...watching the Cactus League opener.

I'm in another world. Just like that. Magic. One day I'm in Minnesota. In the midst of winter. And three hours later, I'm in Arizona. In the sun. And in an hour, I'll be headed to the Chicago Cubs exhibition game opener with San Francisco. Expecting this will be the start of a grand and glorious season for the Cubs. The team's first World Series championship in 100 years. Yes, the last time was 1908. The Cubs are due. Once every 100 years. They go all the way in 1908. And then again in 2008. And I can look foward to 2108, too. When I'll be watching the series from my perch in Paradise. But meanwhile, I'll be in Paradise today....watching the Cactus League opener. --Jim Broede

..for everyone near and dear to us.

I awoke before dawn on New Year's Eve 1999 with a feeling of anxiety. I had a weird dream in which a doctor prescribed eating rat meat. That was supposed to cure whatever we had. I guess the message was that such a diet would even cure Alzheimer's. And that goes to show how preposterous a dream can be.

Of course, I rebelled. I never liked the thought of dining on rat meat. I prefer ambrosia and nectar.

I didn't want to fall asleep again. Because I might return to the same dream. So I got up. Walked about the house for a while. And sat down to write about this dream in my journal. And I asked myself: How do I get my act together? How do I deal with Jeanne and her Alzheimer's?

I wrote in my journal that I've got to get a hold on myself. Get a hold on life. I can't allow myself, or Jeanne for that matter, to give up. We have to fight this. We have to seek help. And then I spotted a brochure on my desk from an organization called TriAD, a group formed to help people deal with Alzheimer's. To help the patient. And to help the care-giver. For information about support groups and other questions I was to call a 1-800 number. I said I'd do that -- that it was an appropriate way to start the year 2000.

There was a list of "facts" about Alzheimer's care-givers.

#Caregivers spend an average 69 to 100 hours per week providing care. And I believed it.

# Participating in an educational and professional support program has been shown to reduce care-giver depression.

# Comprehensive care-giver training and counseling support programs have been reported to delay nursing home placement of people with Alzheimer's.

Yes, it sounded like there was help out there. And maybe I was destined to take on another cause. The cause of care. Care for those stricken with Alzheimer's. The cause of caring for my beloved Jeanne. Without killing myself in the process.

And yes, I was scared. Scared out of my wits. The anxiety was a horrible feeling. But I kept telling myself, I had to find a way to cope. And to deal with this dreadful disease in a positive manner. That this does not have to be the end of the world. This can be a new beginning. For Jeanne...for me...for everyone near and dear to us. --Jim Broede

...positive thinking.

I wonder, I wrote in my journal in December 1999, if my biggest need was for more positive thinking. Yes, just a few years ago, I was looking for ways to become the eternal optimist. Instead of clinging to my then-role of pessimist. Too often, I let myself be overcome by pessimism.

I have a good life, and I should rejoice in that, I told myself in 1999.

I went on to write that a pessimist, I suppose, constantly tells himself he wants life to last forever. And so he dwells on the idea that -- well, maybe it won't be forever. So he laments. And he doesn't fully enjoy the life he has now.

What does us in, I speculated, is the constant quest for more this and more that. More money. More luxuries. More possessions. More time. And so to accumulate all this stuff, we think about tomorrow instead of today. We spend today planning for how to accumulate everything we don't have. When we should be embracing and savoring what we already have.

I have to keep telling myself to feel upbeat and to see humor and joy in the twists and turns of life. I have to look outdoors on a cloudy day and think of the clouds as beautiful, as a curtain shielding me from the bright sunshine.

And yes, these clouds bring moisture, which helps plant life grow, and which makes for beautiful scenery. And yes, these clouds give us a nice contrast. After all, who wants every day to be filled with sunshine? There really is something nice that can be said about a cloudy day. Now, that's what I call positive thinking. --Jim Broede

...more positive about Texas.

I am feeling at one with nature and places. With the great outdoors. We all live in little Edens. Doesn't matter whether it is Minnesota or the Arizona desert or Timbuktu. I suppose I could even think of the desolate Texas Panhandle as an Eden. If I put myself in the right frame of mind. Although I think I'd choose the Antarctic in mid-winter over the Texas Panhandle. I have a closed mind when it comes to Texas. Any state that has produced George Bush turns me off, I guess. I must learn to open my mind. There has to be some good in Texas. I should be more forgiving...more positive about Texas. --Jim Broede

An imposter...a fake god.

I’m turned off by Islam, I wrote in my journal in 1999. Yes, two years before the 9/11 attacks on American targets by Islamic loonies.

A Muslim, Egyptian Amin Kader, was the guest speaker in a class I was auditing in the graduate school at Hamline University in St. Paul on Nov. 4, 1999. At the time, he was a professor of business administration at Augsburg College. And he talked to us about the Islamic faith.

I came away with the impression that Kader’s god was terribly ghoulish. Certainly not my friendly god. My god of love. But then I suppose everybody imagines the god they want. And Kader favors a strict god. So strict that he wants severe punishments meted out to those who do wrong. Death for murderers. And having one’s hand chopped off for stealing. And I shudder to think what’s supposed to be cut off for a sex offense.

And even death, apparently, for blasphemy, as evidenced by the death sentence declared by at least one Islamic sect, for Salmen Rushdie, the writer, who allegedly slammed Islam in a book. Kader, however, was opposed to killing Rushdie. For a technical reason. Because he thinks Rushdie wasn’t ever a true Muslim.

Anyway, I tried to pin down Kader during the Q. & A. session.

Muslims think god wants political and social and economic “deterrents,” as Kader puts it, to encourage people to be more honest, more holy. He thinks chopping off hands works. Because, he says, in Islamic countries there’s a remarkably low rate of theft crimes.

Put the fear of allah (and the loss of a hand) in man, Kader argues, and man tends to live the way he’s supposed to live. By Islamic law, I guess. And among other things, that means no consumption of alcoholic beverages. And no gambling. And everybody is supposed to dress modestly. Men in loose clothing. Women with veils over their faces.

And let’s all go on pilgrimages to Mecca.

Meanwhile, I’m thinking I don’t want god to be Puritanical. Or overly strict. Instead, I’m holding out for a cheerful and friendly and joyful god. A god with a sense of humor. And not least, a forgiving god.

Oh, I don’t see anything wrong with following the 10 commandments. But I also don’t see anything wrong with having fun, with having a good time. With being sensual. And joyful. With just plain loving life.

I think a god who would have us chop off hands of thieves is a ghoulish god. More like a devil. Rather than the god of love. Anyway, I suspect that a ghoulish god is really an imposter…a fake god. –Jim Broede

I am so confused.

