So much, in so little time.

I marvel at people that achieve so much at a young age. Maybe they sense they have to do it now. Rather than later. Because they are going to be short-lived. Take the great composers Schubert and Mozart. One died at 30. The other at 35. One wonders what more they would have achieved if they had lived long enough to die of Alzheimer's. Yet, in their brief lifetimes, they created immense works of beauty and human emotion. Almost as if they had crammed 1,000 years of creativity into their lives. --Jim Broede

Look out for fame & fortune.

In Great Britain, a 48-year-old woman with a wonderful voice has catapulted out of nowhere and become a celebrity. In an amateur talent show. And I think she's gonna rue the day she achieved celebrity and yes, lots of money. Maybe it's something Susan Boyle wished for. But with all this, she's in danger of losing perspective. And she may become an entirely different person. Not Susan Boyle any more. That would be a shame. Because the real Susan is delightful. Fame and fortune could change all that. --Jim Broede

...to find meaning.

I read Blake's poem, "The Tiger," yesterday for the first time in a long, long while. And it was so meaningful. It moved me. Made me feel good. Delightful. And I remembered, too, being required in my high school English class to memorize the poem. Which I did. Dutifully. By rote. I recited words without meaning. I wasn't yet ready to understand the truly profound beauty of Blake's lovely and divine words. Thank gawd, I've lived long enough to find meaning. --Jim Broede

So many options.

I often say things or write words for varying effect. I don't mean for everyone to get the same meaning. It's all right for some to be delighted and for others to be annoyed or downright angry. That's the wonderful nature of opinions. One can agree or disagree in many different ways. So many options. --Jim Broede

A threat to the white ruling class.

If Sonia Sotomayor brings a leftist agenda to the U.S. Supreme Court, so what? Conservatives are complaining about that. As if a leftist doesn't have a right to be on the court. Well, there are at least four ultra conservatives on the court now. So, let's have a little more balance. Sotomayor isn't all that far to the left anyway. Maybe more toward the middle. But to the extreme right wing of the Republican Party, even the middle seems like the far left. It also galls conservatives that Sotomayor once said that a Latina woman might make her judgments more sound than those of a white man. Conservatives say that sounds racist. Give me a break. We've had a white male power structure in America for a long, long time. With rampant racial and gender discrimination against the likes of Sotomayor. By the white male majority. Still do, in many ways. Sotomayor poses a threat to the white male ruling class. I love it. --Jim Broede

A choice assignment...a privilege.

Everyone has lived an interesting life. No exceptions. Even the infant who dies in the second day of life. Or the old man whose funeral was sparsely attended. There’s a story behind all these people. Only thing is they often go to their graves unrecognized for their achievements. For their lives. They evaporate. Never heard of again. Because nobody noticed. I look at the death notices in the local weekly newspaper. That’s all most of ‘em are. Death notices. Virtually no obituary. No memorable story of their lives. Unless they’re prominent. Relatively well-known locally. Maybe 1 in 20, or 1 in 50, qualify for special attention. Well, if I were running the local weekly, I’d give everyone a special obituary. I’d probe for a story. One behind that 2-day-old infant. What might have been if he lived a long life? Why was this infant ill-fated? Will he have any lasting-effect on the survivors? What dreams did the parents have for him? And take that old man. Only 3 people showed up for the funeral. Why not more? What do they know of the old man? And if nobody seems to know anything – well, then let’s speculate. Let’s find some meaning in this man’s life. Why don’t we know more? Oh, I have so many questions. Endless queries. When I was a young man and starting out as a writer for newspapers, I thought being assigned to write obituaries was a lowly task. Now I’d consider it a choice assignment…a privilege. –Jim Broede

Nobody can be that stupid.

I know a guy who knew Rush Limberger (aka Limbaugh) long before he became a famous raving idiot. And in those days, he said, Rush was a liberal. That makes me suspect that Rush's conservative schtick is merely a put-on. He's playing the role of the idiot to poke fun at conservatism. Underneath all this, he's actually a liberal. Trying to prove that conservatives are idiots. By acting like a mindless conservative idiot. Really, it's gotta be an act. Because nobody can be that stupid. Not even a bona fide idiot. --Jim Broede

...the ability & desire to be happy.

Why are people unhappy? Often, it's because things aren't going right in their lives, it seems to me. They wish for something they don't have. And that makes them unhappy. But I suspect that if they stop to ponder, they'll acknowledge they do have many consolations. Things and situations that would make them happy -- if only they shifted their focus. Rather than concentrate on what they lack. I have life and love. My most precious possessions. So, I'm relatively happy. Oh, so many things I don't have. I don't have everything. Never will. But what I lack are relatively small things in comparison to what I have. Guess my most cherished possession is the ability and desire to be happy. --Jim Broede

In the immediate moment.

I've learned that love is to be taken one day at a time. That's the best and most fulfilling way to fully live love. To taste it. To savor it. To embrace it. I feel enlightened. Only then does one get the full benefit of love. Otherwise, love becomes too anticipatory. Too much put off until a future time. A time that may never arrive. It's important to get the full benefits of love now. In the immediate moment. --Jim Broede

The trade-offs of aging.

My computer has been sluggish tonight. Don't know what's causing it. But I'm not sluggish. I walked 10 miles and did lots of yard work. Two nights in a row I've gone 10 miles. But still, I'm not as strong as I used to be. Used to be able to run a 7-minute mile. I'd never be able to do that now. Not even close. That's the somewhat demoralizing thing about aging. One slows down. One remembers when one could do things that one will never be able to do again. But age also brings benefits. I've learned how to live better. How to savor life. And to be more patient. And kinder. And to better understand the notion of love. So there are trade-offs. I lose some things by growing older. But I also gain some things. --Jim Broede

I've had time to mature.

I'm not sure that I think of myself as 73. In some ways, I feel much younger. But the fact that I've reached this age -- well, that seems like a marvel. Years and years ago, I thought of 73 as very old. But hey, here I am still walking 6 to 10 miles daily. Doing physical labor. Writing, writing and writing. Falling in love. Travelling all over the world. And learning more and more about the wonders of life. Of course, I know that tomorrow isn't guaranteed. Especially as I get older. But then, tomorrow wasn't guaranteed when I was a young man either. But unlike when I was young, I've finally learned to live one day at a time. And to savor life's daily experiences. It's nice that I've lived long enough to retire. And to do pretty much as I want. Which keeps me busy. But exuberantly happy. And as advertised in this blog, I've matured into a romantic idealist, a free-thinker, a liberal and a lover. --Jim Broede

...about the wonders of love.

When it comes to yard work and household chores, I never get done. But that's all right. It doesn't bother me. Because I recognize that I could work 24 hours a day forever, and there'd still be something left to do. That's what living is all about. I coud live to be 1,000 years old, and I wouldn't accomplish everything I want to accomplish. For that matter, I could live forever, and still have things to do on my list. Essentially, it means that I'm able to pick and choose from an array of activities. Life is full of boundless opportunities. And fun things to do. But best of all is being in love. And being a romantic idealist. I find so many, many ways to express and live my love. I come up with new ways all the time. Even when I do yard work and household chores, I'm thinking. About the wonders of love. Makes whatever I'm doing more enjoyable. --Jim Broede

Give me rain. Not sunshine.

