntled people abound. Little wonder that we have conflict. Unhappy people don’t feel good about themselves, or about others. Don’t feel good about their lives. And that shows on the Alzheimer’s message boards. Care-givers of dementia patients often are in despair. And they feel sorry for themselves. And some of ‘em take it out on each other, and even on their patients. They become abusive. Little wonder that some small handful even take it out on fellow care-givers. Even on me. For expressing happiness and positive thinking. A few of ‘em see it as a put down, as condescension. As a lack of empathy. They want me to say, “Oh, I’m so sorry for you.” Instead, I tell ‘em how I coped. I tell ‘em I refuse to be unhappy. And in order for me to do that, I have to rationalize in a relatively upbeat and optimistic manner. I have to find ways to make the best of bad situations. I have to exude good vibes. And so that makes me a square peg in a domain of mostly round-hole people. I reflect relative happiness and joy in a realm of relative sadness. I tell ‘em, look around, folks, and find reason to be relatively happy. Find a way to get some consolation out of your miserable lives. Fall in love. And I mean unconditional love. I did that with Jeanne. Oh, I love that woman so very much. I never want to let her go. I still have her spirit. Yes, it was sad losing Jeanne to Alzheimer’s. I wish for it not to have happened. I wish Jeanne never died. I want her to be physically alive, forever and ever. But that’s not the way it is. And I accept that. So I focus on the almost 40 years I had with Jeanne on Earth. Good times. Memorable times. Loving times. And I’m grateful for that. I’m grateful for life, and for the privilege and opportunity to love. To love another human being. And to love being me, alive and conscious. That’s my message. And do you know what? It actually offends some people. Some unhappy and disgruntled care-givers. I tell ‘em I’ve been blessed, and that I see so much goodness in life, despite Alzheimer’s. I see goodness springing from the bad. Even from my father’s suicide. I see how family members rebounded, and learned to appreciate life. We learned to live to the fullest. My mom and dad conceived me. They gave me the greatest gift of all – life. And I’m not going to allow anything -- Alzheimer’s or my dad’s suicide or even my own inevitable death -- to ruin my life. --Jim Broede

Love...and how pleasurable it is.

We all have crutches of one kind or another. But the best crutch of all is love. I have never found anything more satisfying than love. When I'm pissed, I've forgotten momentarily how to love. That's rather scary. Downright frightening. But I recover once I remember how to love...and how pleasurable it is. --Jim Broede

To be happy again. That's my nature.

One way I stay reasonably happy is NOT to set too high expectations on outcomes. For instance, with the Chicago Cubs. Sure, I’d like to see them win the World Series. But settling for an interesting season should be enough. And it’s been interesting so far. The Cubs have come from 9 games under .500, to 6 or 7 above. They’ve come from 8 ½ games out of first, to within a game or so of first. So what could easily have turned into a disastrous season, hasn’t been too bad. So far. That’s the way one has to think. Not to become despondent. Or unhappy. Think positively. See some good in it all. I suppose in my dealing with people, with the human race, that’s what I need to do, too. Don’t set the standard or expectations too high. One will be only disappointed. Instead, look for a consolation. Tell myself, hey, it could have been worse. And look at the funny side of life, too. Know how to laugh. I mean, genuinely laugh. Not fake it. I started out pissed over something that happened to me recently. But as time wanes, I see the humorous side of it. The good side. The fact that I’m prepared to launch a blog. Which I probably wouldn’t have done if I hadn’t become pissed over the situation of being censored in another forum. It’ll give me a new level of satisfaction. Of happiness. For having been pissed and sad and disgruntled and depressed. I looked for a way to rebound. To be happy again. That’s my nature. --Jim Broede

...being alive and conscious and able to create.

My cats, Lover Boy and Chenuska, are being themselves. Cats. Taking catnaps. Nestled next to me in a chair. And atop my computer screen. They remind me to be myself. To not think far beyond this moment. Not to think about tomorrow. And certainly not to think far ahead to next week or next month or next year. Instead, to live today. Fully. Savoring the moment. And some days, this one in particular, I’ll most likely live in my cocoon. I'm able here to create my own reality. I turn inward. It doesn’t matter what else is happening outside my cocoon. The world will function with or without me. I have no control over the state of world affairs. Only over the state of myself. Oh, I can have an affect on an individual here and there. By cultivating a contact, an acquaintance, a friend, another human being, even my cats. So many ways to get a bit of sustenance. Food for my soul. Just the fact that I’m writing this. In a place where someone might see it. Read it. My link to the outside world. It goes to show that brooding doesn’t have to be thinking anxiously or gloomily. Instead, I am sitting quietly and thoughtfully. Meditating. That’s a positive. Helps me cope and deal with life. Makes me appreciate being alive and conscious and able to create – yes, a Broede’s Brooding. --Jim Broede

In my roles...

I’m going to call my blog “Broede”s Broodings.” Now some people will say that connotes to think anxiously or gloomily about something. But there’s an alternative definition –to sit quietly and thoughtfully. To meditate. That’s how I brood. I’ll make Broede’s Broodings a positive blog.

When I wrote a Broede’s Broodings column for a weekly newspaper in the 1960s, it was sort of a romantic thing. I fantasized. About love. And about life. I was looking for a Jeanne. And that’s what I found. My true love. And we were married on June 11, 1969.

I suppose that in this blog, I’ll pick up where I left off. My broodings will be special. Out of the ordinary. I’ll meditate. About love. And friendship. About events. And about people. About notions. About how I cope. With life. In my roles as romantic idealist, free-thinker, liberal and lover. --Jim Broede