I’ve been brooding for years and years. That’s what I have called my daily journal. Broede’s Broodings. I even wrote a newspaper column once. Yes, called Broede’s Broodings. And lately, I’ve been paging through some of the broodings. From 1999. I wasn’t so optimistic then. More of a pessimist. I hadn’t quite learned how to cope with dear Jeanne’s Alzheimer’s. I still had Jeanne at home. I was a 24/7 care-giver. Jeanne wouldn’t go into a nursing home until Nov. 17, 2003. Where she would reside for 38 months and one day. Before she finally died on Jan. 18, 2007. By then, I had learned to be a decent care-giver. I learned to accept Alzheimer’s. I learned to love Jeanne. Fully. Unconditionally.

Anyway, here’s what I wrote in my broodings on the last day of 1999. New Year’s Eve.

Maybe I am too close to Jeanne to be a good care-giver. When I see Jeanne’s decline to Alzheimer’s, it takes a heavy emotional toll. And it’s almost as if for me to survive, I have to distance myself from Jeanne. And so far I haven’t been able to do that. So my role as primary care-giver is gut-wrenching. And little wonder that I have indigestion. And maybe an ulcer, or worse.

Every time Jeanne does something “dumb,” or has a memory lapse, I magnify the act in my mind. Because I am so close to Jeanne. I so much want Jeanne to get better, or at least to stabilize and lose no more ground to this damn disease.

I magnify little things, such as Jeanne’s inability to learn how to wear a headband without messing up her hair-do. And no matter how many times I go over the procedure with Jeanne, she doesn’t learn. She gets it wrong almost every time. And that so frustrates me. Because I want to think that maybe Jeanne is getting better. That maybe the medications she’s on are working wonders. But so far, the medications don’t seem to be doing any good.

Now, if I were the care-giver for an Alzheimer’s patient I really didn’t know so personally, it would be a 10 times easier task than caring for Jeanne. And that’s because I would be able to step back and not be so emotionally involved. If somebody I didn’t know put on a headband in the wrong way, I’d react matter-of-factly. I’d readjust the headband. Or I might just let it be. Because it really doesn’t matter. But when Jeanne is involved, it matters. Because I am emotionally involved with Jeanne.

And hard as it may seem, I may have to try to become less emotionally involved. To protect Jeanne. And to protect myself. Otherwise, I could make myself physically ill or drive myself bonkers. And that would do Jeanne no good. I have to learn to do what’s best for Jeanne.

I’m thinking that if we got into a support group, I should suggest that one of the other spouses occasionally gives me a respite. And becomes Jeanne’s care-giver for a day. I, in turn, would agree to become the care-giver of that spouse’s Alzheimer patient.

Odd as it may seem, I might be much kinder to the patient to which I am not emotionally involved. It would take a far less toll on me, emotionally. If I could distance myself emotionally from Jeanne, I would be kinder to her. And I suppose, kinder to myself. I am so confused. –Jim Broede

I've come to think...

I think so many of the established churches try to make religion too easy. It's as if belief is to be learned by rote. Rather than by one's individual search. Learn the rules. Learn the dogma. And just accept it. Without thinking. Never seriously questioning. As if it were blasphemy to question. I've come to think that god even likes agnostics and atheists. Maybe more than dogma-spouting, self-proclaimed 'true believers.' --Jim Broede

Fear tends to dissipate...

I think I am less fearful than I used to be. I have more confidence. It's easier for me to believe what I want to believe as I get older. I would have hated to die young. Because I had not experienced what I think I needed to experience. And maybe I still haven't. But I have had more time to try to get it right. And I still may be far, far from getting it right. But I appreciate the time I have been given. To live. And to love. Every day is a bonus. The difference between the younger and the older me is that I'm learning more and more to take life one day at a time. And to fully savor each day. The now. And not to get ahead of myself. In my younger days, I spent too much time looking ahead to tomorrow. Maybe that was why I was more fearful then. Fear tends to dissipate when one wears blinders and focuses on today. --Jim Broede

...presence without absence.

I like to assume that there is a continuing life. After death. A moving on to another level of existence. That's what I want to believe. And instinctively, I believe it. Just as I believe in love. I know love. Because I feel it. And I feel, too, that my spirit wants to live forever. That love is life. The love of life. Of wanting to feel alive. And conscious. So that one can love. And feel the pulse of joy and happiness. Albeit, sadness is a necessary part of life, too. In order to fully feel the contrasting joy and happiness. This idea that one can't have light without darkness. One cannot have joy without sadness. One cannot have life without death. One cannot have presence without absence. --Jim Broede

And it works.

I'm reading an interesting blog. The blogger posed some interesting questions. Here they are. And my answers at the moment. But I'm in a constant state of flux. It's quite possible that some of my answers may change tomorrow.

Do you believe there is a God?

I look at it more as a matter of what I want to believe. Yes, I want to believe there’s something I tend to call god. But I don’t really know how to define god. I can’t fully describe god. So, I can’t say I necessarily believe in god. Because I don’t know what god is. But I want to believe in something that I don’t know exists. But I sort of create god. In my imagination. I think of god as love. Pure love. And I’m not sure exactly what love is. Even though I think I’m in love. I have a feeling. One that I sense is love. And if that’s so, then I must be in love. With god. Or maybe I am just in love with love. With the very notion of love. And if god is love – well, then I am in love. With the notion of god.

Do you believe there is a heaven?

And when I am in love, I sometimes feel I am in Paradise. Which also can be defined as Heaven, I suppose. A place where one feels bliss and happiness. Maybe even ecstasy. When I feel intensely happy, and totally in love, I am in Paradise/Heaven. So in that sense, I believe in Heaven.

Do you believe there is a hell?

I suppose hell is to live unhappily on Earth. In that sense, there is hell. For the people who voluntarily live there. They create their own hell. Because of their hellish attitudes. I have yet to live in hell. But I have lived in Paradise. Maybe living in clinical depression is hell.

Do you meditate or pray?

I think. I ponder. I reflect. I brood. I suppose these are all forms of meditation.

What belief most sustains you...helps you through challenging times?

The notion that I have the option to be happy. To be in love. And the fact that I have used the option many times. And it works. --Jim Broede

Maybe god is understaffed.

Dealing with the system is always complicated. It's a game, of sorts. I try to simplify things when possible. Maybe I have a tendency to oversimplify. That was my nature as a writer for newspapers. To write stories that are easily understood. And balanced. In so many ways, I succeeded. But also, in so many ways I fail. It's a battle. Trying to be fair to everyone. And trying to be honest. Without hurting my fellow human beings. Sometimes, it's just a matter of not having time for everything. Things go neglected. People go neglected. Maybe things go bad in this world because god doesn't even have time for everything. Turns out, maybe, that god has to neglect things. And neglect people. Maybe god delegates some things. To underlings. To underlings that are incompetent. Or maybe the underlings don't have time. Maybe god is understaffed. --Jim Broede

Won't be easy. But not impossible.