Oh, I love rainy days. And thunderstorms. An occasional deluge. We haven't had one of those for a while here in Minnesota. It's been awfully dry. I've always liked a contrast in the weather. Everything from a blazing hot, sunny summer day to a snowy, frigid, windswept winter day. And all the inbetween stuff. Such as a colorful autumn and a tree-budding spring. But right now, I'd go for rain. And more rain. If I don't see the sun for a week, that will be all right. --Jim Broede

Oh, what a groove.

I'm in a groove. A love groove. I've been in love for 19 months. Every single day in that span. Without a miss. Consciously in love. Very much aware of it. Oh, I've been in love before. But this time it's different. Because I have a better understanding of love. And appreciate it more than ever. On a daily basis. In other words, I'm savoring the love. By taking it one day at a time. I don't get too far ahead or too far behind myself. I'm living each day to the fullest. Never before have I managed such a prolonged streak of happiness. It's thrilling. And profound. I don't ask myself, 'Can this last?' Because I'm preoccupied with now. Totally absorbed in the moment. Oh, what a groove. --Jim Broede

I will have learned to laugh.

I try to not get upset. Over almost anything. After all, what good does it do? Let's say that if I'm on the verge of getting upset. Well, then I stop and ask myself, 'What can I do about it?' Maybe nothing. But often, something. I deal with it. The best I can. But if I'm upset and stay upset -- well, that makes me uncomfortable. And I don't want to be uncomfortable. Take the current losing streak of my favorite baseball team, the Chicago Cubs. It's at eight, and counting. On a just concluded road trip, the Cubs lost all six of their games, and scored only 5 runs in the process. Yes, an average of less than a run per game. Well, the Cubs returned home tonight and broke out of their hitting slump. Scoring 8 runs. Only thing is, Pittsburgh scored 10 runs. So the loveable losers lost again. I'm beginning to wonder if the Cubs will ever win another game. Really, I'm pulling for the Cubs to have a fantastic losing streak. Maybe like 20 or 25 games. Just for the heck of it. To set the all-time record for consecutive losses. That would be funny. And it'd keep me from getting upset. Because I will have learned to laugh over such an outlandish plight. --Jim Broede

Clock chimed 10. Life's wonderful.

So many things I can do. Today. Every day. I'd feel overwhelmed if I made a list. Of things to get accomplished. So I don't. I'm gonna just coast through the day. Drift. Maybe some yard work. Walking, of course. Writing. Like now. I like to write. Makes me think. Because I've got to put something down. I'll write a love letter or two, too. But later. In the evening. I like to save the best for last. Like when I ate cake as a youngster. Saved the frosting for last. Now I eat it all at the same time. The cake blended with the frosting. Maybe my favorite pastime is thinking. I think when I'm walking. Or gardening. Or driving around. Even when I'm falling asleep. I'm thinking. Right up to the moment I drift into unconsciousness. But then I may start to dream. Which causes me to think in my sleep. And even more so when I wake. Because I often think long and hard about my dreams. I day dream, too. Fantastic stuff. The imagination is a wonderful thing. Gives more meaning to life. Anyway, it's a pleasant day. The cats are sitting by the open door. Looking out to the lake. The birds are chirping. A squirrel scampered across the railing on the deck. The sun is shining. The air is still. The clock chimed 10. Life's wonderful. --Jim Broede

And not least, how to savor life.

The blog. It's a nice invention. Gives everybody a say. A place to sound off. A forum. I use the blog as sort of a public journal. One that I control. Within reason, of course. Gives me a sense of freedom. Seems to me that many people tend to be reclusive. They don't open up. Maybe I used to be that way. In my younger days. But now I tend to be more bold. Not afraid to approach strangers. And get to know 'em. That's why I like to travel. To other countries. To meet people of different cultures. Different backgrounds. Even when we don't speak the same language. I've used interpreters. Often, this makes for round-table conversation. Because interpreters get involved. And I do learn a little bit of the language. Albeit, never enough. Oh, if only we had a universal language. It would bring so many people closer together. The next best thing is to learn multiple languages. We need to start teaching foreign languages earlier. In kindergarten. And make the language classes mandatory. I'd also put emphasis on teaching about other cultures. And appreciation of the fine arts. And philosophy. And about the notion of love. And not least, how to savor life. --Jim Broede

Swagger...and some arrogance.

I think I have natural swagger. With only a very small dose of arrogance. But I like to fake having more arrogance than I really have. Because I think put-on arrogance is funny. --Jim Broede

They won't be able to rip us off.

Sounds to me like the Obama Administration wants to offer Americans a choice: two kinds of health care. We'd be able to choose between private plans, or a public plan, similar to Medicare. That's fine with me. Because the majorty of us will choose the public sector plan. Overwhelmingly. In the end, it'll pretty much eliminate private health insurance plans. They won't be able to compete with the far superior government plan. And we'll have a single-payer system. Of course, the private sector will doggedly oppose government getting into the health care business. Because then the private insurers won't be able to rip us off any more. --Jim Broede

Ah, the mighty do fall.

I'm encouraged by a poll I saw the other day. Only 22 percent of Americans consider themselves to be Republicans. Used to be a lot more than that. Thank gawd, Republicans are on the decline. Maybe they will become an endangered species some day. Even extinct. Which means Earth would be a far better place. I assume many of the remaining Republicans are devotees of Dick Cheney and Rush Limberger (aka Limbaugh). They seem to represent the GOP these days. Little wonder that Republicans are leaving in droves. They're scared by what they see and hear, yes. But they obviously are exhibiting signs of intelligence and common sense. By fleeing. Many have become independents, or even Democrats. Or they've become apolitical. And to think, it wasn't that long ago that Republicans thought they had become a permanent majority party. Ah, the mighty do fall. Especially when they become smug and arrogant. --Jim Broede

Speaking of fearsome.

We Americans are making terrorists far too fearsome. But they don't frighten me. I don't mind if they are housed in U.S. prisons. Doesn't scare me a bit. Even if one might escape. He'd be caught in no time. But Congress has balked at allocating funds to close Guantanamo because of public outcry that then the prisoners would have to be transferred to prisons on American soil. Well, so what? I admit that terrorists are, in many instances, crackpots. But we have all sorts of American crackpots. So it should be no big deal if we add a few from other countries. George Bush, Dick Cheney, Newt Gingrich and all kinds of our politicians are crackpots. And we put up with them. We're accustomed to crackpots wandering around freely. Even in the halls of Congress. I even have one in my Congressional district in Minnesota. A super-duper crackpot named Michelle Bachmann. She's a real lulu. Heck, if she's on the loose -- well, then maybe nobody should be locked up. She's as fearsome and crazy and illogical as they come. --Jim Broede

My fondest wish...to live forever.

I listened to an astronomer today who estimated that the Milky Way galaxy has 1 trillion planets. Wow! Imagine that. I know there have been longtime estimates of billions of stars in the galaxy. And so if many of the stars have planets, sounds plausible that there would be an astoundingly large number of places with potential for life. Intelligent life. Maybe far more intelligent than the life on Earth. We humans could be among the dumbest creatures in the cosmos. Wouldn't surprise me. I'm trying to be a positive thinker. By imagining superior life forms. Maybe beings far beyond our wildest imaginations. Where life is deemed so precious that they've eliminated wars and found ways to extend life to virtual eternal proportions. Yes, god-like life. That's the level of existence I want some day. Maybe it's achievable. With transmigration of souls. That way I could get my fondest wish...to live forever. --Jim Broede

I'm a close personal friend of god.

