I've taken to 'Bonnie'

I think of it as a beautiful love song. It's simple.

My Bonnie lies over the ocean
My Bonnie lies over the sea
My Bonnie lies over the ocean
Oh bring back my Bonnie to me

My true love hadn't heard of it. Until I introduced her to the song. Which I assume is Irish/English/American in origin. Anyway, I'm surprised. That she was unfamiliar with it. Because she's astute when it comes to music. All kinds of music. Anyway, I've been sort of singing the song lately. For what reason, I have no idea. I'm not a singer. And I really can't carry a tune. But with Bonnie, I can come close. Which is a miracle. Here's the rest of the song.

REFRAIN:
Bring back, bring back
Bring back my Bonnie to me, to me
Bring back, bring back
Bring back my Bonnie to me

Last night as I lay on my pillow
Last night as I lay on my bed
Last night as I lay on my pillow
I dreamt that my Bonnie was dead

REFRAIN

Oh blow the winds o'er the ocean
And blow the winds o'er the sea
Oh blow the winds o'er the ocean
And bring back my Bonnie to me

REFRAIN

The winds have blown over the ocean
The winds have blown over the sea
The winds have blown over the ocean
And brought back my Bonnie to me

So, anyway, I've been smitten with this song lately. Happens now and then. A tune comes to mind. And I find myself singing or humming or chortling it. And I’ve gone to YouTube. And found jazzed-upped versions of Bonnie. By Ray Charles and by the Beattles. Interesting stuff. --Jim Broede

Maybe we survive by not knowing.

I'd hate to be a clergyman or a doctor. Because I'd have to deal with people that have serious problems. And I'd probably have to do it on a daily basis. That would be difficult to handle. It'd drain me emotionally. Although, I'd try to not let it. But that's easier said than done. I suspect that clergymen and doctors have ways of buffering themselves from other people's problems. They'd have to. In order to protect themselves from a breakdown. I probably could stay aloof. But I wonder if I'd have to sell my soul in order to do so. Maybe I already have. Because in so many ways, I isolate myself from people. All but a handful. A few friends. I like people. I genuinely do. But often, it's from a distance. I don't want to be emotionally drained. I wonder if many clergymen and doctors deal with their patients and parishioners in perfunctory ways. Allotting them only so much time. Maybe a half-hour of counseling or a 15-minute office visit. So that it's difficult to really get to know people. Maybe that's how we survive. By not knowing. --Jim Broede

Only so much I can do.

People in depression leave me baffled. I really don’t know how to deal with them. So generally, I just leave them be. Initially, maybe I try to make them feel better. Try to cheer them up, to some small degree. But maybe that sends them deeper into depression. In the end, I guess, it’s up to them. To find a way out of depression. They either have to take pills. So-called anti-depressants. Or get counseling. Talk therapy. Or just dig deep into themselves. And lift themselves up by their bootstraps. One thing I try to avoid doing. And that is to allow a depressed being pull me down with them. I’m pretty good at that. I distance myself. And try to look at the depressed person clinically. Rather than get emotionally involved. Maybe that makes me cold-hearted. But hey, I recognize that sometimes there’s nothing I can do. Even to prevent a suicide. Stuff happens. I’m a good listener. But there’s only so much I can do. –Jim Broede

Better ways to make a living.

I don't wanna be a coal miner. That's for sure. I went down into the coal mines. In Carbonia. In Sardinia. And it was an interesting place. To visit. But not to work. I saw what it was like. In vivid terms. The coal mines are open to the public. As part of a museum. With all of the artifacts linked to the coal mines in Carbonia, a city of 30,000 inhabitants. Carbonia is one of Italy's newest cities. Built in two years. From 1936 to 1938. For the purpose of mining coal. The mines shut down in 1964. Just as well. Coal mining is unhealthy. Even today. But more so in the past. Anyone who worked in a coal mine for years most likely came down with various lung diseases. Many of 'em lethal. What possessed one to become a coal miner? Maybe it was the only practical way to make a living in some regions. It was dirty. And gruelling and dangerous work. Miners allowed themselves to be exploited. So that mining companies could make a fortune. Anyway, I gotta tell you. The tunnels in the mines are awesome. Another world. Underground. Makes one appreciate daylight. The outdoors. But unlike some people, I'm not bothered by being underground. No claustrophobia. I don't like being high up. Way above the ground. That makes me feel uneasy. Anyway, the museum in Carbonia does an objectivve job of presenting the perils of coal mining. And has graphic pictures of what life was like in the mines. I was fascinated by tbe grim and dirty faces of miners. All be it, some of 'em seemed to be enjoying life in the mines. But I can think of many better ways to make a living. --Jim Broede

On a rock. An eternal moment.

My true love got a whim today. That she wanted us to go to the beach. In the morning. And to be back in time for an engagement she had this afternoon. I thought it would be too rushed. That we weren't allowing for enough time traveling to and from the beach. And that we'd have precious little time on the beach. But my true love prevailed. And just as well. Because I settled down on a rock at the edge of the Mediterranean Sea. And went into a state of euphoria. Just resting. And thinking that on this very rock, maybe several thousand years ago, someone else was sitting. Contemplating life. Just like me. And I felt that maybe we were sharing the exact same experience. That it was a day just like this. The sun was shining. Yet a fine mist was falling. Which seemed strange. And I thought maybe I was having communion. With an ancient being. Who may have captured an eternal moment. Right here on this rock. --Jim Broede

By an act of god, or happenstance.