Took me about 10 years to fully curb the anger. Actually, it wasn't until the last 38 months of my 13-year Alzheimer's sojourn with my dear Jeanne that I really got myself under control. I don't think I lost it even once in those last 38 months. Because then Jeanne was in a nursing home, 3 miles away. And in all that time, I didn't miss a single day with Jeanne. Most days I was with her 8-10 hours. Focused on Jeanne. Fully focused. Fully in love, still. Despite the Alzheimer's. I felt good about things. About being able to help Jeanne. To show my love. And still get daily respite. That made the difference. The respite, I think. I had learned to accept what was happening. I was finally able to cope. Finally able to control the situation, reasonably well. I was in a position to retire early. To have the time to care for Jeanne. But if Jeanne had not been in that nursing home, I probably would have had a breakdown. I don't think I would have been able to handle it if I had remained a 24/7 care-giver right up to the end. It was becoming impossible. Beyond my capability. Beyond my capacity. Beyond my endurance level. I found a way to adjust. Thank gawd. Yes, fellow care-givers, you, too, have to find a way to adjust. To keep your bearings. Your sanity. Your unconditional love for your mother, your father, your spouse. Exactly how you are gonna do that, I don't know. But I'll be pulling for you. Wishing you good luck. Won't be easy. But not impossible. --Jim

'I want to romp and play and love.'

I was just thinking how nice it is to have a cat like Loverboy. He follows me all around. Into the kitchen. Into the bathroom. When I make the bed, he jumps up on the bed. So playful. So full of life. He is so exuberant. So full of life. Chenuska is more laid back. She likes attention. But she's more restrained. Loverboy just seems so happy to be alive. To be this cat. This Loverboy. He lets me know that he's full of vim and vigor. Enthusiasm. It's like he's telling me all the time, "Jim, I'm so full of life. I feel so good. I want to romp and play and love." --Jim Broede

If she hadn't, I wouldn't be here.

My mother would have turned 94 today. Had she lived. She died at 88. Not bad. A long life. A decent life overall. My dad died at 38. Suicide. Anyway, I always felt I was blessed. Because mom was around for so very long. I didn't cry when she died. Because I think she was getting tired of living. Her second husband, my stepfather, had died 15 years before mom. Mom missed him. And so many of her friends had died. And her health was declining. So I think she had little desire to live. Maybe she willed herself to die. I suppose that's a form of suicide, too. Just losing the will to live. I don't know if mom believed in an afterlife. She wasn't very religious -- that is, in the conventional sense. I don't know if she even believed in god. But I think mom believed in life. And in love. And though she experienced much sadness in life, she also had much happiness. Anyway, I'm glad she lived. If she hadn't, I wouldn't be here. --Jim Broede

...cause for a joyous celebration.

Don't know who it was. But I think it was a college professor. On National Public Radio. He decried making Presidents' Day a national holiday. Used to be that we had separate holidays for Washington's and Lincoln's birthdays. Then we combined the two. And finally, it evolved into a holiday to honor all of our presidents. The professor said that was a mistake. And I agree. Like him, I don't think every president we've had deserves to be honored with a holiday. Not the mediocre presidents. Or the terribly bad ones, like George Bush. Maybe we should have a holiday when Bush leaves office. That would be cause for a joyous celebration. --Jim Broede

There isn't always a right or wrong.

I think it was the existential philosopher Jean Paul Sartre that posed the interesting dilemma. A French man during World War II had to choose between joining the resistance against the Nazis or staying home to care for his ailing mother. Well, the existentialist, I guess, would say there's no right or wrong choice. Each man has to choose for himself. Some would go one way. Others would go another. Both courses can be equally justified. I often tell people how I would choose. Like, for instance, how I chose to cope when my dear Jeanne had Alzheimer's. Some folks automatically jumped to the conclusion that I was saying that's the right choice for everyone. Nope. That ain't so. It was the right choice for me. So I often explained why I did what I did. I defended my choice. Rather staunchly at times. But I wasn't saying everybody should follow in my footsteps, as some critics implied. Far from it. It's like with that French man. I might have chosen to stay home and care for the likes of a Jeanne rather than become wrapped up in a cause. But for those who would join the resistance, I say god bless you. Because there isn't always a right or wrong. --Jim Broede

She's Lovergirl. And he's Loverboy.

My cat, Loverboy, has been living with us for 2 or 3 years now. I got him, in large part, because I thought my other cat, Chenuska, was lonely. She needed a companion. A mate. A lover, so to speak. Of course, both cats are fixed. So they carry love only so far. At first, Chenuska rebuffed poor Loverboy. She wanted no part of him. But Loverboy is just what his name implies. Bit by bit by bit over these years, he’s worn down Chenuska’s resistance. Turns out her hard-to-get ploy was merely an act. The two cats have become lovers. True lovers. They sleep next to each other. Cuddled. They groom each other. It’s gotten so that I hardly ever call Chenuska Chenuska anymore. She’s Lovergirl. And he’s Loverboy. –Jim Broede

...what I was born to do.

I have a recurring dream. Maybe every 6 months or so. That makes me feel uncomfortable. That I’m still working. For a newspaper. That I’m not retired. And that I’ve been neglecting my job. That I haven’t been covering my beat adequately. And I feel guilty. That I’ve been too lazy. Just trying to get by. Marking time. Instead of getting about. And cultivating stories. Writing. And focusing on important issues. Oh, it makes me feel so uneasy. And then I awake. And suddenly I realize I’ve been retired for almost 10 years now. And I breathe a sigh of relief. That I don’t have to go to work. That I’m under no obligation to produce stories. And I get comfort from that. I still write. Every day. But I write what I want to write. Like this blog, for instance. And so many, many emails. I cultivate human contacts. With the written word. And I even have time to fall in love. To focus the majority of my time on that wonderful endeavor. Falling in love with life. And with another human being. So, this morning, I tell myself I’m doing exactly what I should be doing…what I was born to do. –Jim Broede

An argument...for both sides.

When we criticize each other for doing the wrong thing, so to speak, we are suggesting that we know what is right. When often there seems to be no clear-cut right or wrong. One person's right may be another's wrong. And still another's wrong may be still another's right. A sound argument can be made for both sides. --Jim Broede

The answer came to me in a dream.

I had a dream tonight. A revelation. About being nice to people. That maybe with some people I am nice for the wrong reason/reasons. The more I think about it, the more I understand that I should be nice because everyone deserves it. And maybe I'm not being nice solely for that reason. Maybe if I am being nice just because someone asks me to be nice -- that isn't good enough. Maybe god/the spirits gave me insight in this dream. That people deserve more credit than I give them. I should apologize to some people for being nice for the wrong reason/reasons. Yes, I should be nice because people totally, completely deserve niceness from me. And hey, I'm beginning to think that's the case. And that maybe I am being nice to some people not for a reason that god/the spirits would approve. The only legitimate reason would be because in my heart of hearts I really want to be nice. That's what came to me in the dream. Otherwise, it is a fake nice. So, as time goes by, I am truly going to try to be nice to everyone. Because I consider them friends and fellow human beings. Genuine friends. And not to just go through the motions. Yes, I've been asked, "but why?" That was a good thing. Someone doing me a favor. Maybe it ignited the dream tonight. Someone reached me. By asking a simple and legitimate question. And the answer came to me in a dream. --Jim Broede

...to new levels.