Hard for me sometimes to tell the difference between a Democrat and a Republican. I suppose there's a degree or two of separation. I'm a little more comfortable with a Democrat than a Republican. I'm really independent. But if I have to choose, I'll take a 'liberal' Democrat. That doesn't mean they are liberals. They're still to the far right of me. But they're to the left of a Republican. I'm right-handed, but I lean to the far left on political and social and economic issues. Spiritual issues, too. I'm really very pro-American. But I don't mind being called un-American by a conservative Republican. I wear that 'un-American' label as a badge of honor. Because I wouldn't want to be pro-American by a conservative's definition. I'm for America surrendering some of its sovereignty. To the United Nations. And to a World Court. I'd love to see George Bush, Dick Cheney and Donald Rumsfeld go on trial before the World Court -- for war crimes. The more I travel and become acquainted with other parts of the world, the more I think of myself as a citizen of Mother Earth. And when I think spiritual thoughts, I consider myself a citizen of the cosmos. The USA is a mere speck in all of creation. I like to think big. As if I'm a close personal friend of god. --Jim Broede

He's out of office. Thank gawd.

Dick Cheney is fear-mongering. Trying to make Americans feel unsafe. And telling us that the only way to be safe from terrorists is to surrender many of our freedoms. And to allow the likes of Cheney to run the country. Heck, if we do that, the terrorists will have won. They'll have managed to rob us of our traditional values. Just so we're safe. Well, I'd rather be unsafe and free than safe and robbed of my freedom. Hitler and Mussolini took the Cheney approach. Or is it that Cheney is taking the Hitler and Mussolini approach? Those despots promised safety and grandeur for their countries if they were allowed to run the show. Well, look what happened to Germany and Italy. They lost World War II. And if Cheney had the final say about America's policies, we'd lose the war on terrorism. Of course, the Germans and Italians got bamboozled by their egomanical leaders. Let's not allow egomanicial Cheney to hoodwink us. Instead, let's send Cheney back where he belongs. To Wyoming, isn't it? Into retirement. He's no longer in public office. Thank gawd. --Jim Broede

He'd like to create Hell.

Conservative Republicans. They keep sticking to their old ways. No reason to adapt. It's the 21st century. But they still insist on living in the 18th century. Times change. But conservative Republicans don't. They don't believe in evolution. Or in progress. They believe in the old ways. Gotta credit them for nostalgia. And brainless politics. They'd just as soon wander in the wilderness than enter the modern world. They despise everything modern. Maybe that's good. I'd let them form their own country. Somewhere. Maybe in Greenland. Or the Arctic or the Antarctic. Maybe they could colonize the Moon, or Mars. There are enough of 'em around. They spout off. Take this guy Dick Cheney. He favors torture. Albeit, he tries to call it enhanced interrogation. Cheney implies that torture worked during the Spanish Inquisition. So, why not today? Cheney apparently thinks the world is becoming too kind. In its treatment of evil. His motto seems to be, 'Let's fight evil with evil. It's the only way to win.' Of course, I don't buy that. I'm a Progressive. Also known as a Liberal. Cheney would like to dispatch me to Hell. Pronto. Thing is, I don't believe in Hell. But Cheney would like to create Hell to prove me wrong. --Jim Broede

I'd go Fox hunting.

I’d love to run a baseball team. Namely, the Chicago Cubs. To make decisions about players. About ways to make the team better. The Cubs aren’t hitting right now. In a slump. In large part because their best hitter, Aramis Ramiriz, is out with an injury. Maybe for another month yet. That makes a difference. But the Cubs are reluctant to call up their best hitter in the minor leagues. Jake Fox. He was originally a catcher. Now plays first base for Des Moines. But he also can play in the outfield. And maybe at third base, Ramiriz’s position. Of course, it would be risky putting Fox at third. He might be a defensive liability. But maybe not. I’d take a chance. Because we need another big bat in the line-up. It’s worth a gamble. Otherwise, I’m afraid that the Cubs will go into a prolonged hitting slump. They’ve lost their last two games by 3-0 and 2-1. Just can’t manufacture runs. They have good pitching. But it goes for naught. Maybe we’re on the verge of a devastating losing streak. The Cubs need a lift. If I’m running the show, I’d stay up day and night. Until I found a solution. I’d probably go Fox hunting. –Jim Broede

Too putrid to reside in our prisons.

Come now, fellow Americans. Let's not be scaredy cats. That's what we sound like when we say we don't want terrorist suspects now housed in Guantanamo transferred to prisons on American soil. Because they may be too dangerous. Because they may pose a security threat. Good lord. That's ridiculous. We've already magnified the terrorist threat to the U.S. By over-reacting to 9/11. We're dealing with a bunch of thugs. Criminals. These aren't enemy combatants. Let's treat them just like any other suspected criminal. Give 'em a fair trial in a court of law. And if they're found guilty, put 'em in prison. Somewhere in America. Maybe in Leavenworth in Kansas. Or Florence in Colorado. Where we have maximum security prisons. Fortresses. They ain't gonna escape. We Americans are experts at imprisonment. And at sadistic treatment of prisoners. Including torture. Many of our states even have death penalties. Unlike many civilized countries. We Americans know how to be inhumane. Downright cruel to our prisoners. We even imprison people addicted to drugs. For non-violent crimes. Rather than get them in for treatment. To hell with a cure, I guess. That's far too humane, isn't it? Far too decent. Yes, we like to wage war. A war on drugs. A war on illegal immigration. A war on terror. Yes, we're war-mongers. We like to use shock and awe. And the heck with collateral damage. If tens of thousands of innocent civilians die in the process, so be it. Yes, we believe in retribution. But still, these alleged terrorists -- well, they scare us, don't they? They might escape from escape-proof prisons. Because they are bad guys. The worst of the worst. That's why it's all right to torture 'em. Let's pull out their finger nails and toe nails. Let's bring them to the brink of drowning. Let's deprive them of sleep for 10 or 15 days. Let's make them stand naked in awkward and uncomfortable positions. Let's stick vicious dogs on 'em. And let's hang 'em upsidedown, by their heels. Let's taunt them. Let's deny them all the basic human rights. And let's tell them we're the good guys. God's favorites. And they are the bad guys. Scum. Unfit. Even too putrid to reside in American prisons. --Jim Broede

Let's call the GOP Nincompoops.

Politics can be funny. Some Republicans want to rename the Democrats. And call ‘em socialists. The idea is to have truth in labeling, I guess. Well, if that’s what Republicans really want, maybe Republicans should set the example. And rename themselves in a truthful way. Yes. Sounds to me an appropriate name would be Nincompoops. That has an accurate ring to it. –Jim Broede

Putting one's faith in lucre.