I am connected to my computer for hours every day. Is that good or bad? I think, mainly good. Because it means I am writing. Really, I go to my computer mainly to write. And to think. And it's so easy to retrieve what I write. And to edit it. People say that email is less than a desirable way to communicate. Face to face, or the telephone, is so much better. Granted, that may be. But email has given us another way to communicate. It has turned more of us into writers. To use the written word to communicate. That ain't all bad. The computer makes writing so much easier. Makes communication from distances so much easier. I have relationships that are the direct result of the computer. They wouldn't have happened without the computer. Now it's up to us to take this communication to new levels. --Jim Broede

One thing I can control - my attitude.

I guess I’ve learned to accept life. Pretty much as it comes. To accept what can't be changed. And try to change what can be changed. Like when dear, sweet Jeanne died just over a year ago. I lamented. I anguished. But I couldn’t bring Jeanne back to life. And when Jeanne was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. That was devastating. For both of us. More so for me, maybe. Because by that time, Jeanne didn’t really fully understand the significance of it all. Jeanne was still Jeanne. Only less cognitively aware. Maybe that was a blessing. Because that made it easier for me to comfort and console Jeanne. Jeanne didn’t know any better. She was still able to enjoy the moment. The now. The present. I learned to recognize that as a blessing. And then the fact that I was still healthy. Mentally. And physically. I was younger than Jeanne. And in a position to retire early. So I was able to care for Jeanne. Once I got my head together. Once I learned to accept fate. I was still in a position to love Jeanne. To put my love to a test. I wasn’t ready to write off Jeanne. Thank god. Hey, I discovered I had deep love for Jeanne. And that the love deepened under this stressful situation. And the stress eased, and all but disappeared, because I learned to accept what I couldn’t change. I had no cure for Alzheimer’s. But I was able to adjust my attitude. To become positive. To arrange my priorities. So that Jeanne came first and foremost. And I experimented. With measures that might make life easier for Jeanne as she declined. In the last three years with Jeanne, I don’t think I became angry or lost my temper. Even once. Certainly not in the presence of Jeanne. I always tried to exude good vibes. I got Jeanne out for fresh air daily. I hand fed her lunch and supper daily. I gave Jeanne a nightly shower and body massage. I whispered sweet nothings to Jeanne daily. I reminded Jeanne that I loved her. Yes, daily. Often, numerous times. I had Jeanne smiling. Feeling safe and secure. Yes, I created to the best of my ability an environment over which I had some control. I still do that today. I still talk to Jeanne’s spirit. In fact, a whole lot of spirits. Even my dad. Who committed suicide almost 60 years ago. And I tell the spirits, hey, I’m in love. With life. I accept life totally. Even aspects of life over which I have no or very little control. But one thing I can control – my attitude. –Jim Broede

Things don't seem so bad any more.

I think I tick off people who feel sorry for themselves. People in depression. Or people going through hard times. Rather than just listening to them and their stories of woe and unhappiness, I tend to try to shift the focus. Maybe to something that's going right in their lives. And all they want is for someone to listen. Someone to hear them out. To commiserate. Guess I handle others pretty much the way I deal with myself. If I'm on a downer, I've learned to put things in balance. In perspective. I ask myself, am I 'down' because of a life or death situation? And 99 percent of the time, it isn't. That buoys my spirits. Things don't seem so bad any more. --Jim Broede

And know what? It worked.

In my dear Jeanne’s last few years with Alzheimer’s, I reminded her daily that she had a one-track mind. Which was a good thing. I had her picture a single train track. With a single train on it. Then I had Jeanne visualize that same track with two trains. Or three trains. And I said, “That gets confusing, doesn’t it?” And I said it’s the same way with thoughts. If you have one thought on your mind, it’s so much easier to focus. But if you try to cram a second or third thought on your mind – look out. Confusion. Hey, too many trains on the same track and there’s more likely to be a collision. An accident. It ain’t safe. And I told Jeanne that it’s best to have a happy thought on her one-track mind. Just know you’re happy, I suggested, and you don’t even have to know the reason. It’s just good enough to know you’re happy. And know what? It worked. –Jim Broede

Wondering how much loot...

Here in America, it's St. Valentine's Day. A special day set aside for lovers. They're supposed to appreciate each other on this day. Well, I don't observe Valentine's Day per se. Because one should appreciate one's lover every day. Every day should be special. And if I make Valentine's Day extra special -- well, then the other days aren't extra special. Really, I think Valentine's Day was created by commercial interests. A way for businesses to increase sales. Of candy and flowers and other non-essentials. The same for Mother's Day and Father's Day. All sorts of special days. Maybe the biggest commercial hoax of all is Christmas. Merchants love Christmas. It's a time to rake in money. To make people go out and buy things. To lavish each other with material goods. That's the meaning I got of Christmas as a youngster. Sitting around the tree. Wondering how much loot I'd rake in. --Jim Broede

She had forgotten the incident.

Used to be there weren't any pills to take to treat depression. One had to battle out of it. With mind over matter, I guess. My mom was depressed. For too long, it seemed to me, after my father committed suicide. Leaving mom with three children to raise. I was the oldest, at 13.

A year or so later, mom was still depressed. And it was getting to me. I thought it was time for mom to cheer up, and get on with life. Even then, still in my early teens, I didn't relish living in a household permeated by pessimism.

One night I confronted mom. Told her I had enough of the doom and gloom. I became angry. I caught mom's attention by picking up a porcelain lamp and throwing it to the floor, smashing it to smithereens. "Get over it," I yelled.

Well, eventually mom got over it. She married again. This time, it was a long and happy marriage. But when my step-father died, mom went into depression again in her waning years. Until she died at 88. Used to visit mom in those days. And it was difficult spending a weekend with her in depression. Reminded me of the time after dad died. But this time, I didn't get angry. Didn't toss any lamps. I tried to console and comfort mom.

I guess I wished mom could have been happy all her life. But at least she lived a long life, and had mostly happy years.

Toward the end of her life, I reminded mom about the time I flipped out and broke one of her favorite lamps. She had forgotten the incident. --Jim Broede

Maybe he knew he was going to owe me...

I’ve written about this memory before. But this time, I’ve got a new ending. Something I just remembered.

The night my dad committed suicide, he was broke. He came to me. To borrow $2. I wonder what he did with it. Maybe he went out and bought strong rope. So he could go down to the basement and hang himself.

And now I’m thinking that dad repaid that debt. Ahead of time. Maybe a year or two earlier. I was a youngster. Maybe 10 or 11. In dad’s tavern in Lake Mills, Wisconsin. He had slot machines. And dad went in and arranged the nickels. So that I’d win a jackpot, of sorts. Out came about $2 worth of nickels. When we went home, I happily told mom I won big – a fortune.

Yes, dad repaid his debt ahead of time. Maybe he knew he was going to owe me…when he wasn’t around to pay his debt. –Jim Broede

Could be he was sad...because he had lost.

I must have been 9 or 10 at the time. I was with my dad. In a tavern. And dad was playing pool. For money. No surprise. My dad was a habitual gambler. He lived to gamble. And he was playing a young man. And dad won. And the guy who lost was devastated. I can’t remember all the details. But it might have been that he lost his entire paycheck. And I felt sad. I guess I didn’t feel happy for dad. It was this young man. Maybe I saw him cry. And later, when we drove away, I asked dad, ‘Why did you take that guy’s money?’ I don’t remember what dad said. But years and years later, I wonder how many times dad lost. And how he felt. One day, dad committed suicide. Could be he was sad…because he had lost. –Jim Broede

Do I sound in a poetic mood?

I think how nice it is. How sweet it is. To be happy. Maybe just the opposite of depression. Oh, not ecstatic. But at peace. Satisfied. Grateful for this day of life. To have come through. To have tasted so much pleasure. So much love. In all these years. Oh, yes, some bad moments. Sad times. Down times. But still, so much good. The thrill of living 72 years, and counting. And still able to be in love. With life. To savor simple pleasures. To think funny thoughts. To laugh. To not have to take life so seriously. Rather to just enjoy the moment. Do I sound in a poetic mood today? --Jim Broede

Pleasures...one day at a time.

The more I think of it, the more I love living life one day at a time. I'm in the habit now. I got up today. And I told myself. It's Tuesday. A day in February. It's not even important whether it's the 12th or some other number. The important thing is that it's another day in my life. And I feel good about it. At this moment, kitty Chenuska has come to visit me. She jumps to the soft cushion on my desk. And settles down. And kitty Loverboy sits atop a dictionary on the floor. Soon he'll come up and snuggle with Chenuska. Our family of three together. Living today. Loving. Feeling the pulse of life. The day feels special. Maybe because we are all alive and in love. With each other. I look outdoors. To the snow drifts. The frozen lake. A cloudy day. Still below freezing. But well above zero. And what will I do today? Well, among other things, I'll write. Love letters. Expressions of love. And I'll walk. And mail letters. And pay bills. And walk again. Maybe 10 miles today. And I'll think. About how nice it is to drift through life. Tasting pleasures...one day at a time. --Jim Broede

Makes me feel good...and out of depression.

I think I'm my own psychotherapist. And that's what pulls me through life in relatively happy shape. Maybe why I don't go into depression. I understand myself. And I like myself. Now, it's quite possible I'm someone entirely different than the person I think I am. In other words, I may have duped myself. But if so, I've done a pretty good job of it. I think I am a romantic idealist, a free-thinker, a liberal and a lover. And so I try to live accordingly. Some folks would like to define me as something else. Maybe even as a nut case. Oh, yes, I agree I am crazy. But I think of myself as a nice crazy. A feel good crazy. Crazed by love. And that makes me feel good...and out of depression. --Jim Broede

Works for me. Doesn't mean it'll work for others.

I like it when people try to talk and think their way out of depression. By taking control of their minds. Forcing happy thought. Positive thought. I know it's not easy. That it's terribly hard. That it almost seems impossible. Some experts say depression is often due to a chemical imbalance. Thus, medications. To try to bring things back into balance. But I suspect, that with some strong-willed people, it can be a case of mind over matter. I can't say that I ever experienced full-fledged depression. Maybe I'm blessed in that regard. I've been down in the dumps. For a while. But not what I would call downright depressed. When I'm down, I always start looking for ways to feel up again. Works for me. Doesn't mean it'll work for others. --Jim Broede

...below zero all day.

I thought the wind was supposed to let up today. But it is still howling something fierce. However, it is sunny. The sky is as bright and as blue as can be. Maybe by this afternoon the wind will abate. We haven't had much snow. But the wind has formed snowdrifts. And I am sure the driveway is drifted shut. I will have to shovel this afternoon. If I shoveled now, the drifts would only reform. But there is beauty in the snowdrifts. And the cold, cold arctic air seems so clean. We will stay below zero all day. --Jim Broede

God is life...and the ability to love.

Yes, I think I got pretty much carried away all my life. Just this sense of being alive. Conscious. It is an incredible feeling. And I've always had this desire to want to live forever. I used to dread death. Because I don't want to lose awareness. But I am coming to accept on blind faith that life is forever -- for those who want forever. Maybe I trick myself. Fool myself. Maybe this momentary consciousness is all there is. It just disappears. Like in the snap of fingers. But I don't want it to be like that. And so I force myself to believe what I want to believe. That whatever I believe is possible. I choose my own reality. That is why I can fall in love. I choose to. Maybe that's the definition of god. Consciousness. Awareness. Maybe we're all a little fragment of god. One little speck of god. God is life...and the ability to love. --Jim Broede

...to savor it all.

I think that in so many ways we each live extraordinary lives. All beings. Just think of our lives. The cast of characters. Not the least being ourselves. Plunked down into the middle of a life story. Yes, it is extraordinary. If one just stops to reflect. I think we all live glamorized lives. Storybook lives. And we each have opportunities to write and shape the story. I find that I am writing a new chapter each day. Not knowing fully what is to come. But I have so many, many choices. I can choose to be happy. Or sad. I can choose to be alive and vibrant and in love. Or I can be a zombie. Just going though the motions of living. My tendency is to savor it all. --Jim Broede

Life is good.

The bottom is supposed to drop out of today. Weather-wise. We are starting in the mid-20s with the temperature. But by tomorrow morning, we are supposed to be 10-below zero. And Sunday's high will stay below zero. And this afternoon, the winds are to gust at 40 miles an hour. But this will be short-lived. The winds will abate. It will be a sunny Sunday. So despite the cold, there will be a consolation. And all this will be followed by a warming trend. And we'll have a balmy 30 degrees by the end of the week. And in March, I'll spend two weeks in Arizona. With the Chicago Cubs. At spring training. Life is good. --Jim Broede

...getting our sustenance from lovemaking.