We need a new mentality in America. To do what's best for society. For the common good. Paying taxes. For a better America. Sacrificing. Pitching in. To create a society that narrows the gap between the rich and poor. Making the rich settle for less. Heck, does a billionaire need all that moola? Do the rich need to be super rich? We're in an economic crisis, I'm told. The budget is out of whack. But one reason for that is that the rich received tax cuts under the Bush Administration. The tax cuts were unnecessary. The rich already had too much money. And they just got more. They got richer. At the same time that the poor got poorer. Doesn't make sense. It ain't right. But in America, we're used to allowing boundless wealth. It's a principle of capitalism. To walk away with as much money as one can carry. As much as one can get away with. I wonder if that's sinful. I heard once that some guy asserted that it's more difficult for a rich man to get into heaven than it is for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle. In other words, he ain't gonna make it through heaven's gate unless he gives away his overflow cash. But then, we've been told that Paradise here on Earth is achievable, in large part, by buying the luxureies of life. By indulging one's self. Seems a lot more pleasant to live rich than poor. But the same guy that suggested the rich man won't make it to heaven appeared to have no particular source of income of his own. He just lived more or less hand to mouth. Off the land. Off the goodwill of his compatriots. Guess maybe he had faith that the Good Lord would take care of him. Rich folk, on the other hand, would rather put their faith in lucre. --Jim Broede

Telling capitalists to go to hell.

I like it. I like it. I like it. More and more federal government regulation on meaningful aspects of our lives. For instance, the Obama Administration will require the automobile industry to manufacture more fuel-efficient vehicles. Yes, it takes government regulation to get that done. Private entrepeneurs won't do it on their own. So government has to step in to achieve the common good. American-style capitalism has to be required to benefit society. Because under traditional capitalism, greed and selfishness prevail. Something similar will happen in the credit card industry. Because banks and lenders want to screw the consumer. In order to pad their own pockets. Rather than to benefit society. So, we're going to see more stringent regulations. Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah! And eventually, we'll see a single-payer health care system. Yes, socialized medicine. Brought to you by the federal government. Hip, hip, hooray!!! We've allowed free and rampant enterprise to reign for far too long. And it's resulted in greed and more greed. In an ever-widening gap between the rich and the poor. Some day, we'll look back on these times as the turning point. When an enlightened society finally emerged. And we told greedy American capitalists to go to hell. --Jim Broede

No doubt about it.

I decided to pursue life as a romantic long before I even understood what it meant to be a romantic. It was instinctive. I was born to be a romantic idealist. And it took a while for me to become conscious of that fact. To become aware of what I was doing, and why. As a youngster, I decided to become a writer. Because I had to. I was being compelled by the holy spirits, by the grand Creator. So in the 6th grade, I started writing and publishing a little neighborhood newspaper, the Riverlawn Gazette. Writing newsy and satirical pieces about happenings in the neighborhood. And I sold the mimeographed weekly newspaper for a penny a copy. The idea wasn't to make money, obviously. Rather to just express and distribute my thoughts, my take on life in the neighborhood where I was growing up. And I've never stopped writing. I write virtually every day. And more than ever since I 'retired' 10 years ago. And I've learned to write what I want to write. Not what an editor or anyone else wants me to write. I'm my own boss. But now when I write, it's mostly romantic thoughts. Love letters. To express my love of life. And my very personal thoughts. My love. Writing makes me understand why I was born. Created. Put on Mother Earth. No doubt about it. To be a romantic. A lover. --Jim Broede

The architects never see combat.

I'd not want to be drafted and have to go off to war. Fortunately, when I was in the army, I never had to go into combat. I had a cushy job. Mostly as a sports writer for a division weekly newspaper in Germany. But these days, soldiers aren't that lucky. They go off to combat in a senseless war in Iraq. Some of 'em for three or four tours. That's inhumane. Sure, I know they are volunteers. But still, that's too much to ask of anyone. Little wonder that many of 'em are having mental health problems. Estimates range up to 300,000 soldiers in need of counseling and other therapies. Last week, a 44-year-old sergeant in a mental health clinic in Baghdad went berserk and shot and killed five American soldiers. War is gruesome. Stressful. And when it's an unnecessary war, that strains the mind even more. And what strains my brain is that the architects of these gawdawful wars never see combat. They're safe in their cozy beds on the homefront. --Jim Broede

The heir apparent.

I had this feeling at spring training with the Chicago Cubs two years ago that a young ballplayer named Jake Fox would be a big star some day. He caught my eye. My attention. He seemed so confident. That he could hit. I heard that he went to Cubs manager Lou Piniella and asked to be given a chance. For Lou to take notice. Well, a whole lot of baseball people are taking notice. Fox is playing for the Cubs Triple AAA farm club in Des Moines and he's leading the league in batting, home runs and runs batted in. He plays first base. The Cubs have a good veteran first baseman in Derrek Lee. But he's aging. Fox is the heir apparent. --Jim Broede

A sense of security and comfort.

On hindsight, I’m inclined to think that 13 years of Alzheimer’s for Jeanne wasn’t as bad as I once imagined. In that in the early stages, Jeanne really didn’t believe she had Alzheimer’s. And I probably fed that belief to some extent. So maybe we both lived an illusion for a while. And I suspect Jeanne always lived that illusion. Right to the end. Eventually, the dementia robbed Jeanne of the cognitive ability to even comprehend that she had Alzheimer’s. Maybe that was good. A blessing, actually. I think Jeanne was quite happy in the last 38 months of her life. The time she spent in a nursing home. Jeanne wasn’t really cognizant that it was a nursing home per se. She thought of it as home. The place she lived with me. Because I was with her 8 to 10 hours daily. Didn’t miss a single day in all that time. And I took her out and about on a daily basis. For extensive outings in the wheelchair. And I even often wheeled her home (six miles round trip) during periods of good weather. Yes, Jeanne had ample activity. And I gave Jeanne a shower and a body massage every night. And I tucked her into bed. And then I went home. And I showed up at the nursing home an hour or two after Jeanne got up and had her breakfast in the morning. And I’d hand-feed Jeanne her lunch and supper. In her room. So this became normal life for Jeanne. A comfortable life, really. Virtually stress-free. Because I was there to comfort Jeanne. To immerse her in good vibes. To make her feel loved. I don’t think Jeanne knew she was dying. Until maybe the final day or two. And even then, I doubt that she had a full grasp of the significance of death.

Anyway, I often tell care-givers this to try to ease their minds about their loved ones. The patients probably reach the point where they are unaware of their steadily deteriorating dementia condition. They can't grasp it all. And maybe just as well. But they can still savor some enjoyment from life. Little things. The taste of food. Something they like. Maybe ice cream. A body massage. Soothing words from their care-givers. Exercise. Fresh air. Sunshine. The presence of a loved one. Even if unrecognized. Maybe all this conveys an instinctive sense of security...and comfort. --Jim Broede

It was a team effort.

Life has settled down on the Alzheimer's message boards. Or so it seems to me. I'm fitting in. Pretty good. Wasn't always that way. Used to be I wasn't well-received. By some. Because I was perceived as rocking the boat. But now all seems well. We tolerate each other. That's nice. Maybe this is due to a combination of factors. Everything from me becoming more diplomatic, to other people being more understanding and tolerant, to better policing by the message boards' administrators and overseers. I think it was a team effort. --Jim Broede

Saved. Maybe by divine guidance.

It was perfect timing. For me, that is. I was listening to the Chicago Cubs game yesterday on the car radio. And it was the 9th inning. With the Cubs leading Houston 4-0. Everything was going perfectly. The Cubs brought in their closer. And I assumed he'd protect a safe lead and shut 'em down. And so I decided to go into the store and do some shopping. And that I'd catch the final score when I got back. Well, I was gone for half an hour. I tuned in. And the game had just ended. Turned out, the Cubs blew the 4-0 lead. Houston rallied for 4 runs to tie the game in the top of the 9th. But the Cubs rallied for a run in the bottom half of the inning, and won, 5-4. And I thought, my gawd. If I had stayed in the car to listen to what I expected to be an uneventful 9th inning, I'd have been a nervous wreck. I would have anguished. Probably hyper-ventilated. But I was saved all that. Maybe by divine guidance. --Jim Broede

A better alternative than crying.

I have an Italian friend who detests Italy’s prime minister Silvio Berlusconi. She thinks he’s a national disgrace. And at times, she gets livid in her criticism. I tell her that he can’t be as bad as George Bush was as our president. But she says Berlusconi is even worse. That Berlusconi is a billionaire who pretty much controls the news media in Italy. And so he has his way. Including his cronies in the Italian parliament. And that he even appoints his girlfriends to positions in the government. She also alleges that Berlusconi has a gigantic ego. Of course, I tell her that he must be popular. After all, he has been elected prime minister three times. I find Berlusconi rather entertaining. Which is easy for me to say. I’m an outsider looking in. I don't live in Italy. Sometimes, Berlusconi wears a colorful bandana. When he’s undergoing hair restoration on his balding head. And at a recent summit meeting of world leaders in London, he offended Queen Elizabeth because of his loudmouth grandstanding. I think of all this as funny. My friend doesn’t. I guess I learned from eight years of George Bush. Wasn’t anything I could do to get Bush ousted from office. I thought he was a national disgrace. A stain on the American fabric. So I learned how to laugh. That’s better than crying. –Jim Broede

I like people that I dislike.

I like people. Even people I dislike. Fact of the matter is that I like to probe and discover why I dislike someone. And when I do that, I often find reason to like those I dislike. I find they have attributes. That they aren't totally dislikeable. At the same time, I discover that I've been closed-minded. And recognition of that fact makes it possible for me to open my mind. At least a little bit. And that's enough to make the opening wider and wider. Really, some of my best friends are people that I initially disliked. I remember an editor I disliked. But bit by bit by bit, I learned to like him. In large part because he was quite different. Different from me. And that's what I liked most about him. He helped me see another side. That's why I don't like to be turned off by people I dislike. They often turn out to be the best teachers. And friends. --Jim Broede

...the kind of president I want.

Doesn’t bother me that Barack Obama is going back on some of his campaign promises and recent statements. After all, like the rest of us, he’s fallible. Makes mistakes. And so when he’s wrong, he’s got to change his position. And do what he deems the right thing. Rather than stick to his mistakes. Like George Bush did. Bush never wanted to admit that he was wrong. Obama, it seems to me, listens to people. His advisors. His critics. His political opponents. That’s very refreshing. Yes, I think Obama has an open mind. He can be swayed. By liberals. By conservatives. By all kinds of people. That's the kind of president I want. –Jim Broede

Maybe it's in the genes.

The nice thing is that an idiot usually can be outmaneuvered. That's another reason not to allow an idiot to make one angry or upset. Even if it's only a handful of people that put up resistance to an idiot, that's still resistance. And significant resistance. Many of us know how to get around the rules. To disobey an idiot's edicts when he's in a position of authority. Actually, one can get much pleasure from this. I worked for an idiot editor once. At first, I got upset. But when I thought about it, I had many ways of countering him. Of doing things my way. And eventually I won the battle. The war, so to speak. We have to learn to deal with the idiots of this world. We can't let them win. And we lose if we become excessively angry or upset. We have to remain calm, cool and collected. And act like intelligent people. Not like idiots. We must not let idiots make us idiots. Unfortunately, many, many people acquiesce. They follow an idiot in lock step. And become idiots themselves. It happens all the time. In politics. In social situations. In every-day life. There is a proclivity for the human race to become idiots. Maybe it's in the genes. --Jim Broede

Money -- the root of all evil.

I'm appalled by the greed and utter ruthlessness of big business. Corporations. Exploitation for the sole purpose of obscene monetary profit. So much of commercial business isn't in business for the sake of serving society and mankind. But rather to screw just about everyone. That's the way I see it. Of course, I may be wrong. Maybe I have a warped perception of what's going on. A weird notion of good and evil. And what I see as evil is really good. Many American capitalists will tell you that. I'll readily admit there are exceptions to the rule. But for the most part, I don't trust the private entrepeneur, especially the big ones. Such as the oil companies, the banking and lending institutions, the Wall Street crowd. These capitalists are out to pad their pockets. To become filthy rich. To widen the gap between the rich and the poor. To exploit. That's why I'm a fan of government. Especially the federal government. And maybe even world government. Because if government is run properly, it becomes the protector of the masses, of the common good, of the have-nots. Good government counters selfish capitalism with, yes, what's perceived by big business as evil. Socialism. But socialism, when run properly, is good because it puts restraints and regulations on greed. Unfortunately, big business often infiltrates government. Takes over government. Runs government. Bribes our elected officials. Big business has the money and the power and the wherewithal to corrupt just about everyone. It's so easy to bend to the temptation and persuasion of money. Yes, greed. There's something to the adage that money is the root of all evil. --Jim Broede

Pure love vs. watered-down love.

I'm a student of love. I'm trying to major in love, in a sense. And I think there's a oneness to love. I have to love one other. We're told to love humanity. Everyone. Even our enemies. But I find all this impossible. I think god wants us to love one other. Totally. Completely. And if we can do that, we become whole. We actually experience love then. We then know what love means. It's an achievable goal. If we try to love everyone, our efforts are diffused. Spread far too thin. We are then trying to achieve something that's impossible for the human species. Absolutely impossible. But if we narrow our scope to loving one other -- well, that's achieveable. Yes, we have to think small. Rather than big. But still, when one thinks of it, that small achievement is huge. We have to find someone we can love unconditionally. Because that's the only form of pure love. Anything less than pure is not real love. It's a watered-down love. --Jim Broede

Her company screws people.

Maybe there's nothing I like more than being able to express my opinion. About almost anything. That's why I write. It's a good relief valve. I know that my opinions alienate some people. They think I should shut up. Apparently, because I offend them. A lady that works for a credit card company objected when I used the word "screwed." I said I thought her company screwed its customers by raising interest rates willy-nilly. She said if I persisted in using such language she'd hang up. Because it wasn't a proper word to use in the presence of a lady. Well, she hung up. I could have used a milder word. But I thought "screwed" was the most effective. The lady got the jist of what I had to say. And that's what counts. She really couldn't counter what I had to say. So she had to object to the use of a single word. She fully knew that her company routinely screws people. No matter what it's called. And by the way, the word 'screw' and the definition I meant is in my Webster's dictionary. --Jim Broede

Give me a break, please.