I think the George Bush presidency has destroyed America. Or at least destroyed the American middle class. Which was always the essence of the American dream. To make us people more or less in the middle relatively comfortable. Relatively well off in the economic sense. Able to afford the necessities of life. What I see happening is the rich getting richer and the poor getting poorer. A widening gap between the rich and the poor. And that’s stretching the middle class thinner and thinner. Having to survive on less and less. Seems to me that George Bush’s policies, supported so staunchly by his conservative Republican allies, will eventually bankrupt America. With senseless and cost prohibitive war. With spending for national defense. Already, we spend more on defending ourselves against mythical enemies than all the other nations in the world. The George Bushians have in less than 8 years taken America from a nation with a budget surplus to trillion dollar deficits. Debts that we middle class Americans will be paying for generations to come. At the expense of the basic necessities of life. We’ll have to learn to live on less and less to make up for it all. Only the rich will thrive. Because they have so much wealth, that even when much of it is siphoned off, they’ll still be relatively rich. At least from a materialist point of view. I guess what we increasingly poor middle class Americans will have to learn is to live second class and third class. But maybe in the long run, that will do us much good. We’ll have to become better lovers. That will be our consolation. To be able to retreat to our hovels/cocoons at night. And console each other…getting our sustenance from lovemaking. –Jim Broede

They'd rather be entertained.

I guess that when I was growing up, newspapers fascinated me. I thought of them as a means to stir change. To make people aware of things. A good source of information. So I fell in love with newspapers. And I made my living by writing for newspapers. But now, for the most part, I’m disillusioned. Newspapers, it seems to me, now want to entertain people. More than keep people informed. That’s the general nature of so-called news media. It’s really entertainment media. Maybe because of TV. People like to watch things now. Be entertained by visuals. By pictures. Reading takes too much effort. Too much time. Unless it’s very entertaining reading. And preferably in capsule form. People don’t want to waste their time reading for the sake of being informed. They’d rather be entertained. –Jim Broede

How I got into newspapering.

Someone asked why and how I became a journalist. Really, I don’t know that I’m a journalist. I went into newspapering. I never took a journalism course. In college or any place. I had a double major. In English. In history. But as long as I can remember, I was newspapering. I asked for a typewriter for Christmas, when I was 12, and in the 6th grade. Because I wanted to write. And publish a newspaper. The Riverlawn Gazette. I lived on Riverlawn Avenue in Watertown, Wisconsin. So you might call it a neighborhood newspaper. I wrote about events in the neighborhood. When we kids got together for a softball game down the road in Lagoon Park, I’d write about the game. Remember once when Mrs. Rickert, who lived next to the park, came over and played with us. And hit a homerun to win the game. And I played her up big. As the game’s hero. She became famous in the neighborhood for her exploit. She saved the story. And reminisced about it years later. If she’s still living, she’s probably in her 90s. Maybe 100. And has the clipping tucked away in a scrap book. Her moment of glory. I guess I liked to glorify things in those days. Still do, to some extent. Anyway, I sold the newspaper. For a penny a copy. Went around the neighborhood and personally delivered to the subscribers homes. Once a week. Oh, so many of the subscribers overpaid, and gave me a quarter. Maybe occasionally I got a dollar. That was big money in 1947 and 1948. The newspaper got written up in the local Watertown Daily Times. Initially, I printed the paper in an archaic way. On a hectograph. A gelatin in a pan. In which I put the typed carbon of the newspaper on the gelatin, and imprint on the gelatin. And then I would roll paper over that imprint. And alas! I had a copy. Maybe I made 20 or 30 copies from that – before the print faded from the gelatin. Later, a local businessman allowed me to use his mimeograph machine. And I put the newspaper on a typed stencil, and the Gazette flourished. Circulation skyrocketed. Maybe to 100. And I recruited other neighborhood kids to help me put out the newspaper. Maybe I even had a circulation manager. Can’t remember for sure. And the idea was to take the proceeds/profits from the paper and have a staff party. But chances are, I absconded with everything. Figuring I did 99 percent of the work. I even taught myself how to type. With two fingers. Still type that way today. I was once timed at 80 words a minute. With two fingers. I can still put on quite a typing show. Impressing people with my two-finger speed. Well, anyway, that’s how I got started. There were many adventures along the way. And I’m still having ‘em. Maybe I’ll tell more later. --Jim Broede

Crazy love.

Know that lovemaking may be far more spiritual and mindful than physical. Know that lovemaking starts from within. From the heart and the spirit. That is why even bodyless spirits can make love. Love is the food, the nourishment for spirits. For the soul. Some of us were born to be lovers. Born to be each other's lover. We are the creations of the god of love. The same as Adam and Eve. I dare say, some of us are living the poetry of love. Crazy love. --Jim Broede

To save herself.

Wow! There's a care-giver posting on the Alzheimer's message boards that's got it really bad. So many things going on in her life. So many things going wrong. She lists a litany of troubles. She has to be on the edge of burnout. I wish she could take time out. Even if it's only one hour a day. Just to be kind to herself. One hour. That would be a good start. One hour that she can enjoy. An hour when she can forget her troubles. And then when she returns to her woes, I wish she could deal with them in slow motion. Super slow motion. One at a time. Wearing blinders. Shutting out everything else. She is overwhelmed now. Ready for a nervous breakdown. She really needs to shut down. For at least a week or two. Maybe a month or two. Total, complete rest. Hey, life will go on without her. Better to let it go on before she collapses. To save herself. --Jim Broede

It's not the right thing to do.

My maternal grandfather was a butcher. And my mother grew up in his butcher shop. She saw animals slaughtered. She saw how they extracted lard. And how they made sausage. She would reflect on those days. And the horror of it all.

And I got a glimpse of that sort of thing, too. In the small Wisconsin town where I grew up. As a teen-ager, I worked at a store on Main Street. Next to the meat market. Farmers brought their live animals in for slaughter. I heard the squeals of the pigs and cows...frightened and in pain. It bothers me now that I eat the flesh of animals. Really, it's not the right thing to do. --Jim Broede

For the taking...for the savoring.

I have something meaningful. Precious love. And I appreciate what I have. This sense of love. And I reflect. That maybe it's only when we want more and more and more that we get bogged down. Like those millionaires who still want more. More money. More power. More celebrity. Instead of being satisfied with what they have. The plentiful want more. Often for themselves. They have insatiable appetites. I think that I have learned to savor what I've got. Love. The love I have today. I learned to savor what I had with Jeanne. Even in her waning years. I still had so much. And at the end, I wanted a few minutes more. But when I stop to reflect, I still have Jeanne. The spirit that resides in me. And I still have the ability to love another. Love is always in my grasp. There for the taking...for the savoring. --Jim Broede

It may become easier in Paradise.

It would be so much easier if we were brought up as vegetarians. We have become addicted to the wrong kinds of foods. Just from the moral standpoint. Seems to me it's wrong to kill any animal for the sake of pleasuring our appetites. I'm not sure that god intended that. But I guess animals kill each other. In order to survive. In Paradise, I assume, there's a different kind of food for the spirit. Love. Yes, love must feed the spirit. And there's only one language. The language of love. Expressed in loving thought. Hard to grasp all this. But I think it may become easier in Paradise. --Jim Broede

..the best way to live into eternity.