A credit card company called me about a month ago. Told me they appreciated me as a customer. And wondered if I had any suggestions as to how the company could serve me better. And I said I was satisfied. But that I traveled a lot. Overseas. And that their credit cards were accepted only in the USA. But they informed me that would change. They have plans to expand. To other countries. Maybe in a year or so. Anyway, I've used this credit card often. Since 1987. And I never carry over a balance. I always pay in full. Every month. So I was surprised when last week the company sent me a notice. That it was raising my interest rate. Apparently for no solid reason. Just for the heck of it. Because credit card companies are allowed to do it. Willy-nilly. Well, now I no longer have that good impression of the company. Called Discover. I think I will tell Discover to go to hell. And start using other credit cards that don't raise my rates arbitrarily. Of course, I don't have to worry about paying interest. Because I pay up on time. All the time. But it's the principle of the thing. Most of these credit card companies are linked to banks that recently got government bailouts amounting to billions of taxpayers dollars. Yes, you and I are helping these banks survive with our tax monies. And yet they have the audacity to charge us more in these hard economic times. Give me a break, please. --Jim Broede

I'm grateful for precious moments.

When I sit down and reflect on my life, I conclude that I've gone through good times and not-so-good times. But the good times far outweigh the bad times. Like 99 percent versus 1 percent. In other words, I've been mostly happy. Of course, that doesn't stop me from griping and complaining about this and that. Maybe that's what makes life so good. I'm able to say what I want to say. I really have a great amount of freedom. And I've been able to spend much of my life in love. Yes, actually in love with life. Even when I didn't maybe consciously know that I was in love. I was still in love. Amazing. I keep discovering the wonders of life. Becoming more conscious all the time. At the moment, I'm so in love with life that I want to live forever. I'm sort of greedy in that respect. But I also recognize that if I can't live forever (because it's not allowed by the Creator), I'm still grateful for these precious moments in time. --Jim Broede

I like all that respect & attention.

My cat Loverboy grooms me a lot. Just like he would another cat. With his sandpaper tongue. And he follows me around the house. Even into the bathroom. Never gives me any privacy. And he paws me in bed at 4 in the morning. So I asked the veterinarian about this. "I never ever had a cat quite like Loverboy," I said. "He treats me like a cat, I guess." The veterinarian said that's exactly what he's doing. He thinks I'm another cat. A dominant cat. An alpha male, so to speak. He's showing his sign of respect. By grooming me. Only thing is, he might wear my skin raw. But I gotta admit, I like all that respect and attention. --Jim Broede

Texas ain't my idea of Paradise.

I don't want to sound un-American. But I wouldn't have much difficulty learning to live in another country. Especially, if English is the prevailing language. But even if it wern't, I think I could still adjust. I'd just not be able to converse with a large number of people. Anyway, I'm always learning. I like to travel. Albeit, I don't like to be on the move a whole lot. l like to stay in one place for a sustained period. Gives me time to get acquainted. To feel at ease. I returned from Scotland a week ago. Only 10 days there. I'd like to have stayed a year. The Scots are gracious. Friendly. In fact, no matter where I go, people are basically very nice. Cordial. Welcoming. Of course, that also goes in the USA. But I do feel uneasy in Texas. The governor there recently talked about maybe it'd be a good idea if Texas seceded from the union. That's what I mean. Sounds a bit crazy to me. I've been in Texas. And I've heard lots of crazy talk. And that's the state where George Bush got his political start. He's returned there, too, now that he's left the White House. Guess Bush feels comfortable in Texas. I'd go to other places to find comfort. Texas ain't my idea of Paradise. --Jim Broede

On beauty.

I had a dream this morning. Of being visited by my mother. She'd be 95 if still living. And I thought that would be the way she looked. Instead, mom was in her prime. Positively beautiful. But then again, even if she looked 95, she'd still be beautiful. Beautiful people never lose their beauty. --Jim Broede

I refuse to be diverted.

When I was walking along the Royal Mile in Edinburgh, I consciously left my camera in its carrying case. I didn’t pull it out. Even once. Because I truly wanted to absorb what I was seeing, what I was experiencing. I didn’t want to interrupt my vision with modern technology. We have the tools to record virtually everything. Every movement. Every experience. And if in doing so, I wonder if we miss living the experience. Feeling it totally from inside our being. Oh, we can replay it. With pictures. Over and over again. But still that isn’t living it. Seems to me that we live it only once. And if we are so busy recording the experience for posterity, I wonder if we miss something. I want to live it from within. And I refuse to be diverted. By technology. –Jim Broede

Stomach-wise, I'm a German.

I tried not to spell my name in Scotland. Instead, to just pronounce it. I have the German spelling. Broede. Pronounced just like the Scottish Brodie. I found it convenient to be mistaken for a Scottish Brodie. There are lots of 'em. A whole clan. With their own plaid pattern. In the Edinburgh phone book, there's almost a whole page of Brodies. And I came across a Brodie guest house and Deacon Brodie's Pub on the exotic Royal Mile. Of course, I look more German than Scot. I tried to talk with a Scottish brogue. But that was impossible. I thought about wearing a kilt. And I would have liked to take bagpipe lessons. Though I have no musical talent. I can't even sing. There's a Scottish sausage known as haggish. Containing stuff you don't want to know about. But I didn't have the guts to eat it. Give me German bratwurst instead. So maybe I have to confess. Stomach-wise, I'm really a German. --Jim Broede

Makes me a romantic idealist.

I'd not want to live in a castle. That would be a little too pretentious. But last week, I was living across the road from the Eileen Donan Castle near the village of Dornie in the western Highlands of Scotland. Indeed, I could take that. For a long time. Albeit, I was there for only a day or so. Residing in a nice bed and breakfast guest house. And I felt a little as if I was living in 1220, the year the castle was built. Named after St. Donan, a Celtic saint martyred in the Dark Ages. The original castle was built for Alexander II as a defense against the Vikings. Anyway, I have learned to live, if not in a castle, in Paradise. And in love. The two go together. And it makes me believe that I'm being guided by the spirits. To places where I belong. And across the paths of people I'm supposed to meet. Makes me a romantic idealist, doesn't it? --Jim Broede

Feels good to be alive and aware.

I try to never get too used to my environs. Because then I tend not to see what's happening around me. Maybe because I consider it too routine. Too every-dayish. I've seen it before. Time and again. But when I consciously look, I see something new. Virtually every day. Maybe it's something that has always been there. But I never noticed before. Now I look out the sliding glass door. To the railing on the deck. And I see a line of eight stones and small rocks. And a birdhouse. Looks a bit artistic. I could take a photograph. And pass it off as art. Hang it on the wall. My black cat, Chenuska, is next to me. On a cushion. On my desk. Sleeping. Contentedly. Makes me feel relaxed. If I hadn't just exercised my powers of observation, I wouldn't have noticed. And now, I hear the chimes from the clock. Nine. Yes, it's 9 o'clock in the morning. So many times, I haven't heard the chimes. Oblivious of it all. Because I wasn't listening. Unconscious on my feet. And here I am writing. About what I am seeing and hearing. At this very moment. Yes, I'm making myself more aware of what's around me. Feels good to be alive and aware. --Jim Broede

A shame, isn't it?