Yes, that's what I feel. Maybe I've lived this life before. Nietzsche has this idea of eternal recurrence. I'm not sure that I fully understand what he means. But I guess he's telling me to live my life in such a way that I'll be living the same life over and over and over again. For eternity. If that's the case, I don't want to waste a day. I'd want to feel this sense of being in love. Every day. Without miss. I will want to feel that I spent every day of my life in love. That would be the best way to live into eternity. --Jim Broede

I wonder if animals have souls.

I like fruit. I like vegetables. If I had more will-power, maybe I would become a vegetarian. I know innately that it's the decent thing to do. I wonder if there's a civilization somewhere in the cosmos where life is deemed so precious that all creatures are allowed to live. To exist together. In peace and harmony. Here on Earth, we are told that is not the natural way. I wonder if in Paradise, there are animals. Yes, I wonder if animals have souls. --Jim Broede

Finding ways...

A care-giver came on the Alzheimer's message boards recently and announced that she feels sorry for herself. And most everybody consoled her. I did, too. In my own way. You have to find some sort of happiness, I told her. How or what, I don't know. Only you can tell what will make you happy. And once you determine that, go for it. Oh, there are so many, many ways that happiness can be achieved. It's hard for me to understand why unhappy people can't or don't find a way to be reasonably happy. Falling in love is one way. Not necessarily with somebody. But at least with something. Some activity. Or just to be in love with nature. Or good books. Then you wouldn't feel sorry for yourself. Because you could resort to a pursuit you love, if only for a few hours a day. Think about it, I said. I'll bet you can come up with a few good ideas. Some people think I'm wrong for taking this approach. That I should show more empathy, more sensitivity. But I like to focus on solutions to problems. Such as finding ways to no longer feel sorry for one's self. --Jim Broede

Better to savor life...

A woman on the Alzheimer's message board wants to know if she can be tested -- to determine if she has the gene for Alzheimer's. I wonder. Why is it so important to know? Personally, I wouldn't worry about it. I'd just get on with living. A good life. A happy life. The odds are one is more likely to die of heart disease or a stroke or cancer or a traffic accident. Before getting old enough to lapse into Alzheimer's. The important thing is to fully live while one is still alive and healthy and functional. Better to savor life rather than worry about death. --Jim Broede

...a lasting good effect.

Thank gawd, I'm not an only child. I grew up with a brother and a sister. Both younger. And I count the fact that I had siblings a blessing. We had lots of interaction. And mostly fun. We've gone on to separtate lives and don't really stay in touch any more. But their presence in my life when I was growing up left a lasting good effect. --Jim Broede

...to still believe in love.

I think lovers dream every day and every night. As if they are together. Even when apart. Because they believe in this love. They believe in destiny. They are willing to live their love one day at a time. Trusting. Sharing their lives. Together. Loving. Fully living their dreams. Together. It takes two dreamers, a little boy and a little girl, to believe all this. They forget their age. And live as if they are ageless. As if put on Earth to love. Each other. Despite the obstacles. Yes, they are crazy enough to still believe in love. --Jim Broede

Where everyone is diseased.

Yes, I am smiling a lot. A permanent, perpetual smile on my face. I am in a good mood. Because I have the opposite of depression. A disease called love. There is no finer disease. No better disease to have. It makes one crazy. But such a wonderful crazy. Oh, if only the whole world, everyone, succumbed to this disease. I think that is what the god of love has in mind for us. Ultimately. A life in Paradise. Where everyone is diseased. Afflicted with love. Pure love. --Jim Broede

...love does make a difference.

I don't always handle every situation perfectly. Far from it. I get flustered. I get upset. I get annoyed. Sometimes, I lose it, so to speak. But less and less as I get older and more experienced in life. I try to step outside myself, and tell myself, relax. Think things over. Lately, I have been reminding myself that I am in love. And that I am blessed. I guess love does make a difference. --Jim Broede

A blessing.

I don't know if it'll be any consolation to care-givers. I had moments when I cried during the 13 years I accompanied dear Jeanne on her journey through Alzheimer's. But there were many happy moments mixed in, too. When I could make Jeanne smile. And make her happy and joyful. Sometimes, all it took was a long ride outdoors in a wheelchair. Or a nice warm shower in the evening. And a body massage. And a good night kiss. And just being there. Jeanne died over a year ago. But I'm not crying any more. Because I am focused on all the good times I had with Jeanne for almost 40 years. Oh what sweet love. A blessing. --Jim

It ain't all bad.

I like stories that end relatively happy. Or at least go through a happy stage. It's nice to savor such when it happens. Oh, I had so many happy moments with my Jeanne. Even during the 13 years of coping with Alzheimer's. So many happy moments I am still able to savor. Moments together. Loving moments. It ain't all bad. --Jim Broede

...a tonic for depression.

I wonder if love can be a tonic for depression. --Jim Broede

Yes, I must be in love.

It is snowing here this morning. A very fine snow. I cannot see town across the lake. I accept the snow. I like the snow. I like clouds. Sometimes as much as I like sunshine. I am going through a beautiful period in my life when I see and feel sunshine even on very cloudy days. And even in the middle of night. Yes, I must be in love. --Jim Broede

That's getting close to perfection.

I like the gentle sway of the dance. To feel so loose. I think I become too self-conscious when I try to dance. I should just forget myself. And dance like a fool. Just let myself go. Completely. Like I do when I write. I can feel the physical dance inside me. But when it comes to actual physical performance -- well, that's a more difficult task. I have to learn to be as relaxed physically as I am mentally/emotionally. I think that is why I like to free my spirit. Separate it from my body, in a sense. This notion of a free spirit. What does it mean? Really, I have to better learn to blend my spirit and my physical body. Into physical motion. I think I do it quite well when I am walking and jogging and running. I develop a rhythm. A little like a dance. My spirit and my body are one. Working together. Complementing each other. Perhaps the sex act, at its best, is a smooth flow of the spirit and the physical body. A simultaneous flow. A perfect blend. The total being has to come together. I think a good dancer would probably make a good lover. Because a dancer learns to blend the spirit with physical motion. Some people are naturally adept when it comes to physical expression. Others are more adept at spiritual expression. When the two are balanced and blended -- well, that's getting close to perfection. --Jim Broede

One experience I can live without.

I think I do have some idea of depression. And what it really is. Maybe that's why I think I've never been depressed. Clinically depressed, that is. Any malady I've had comes up short of depression. But I think I can imagine what it would feel like. Something horrid. Like one is trapped in a place, and can't find a way out. Maybe almost like being buried alive. I hope I never feel that way. I'd rather just imagine it. And not have to go there. I don't want to have to live in depression. That is one experience I can live without. --Jim Broede

Thank you, god.