I have a grandson. Josh. Age 28. He died the day before yesterday. Drowned. In a boating accident. On a lake in Wisconsin. Didn’t know how to swim. Fate. It happened. Nothing I can do about it. Can’t be undone. Sad, isn’t it? Would have been nice if he had lived til 80 or 90. And died of Alzheimer’s. But even then, his death would have been lamented. In part, because Alzheimer’s is deemed a very cruel disease. A bad, bad way to die. But there are far worse ways. Demonstrated by Josh’s early demise. Long before he had lived to old age. I didn’t know Josh well. Hadn’t seen him in many, many years. Maybe that makes it a little easier for a grandfather. Not really knowing someone. Intimately. Fondly. Besides, he was my step grandchild. Makes for even a little more distance. I won’t even cry. A few days ago Josh was up and walking around. Presumably savoring life. He had no idea he was about to die. Tragically. He’s being cremated. So by this time, he may just be ashes. No longer a physical being. Guess there won’t be a formal funeral. Maybe a memorial service later on. They’ll let me know. Anyway, I really don’t have many memories of Josh. He was the product of a broken marriage. So maybe even his father sort of lost track of his son. Let alone his grandfather. Makes me wonder if Josh will be properly mourned. Well, I’m assuming Josh has a spirit. That’s still alive and well. Maybe he’ll read this. The lament of a grandfather who never really knew him. A shame, isn’t it? –Jim Broede

To feel whole. And oh, so alive.

I like to walk. It's a nice way to explore the universe. Especially here on Earth. This past week I've been walking in Scotland. Along the waterfront in Edinburgh. And down what's know as the Royal Mile. Beautiful architecture. Buildings out of fairy tales. And then walking in the Scottish Highlands. In the moors. Along the lakes. In the mountains. Walking in and around castles. And with a dear, dear friend. Oh, I am living. And loving. And walking. Now that I'm home in Minnesota, I am walking up to 10 miles a day. Maybe 70 miles some weeks. Often, I feel as if I am walking on a cloud. I never walk alone. In that always, there seems to be a guiding spirit. Maybe the Creator, himself. I took to walking and running about 40 years ago. To relax. To stay in shape. I've learned to make walking a pleasure. A time to think. To reflect. To feel physical and spiritual. To feel whole. And oh, so alive. --Jim Broede

A moment of pure pleasure.

Doesn't take much to make me happy. To give me a thrill. And a sense of peace and comfort. Last night, for instance, I went for a walk. And I saw a deer. We noticed each other. The deer turned its neck and looked back at me. We must have stared at each other for a minute. Transfixed. Then we both went on our way. Here it is the next day, and I still remember that moment. A moment of pure pleasure. --Jim Broede

When we humans play god.

I’m gonna play god today. Makes me a bit uneasy. I’ll decide the fate of living things. Trees. Which ones will live. Which will die. The decision is being forced, in part, by the local utility company. Some trees are perceived as threats to the overhead power lines. In storms, they could come down. And disrupt the power. In many cases, the trees need only to be topped. Trimmed. I have many trees in my yard. Far more than my neighbors. They like openness. Green lawns. I’m for shade. Trees. Trees. Trees. All kinds of trees. Big trees. Small trees. Hundreds of species. I have a row of Black Hills spruce trees along the driveway on the north side of my lot. They must be 60 or 70 years old. Aged. Senior citizens. Like me. Getting a bit shaggy. Two of ‘em look like they are dying. They’re tall trees. Reaching for the sun. Trying to prolong their lives. But the power company tree-trimmers think it’s time. They are encouraging me to fell the whole line of spruce. Because of the proximity to the power lines. And after years of resistance, I’m inclined to go along. In part, because other trees have seeded themselves naturally. Beneath these trees. Mostly oaks and maples. And they need more space to fully thrive. So it’s a trade-off. Besides, the power company will do the dirty work. For free. No charge. I’ve got another spruce, too. On the east side of the lot. One that has been topped repeatedly to stay just below the power lines. And it doesn’t look pretty. Spruce trees weren’t made to be topped. So I’ll acquiesce and allow that one to come down, too. There’s a fast-growing sugar maple tree that the trimmers want to take down. But I’ll resist that to the death. Sure, it has to be trimmed. Topped. But there’s a lovely branch growing out over the road and beneath the power lines. That can become the unique focal point of this tree. It’ll have an unusual shape, an unusual personality. And a long life. Yes, we all deserve a long life. But sooner or later we die. Sometimes on our own. Other times when we humans decide to play god. –Jim Broede

I'm pretty much on my own.

I’m leery of editors. Because I think most of ‘em would try to make me more conventional. In my writing style. They want me to follow rules. They want to make me less free. Less me. Maybe I’m leery of teachers, too. For the same reason. They want to make learning far too burdensome. To learn by rote. I think writing and learning should be fun. Experimental. Exploratory. An adventure. I like to learn mostly by making mistakes. By feeling my way. On my own. And I don’t like tests. Because too often we are being taught to pass a test. To make us better robots. When I went to college, I had a double major. In English. In history. But I wish I had majored in love. Only thing is, nobody offers a degree in love. So, I’m pretty much on my own. –Jim Broede

I felt at home.

Maybe John Alongi is Scotland’s perfect innkeeper. Perfect by my standards, that is. I want someone who makes me feel at home. As if I’m part of the family. Like I’m no longer a stranger. Wow! Did I get my wish. John and I hit it off. Right from the start. I sensed it from the moment I made the overseas telephone call to make a reservation at the Robert Burns Guest House in Edinburgh. I saw the picture of the place. On a website. On the Internet. A nice three-story mansion. Built in the late 18th century. And only a 5-minute walk from the waterfront in Scotland’s capitol city. Yes, the guest house looked like Edinburgh. Dark, dark architecture. But beautiful. I had never been to Scotland before. And this would be a good introduction. A place to spend my first night, and most of my 10-day stay. Between visits to the Scottish Highlands and the Isle of Skye. With my love from Italy. Coincidentally, John speaks Italian, too. And French. He was born in Italy. But raised in Switzerland, near the French border. And now he speaks good English. With a neat Scottish brogue. Somewhere along the line, John decided to be an innkeeper. He approached it as an adventure. Not afraid to make mistakes. Knowing that’s the way to learn. John’s personality and mine happen to mesh. Nicely. We’re both sort of romantic idealists. In love with life. John may be more gregarious than me. He likes mingling with people. I’m more reflective. And I like to grab my moments of solitude. As a writer. But I still like camaraderie. I like to mix with a handful of kindred spirits. And John is one of ‘em. I felt an instant friendship. A closeness. When I arrived, the Robert Burns looked a little like it had been hit by a bomb. Bricks strewn about. Dust in the air. A wall had been knocked out. To connect the interiors of two adjacent buildings. To double the size of the guest house. To 40 rooms. Yes, we were in the midst of a 10-day construction program. John apologized for any inconvenience. He originally had planned on putting us on the first floor. But the plan changed. We scurried up to the third floor, as far away as possible from the construction. It was never a problem. On the contrary, it turned out to be a godsend. Because the next morning, at breakfast, one of the tables was occupied by three members of the construction crew. Ruaridh, Paul and Bill. And there was vacant space at the table. Too inviting to pass up. I sat down. And presto. I had three more instant friends. With brogues even stronger than John’s. Yes, I was becoming an integral part of the family. These were my colleagues. They helped introduce me to Edinburgh. Took me about. Showed me Scottish hospitality. The night the construction ended, we had a party. On the lawn. In front of the Robert Burns. Wine. Pizza. Everything nice. And the following night, my final one in Scotland, Ruaridh grilled steaks and we gathered in the dining room as if we were all one big family. A blend of Scots, Italians, Spaniards and an American. I felt at home. –Jim Broede

Only one love at a time.

I'm a lover. And so is Ruaridh MacAlister, a Scotsman. But we're different kinds of lovers. I can love only one woman at a time. Ruaridh plays the field. Picture Ruaridh walking down the street. A woman on each arm. And maybe a woman traipsing behind. Ruaridh draws women from all around. Every woman is a conquest. He's a Don Juan, so to speak. He doesn't hesitate to tell a woman, "You're beautiful." And he reels them in. Right and left. And he makes love. Physical love. It's genuine. But very physical. And there's something to be said for that. But I like a love that runs far, far more deeper. Into the spirit. Into the soul. Focused on one. Not on the many. And love-making takes a long, long time. Getting to know someone. One. Ever so gradually. I understand where Ruaridh is coming from. That's his way. Right for him. Makes him feel like a true lover. But I couldn't handle Ruaridh's way. I need my own way. I'm a one-woman man. Always have been. Always will be. Ruaridh can make a conquest in a few days. Maybe overnight. I can't. I won't. Once thought all I would have was one love in a lifetime. That would be sufficient. But now, maybe it's two. Yes, two in a lifetime. Because I never want to give up on love. I never want to retire from love. I want to love forever. Or for as long as I'm alive and able. But only one love at a time. --Jim Broede

Bush fertilized the soil, thank god.

If you're a Scotsman, you probably like Barack Obama. He gets rave reviews in Scotland, where I just visited. I didn't even have to ask. The Scots go out of their way to tell me they like Obama. And what he stands for. If we had a world government, I suspect Obama could be elected president. Yes, of the entire world. For a change, we Americans did ourselves right. We elected a good man. Intelligent. Articulate. A man capable of going far beyond the usual politic. Able to capture the imagination of a large segment of the world's population. And to think, he comes on the heels of the worst president we've ever had. It fortifies my belief that often from bad springs good. Maybe Bush fertilized the soil with his abundance of crap. And it gave roots to an Obama. Oh, thank you, kind and merciful and loving god. --Jim Broede

Goes against my grain.

The more I travel and meet people in other countries, the more I feel like a citizen of the world. An Earthling. Not merely an American. I’ve transcended nationality. Anyway, I’ve been called to jury duty. And I’m to fill out a form. I'm to check my nationality. And I decided to write in ‘human being’ and ‘Earthling.’ Maybe that’ll get me into trouble and out of jury duty. But then, I’m also given the option of opting out. By age. If I’m 70, I am allowed to refuse to serve. Yes, the privilege of age, I guess. Or is it age discrimination? The judicial bureaucracy also wants to know whether I’m married. And if so, my wife’s occupation. Jeanne died almost three years ago. But still, I checked the box that lists me as married. And I listed Jeanne’s occupation as ‘fulltime spirit.’ So yes, I’m married to a spirit. Feels darn good. But that doesn’t stop me from being in love. With another woman. Someone still on Mother Earth and very much alive. For that matter, I’m totally in love with life, period. Oh, so many ways to get out of jury duty. I’ll claim I’m crazy. A flake. That should be a major disqualifier. But being a citizen of the world means I don’t have to live solely by an American credo. I can apply world standards, and maybe even rules from the spiritual realm. Besides, I’d hate to sit on a panel that’s supposed to judge other people. Goes against my grain. –Jim Broede

I met the real John Knox.

I like traveling. Especially in an English-speaking country. Knowing the local language makes a big difference. More opportunities to communicate. Directly. Effectively. Lots of the world problems would be solved. If we spoke a common language. A universal language. I've just returned from Scotland. Of course, many Scotsmen speak with a brogue. And I speak with an American accent. But we each have a basic understanding of English. So nice. I can approach almost anyone. And satisfy my curiosity. Like about the man walking his dog along the waterfront in Edinburgh. The dog approached me. As if to say, "Let's become acquainted. Maybe even friends." I thought it was a good idea. Maybe the man initially thought his dog would be a nuisance. Perish such thought. I asked him for his dog's name. Jill. Interesting, isn't it? We don't hesitate to ask the name of a pet. But we hesitate asking a stranger's name. Anyway, we conversed. Strangers getting to know each other. A little bit. Turns out he's a retired Methodist minister. Age 74. A year older than me. I kidded him. That he's ancient. And I'm a youngster. We talked about our common ties. Such as life after retirement. We're both busier than ever. He has meetings. Speaking engagements. And time to walk Jill. And I have time to travel. And to cultivate a loving relationship. Yes, actually fall in love. He likes my upbeat outlook on life. After all, religion and love have something in common. Love is what life is all about, isn't it? I conclude that he's an amiable man. Open to friendly philosophic discussion. On our very first meeting. Brought about by Jill, the friendly dog. Had the man still been on the pulpit, I'd likely have gone to listen to a sermon. And if I lived in Edinburgh, maybe I would have cultivated a lasting friendship. From a chance meeting. Of two strangers. Our paths had crossed. Maybe by coincidence. Or perhaps, grand design. As we parted, I suddenly realized I knew his dog's name. Not his. "Give me a name," I said. "John Knox," he replied. Yes, it was the same as the famous Scottish clergyman John Knox (1510-1572), leader of the Protestant Reformation and founder of the Presbyterian denomination. And I thought, to me, the real John Knox is the man I just met. Walking his dog. A wonderful real-life experience. One to remember. Forever. --Jim Broede

Love is not having to say goodbye.

I'm not good at saying goodbyes. At train stations. Or at airports. Especially in public places. That hampers my style. And so when I say goodbye to anyone close to me, I hesitate. I'm a bit stilted. Not flowing smoothly. Uncomfortable. Maybe it's the same reason why I can't dance. It's done so often in public. Almost as if on stage. Used to be I'd be nervous if I had to do public speaking. Still would be a little bit nervous about that. But not nearly as much as before. Practice, I guess. Makes it more easy. In the physical realm I feel a bit inept, a bit self-conscious. Performing. Unless I'm by myself. Alone. Easier to run and exercise when I'm alone. Or to sing. While I'm alone in the shower. And maybe I even write better and think better in solitude. Anyway, I was talking about saying goodbyes. Just the thought of saying goodbye makes me sad. I don't want to say goodbye. Ever. I don't want something happy and joyful to end. Albeit it, most goodbyes are temporary. The worst goodbye is the goodbye that comes with death. The physical parting. But still, there's a connection. A spiritual tie that remains. Forever. Fortuanately, my kind of goodbyes are full of life. We really aren't saying goodbye. And so there's no reason to make a big deal of a parting at a train station or an airport. It is what it is. Really, love is not having to say goodbye. --Jim Broede

Paradise is everywhere.

Ain't life wonderful? How one can move about. A half-day ago, I was in Edinburgh. In Scotland. And now I'm back in Minnesota. So nice. Back from a romantic interlude. That's what life should be. One romantic interlude after another. Actually, I have a romantic interlude virtually every day. That's the nature of love. Paradise is everywhere. In Scotland. Venice. The Italian Alps. All it takes is two people. Two lovers. --Jim Broede