Brooding out loud can be dangerous. Oh, rewarding, too. But think about what I do in this blog? I allow myself to say what's on my mind. And I don't always weigh the consequences. That maybe some of what I have to say will offend someone. Maybe annoy a whole lot of people. But I'm willing to take that risk. Just to share my reflections. With anyone that happens by. Maybe because it gives me a sense of freedom. Like I'm going out for a stroll in the world. Naked. I guess that's what I like to be. Naked. I expose my mind. My heart. When I'm in love with life. Or with someone. Or with anything. I tend to blurt it out. I share what's moving me today. My inspiration. In a way, it's like I'm writing a letter to god. Here's what is on my mind today, god. And by the way, god, I think you are a good god. A god of love. You have blessed me with so much love. For almost 40 years, with Jeanne. And still, the love is not over. You keep blessing me god. You allow me to feel good and happy. Daily. You create circumstances that keep me out of depression. You make me feel like a romantic idealist, a free-thinker, a liberal and a lover. You allow me to proclaim that I am happy and in love. You allow me to live my fantasy. As if it's real. You bless me with this feeling that I am in love. Thank you, god. --Jim Broede

Love puts me in a good mood.

You know, folks, I live life assuming I am doing it in a right way. But I also concede that it could be the wrong way. Doesn't matter. The important thing is to live life. Fully. Do it the way that makes me comfortable at the moment. And when I become uncomfortable -- well, then it's time for me to change my approach. And become comfortable again. For quite some time now, I've felt like I'm in a groove. Maybe it's because I am in love. There's no greater feeling. If something goes wrong in my life, I shake it off. I deal with it by saying, "Let's get it fixed. No sense in staying unhappy or disgruntled for long. After all, I'm in love." And that makes me blessed. Love puts me in a good mood. --Jim Broede

I would be unhittable.

We've been getting snow flurries here today. It was a good January. With very little new snow. Only several inches. It was almost too cold to snow. But we've been warming up a bit. And that may lead to more snow. I think Chicago had 10 inches of snow the other day. But that snow missed us completely. Often, our heaviest snow month here is March. When the cold and warmer air starts to mix and the moisture turns to snow. Big, heavy wet snow. The kind of snow that makes for good snowballs. I can make snowballs and pretend that I am a baseball pitcher. Throwing curveballs and fastballs and knuckleballs. All kinds of deceptive pitches. I can pretend I am pitching for the Chicago Cubs. And my pitches would melt before they get to the batter. I would be unhittable. --Jim Broede

Assuming that I am right.

I tend to challenge the "experts." About Alzheimer's. About depression. About religion. About oh, so many things. I don't always cozy up to conventional thinking. I look for my own truth. About how to live life. How to deal with life. How to cope. How to be happy. The "experts" on the Alzheimer's message boards told me that good vibes therapy and love wouldn't make a difference in treating Alzheimer's. Well, I know better. They're wrong. I'm right. If that makes me sound superior and like Mr. Know It All -- well, then so be it. That's no skin off my butt. I found what worked. On Jeanne. And so that's what I did. And I kept telling people. Hey, this works. At least for me. And for Jeanne. And I kept telling 'em and telling 'em and telling 'em. And some said enough. We've heard enough. Well, my attitude is if they've heard enough, ignore me. Turn me off. It's like with my blog. Oh, so many from the Alzheimer's message board come to visit. They read the blog. And they post mean and nasty comments. Because they don't like me. But still, they come back to read. And I suggest, they have become addicted. They're curious. In a sense, I'm their fix. Maybe they like to dislike. Like to hate. Like to be annoyed. Like to be angry. Yes, I push their buttons. I agitate. I stir the pot. They want me banned from the Alzheimer's message boards. I'm not one of them. I make them feel uncomfortable. And I suppose I like that. And when it comes to depression, I suppose I'm one of the lucky ones. I'm not among the 19 million Americans with depression. I've escaped. And I don't know how. Maybe because I have the right genes. But I suspect my father had depression. And my mother and my sister, too. So, how did I get by all these 72 years? Was I in depression without knowing it? Or did I find a way to cope? Did I fool myself into thinking that I wasn't diseased? So many things that I don't let bother me. Even my dad's suicide. I learned to cope early with that event. And get on with living. Reasonably happy. I don't let things haunt me. Drag me down. And how do I do that? Maybe I fantasize. I become a romantic idealist. I learn to believe in the concept of love. I create my own concept. My own take on love. I find ways to live my love. I write about it. I talk about it. But mostly, I live it. And I learn to live what I write. I create my own story. My own life. And yes, I'm living it. Even through disappointment. I believe what I want to believe. Even if I have to deceive myself in the process. Like with religion. I believe in god. And in an afterlife. In another dimension. A spirit world. Because I have to. Because I want to. I accept all this on faith. Because that's what makes sense. For me. It gives life meaning. And if I'm wrong, I'm wrong. But by golly, I want to be right. And so I go about living my life. Assuming that I am right. --Jim Broede

If given the choice, I'd choose to live forever.

I'm thinking today. Sort of out loud. About how one climbs out of depression. I don't know if I've ever been in total, complete depression. Oh, I've been sad. Unhappy. Even in despair. But I don't know if I'd call it depression. When I didn't even want to get out of bed. When I didn't want to face the day. Oh, maybe the night Jeanne died. I screamed and yelled. Maybe I wouldn't have minded dying, too. I felt lost. Alone. I don't know. Is that grief? Or depression. Is depression something like grief? Grief that never lets up? That lasts for days and weeks and months? I think my mother has been in depression. My sister, too. I wonder if my dad experienced depression? I guess I don't want to be depressed. Maybe that's why I think about giving my bouts of sadness other names. Like sadness. Like feeling glum. But I don't know if I've ever felt hopeless. Totally hopeless. As if I didn't want to live any more. Maybe for a few minutes after Jeanne died. Maybe I had this feeling that I wanted to go with her. I sobbed. Uncontrollably. I didn't want to let go. I wanted Jeanne to stay with me. If only for a few more minutes. I felt empty. As if I had lost my heart and soul. Like the bottom had just dropped out of my life. But I've always rallied. Throughout my life. I've always found ways to become happy again. To remind myself that I'm in love with life. Despite the pitfalls. Despite the setbacks. And that really, if given the choice, I'd choose to live forever. --Jim Broede

They think I'm wacko.

Oh, there are people that are "afraid" of living. And loving. Of fully embracing life. Today. Of savoring every moment. That's a message that scares more people than you might think. To some of 'em, life seems so perilous. So frightening. Some are downright scared. And I try to encourage them to be crazy. Less scared. I mean crazy in a nice way. To take risks. To go off the deep end. To believe in the impossible, so to speak. To fall in love. With somebody. Or something. To let themselves go. To come alive. To rejoice in the wonders of life. To feel blessed. For being alive and conscious. Able to be a free spirit. And yes, that does make some people afraid. Even afraid of me. For delivering such a message. They think I'm wacko. --Jim Broede