I'm thinking about how far we humans have come in 6,000 years. And also how far we haven't come. All this thinking has been triggered by my visit to ancient Phoenician ruins in Sardinia. A place where some civilizations were living even 4,000 years before Jesus made his debut into the world. I'm not sure that religion has made much, if any, advances in all that time. We are still acting like religious idiots. Even killing each other in the name of our personal gods. I'm wondering if religion has done more harm than good since the arrival of human life. Anyway, I assume there are many more advanced civilizations in the cosmos. And I wonder if they have their own religions, and how they compare with those on Earth. Scientists and astronomers are coming to believe more and more that life abounds in the billions of galaxies in what appears to be an ever-expanding Creation. Whether it be by an act of a god, or happenstance. --Jim Broede

It's a rather nice place to be.

My gawd, people were living on the island of Sardinia in the Mediterranean Sea 6,000 years ago. And around the city of Carbonia, where I'm spending the winter, archeologists are digging up relics of these ancient civilizations. Digs are going on in full earnest. And I've seen some of the stuff being unearthed. Pottery thousands of years old. And bones of people who lived thousands of years ago. But there are few bones of the ancient Phoenicians who lived on the island in 600 B.C. The Phoenicians worshipped multiple gods. And practiced cremation. So there's not much left of Phoenician bones. Phoenicians were reduced to ashes, and put in urns. And if you were a youngster who died before you could be integrated into the community, your remains ended up in a big communal urn. Carbonia has turned the archeological excavation of the Phoenicians into a park. Open to the public since 1960. My true love and I had a tour of the ruins on Sunday. And our guide was a woman named Cinzia. It was enlightening. And I began to wonder if my true love may have had ancestors entombed in the Phoenician necropolis. The tombs were built into the rock, and we walked in. An errie feeling. Interesting. That Phoenicians apparently didn't want their ashes scattered about. But placed in tombs that are now seeing the light of day. For the first time in 2,500 years. I'm assuming that the spirits of the Phoenicians have moved on to other locales. Although I wouldn't mind sticking around Sardinia for eternity. It's a rather nice place to be. --Jim Broede

I kick them in the ass.

My biggest pet peeve is being hurried. I want to take my good-natured time. If I'm given a 10-minute notice to be ready to go out, I find that totally unacceptable. Instead, I'll be ready when I'm ready. And not a minute sooner. If it takes an hour, so be it. I've spent too much of my life meeting unreasonable deadlines. Hurry. Hurry. Hurry. And now that I'm old and retired, I won't have hurrrying in my life any more. It's far too stressful. Things will get done when they get done. If I find myself in even a little bit of a hurry-up mode, I purposely shut down. I don't tolerate it. As a youngster, I was taught to do things lickity-split. To not waste time. And it was the same at work. Writing for newspapers. One had to think fast. And write fast. I'm now thinking more than ever. And writing more than ever. But I do it slowly. At my own comfortable pace. And if somebody tries to hurry me, I kick them in the ass. Figuratively. --Jim Broede

Caps with fur earflaps.

I thought it was a pleasant day. Maybe a little windy. But the sun was shining. In full brilliance. Felt spring-like to me. Here in the city of Carbonia. In Sardinia. But the guide we had at the Phoenician ruins was all bundled up. In a winter coat. But what made me laugh was her cap. With furry earflaps. The kind one might wear in the middle of a wild winter blizzard in Minnesota. I guess she wanted to stay extra warm. I was wearing an open jacket. And had a bare head. And was quite comfortable. Maybe a sign that I have been toughened from the experience of living in Minnesota for 45 years. The guide spoke in Italian. But my bi-lingual true love was with me. To interpret. And I learned a lot about Phoenicians. But I was left wondering about how they dressed 2,600 years ago. In Sardinia. In February. Whether they wore caps with fur earflaps. --Jim Broede

So that we'd become acquainted.

I met an Italian lady on the street this afternoon. Walking toward me. On a narrow sidewalk. With shopping bags in each hand. So as she approached, I took to the street. And made a motion for her to proceed. To take the full sidewalk. And she said something to me. In Italian. And it sounded nice. I assume she was thanking me. For being courteous. I told her I didn't speak Italian. And asked if she spoke English. No, she didn't. But she kept talking. In Italian. I listened attentively. Without understanding more than a word or two. But she sounded so very pleasant. She looked middle-aged. Maybe about 60. Finally I told her in Italian that I was a stupid American. Because I don't speak much Italian. She became more amiable. And eventually put her shopping bags in one hnad. So she could extend the other. For a handshake. And she said arrivederci. And so did I. And as I walked away, I wished I spoke fluent Italian. I would have engaged her in extended conversation. So that we'd become really acquainted. --Jim Broede

They made yesterday meaningful.

My true love and I wandered yesterday. To the highest point in the city of Carbonia in Sardinia and saw the Mediterranean Sea. Off in the distance. Maybe 20 miles away. We wanted to see some Phoenician ruins. Dating back close to 3,000 years ago. But the place was closed. And we'll return later today. However, it was a delightful time. Because we walked the grounds. And two small dogs, looking like twins, accompanied us. And they came to me. And I gave them attention. I became attached. I would have loved to take the dogs home with me. But I'm sure they belonged to someone. Maybe a caretaker of the grounds. Or another visitor. Who just let the dogs roam. Knowing that they'd stay in the vicinity. And return by signal. But I didn't see anyone. Although there were three cars in the parking lot. And now I'm wondering. When we return, will I see the dogs again? I like those dogs. Because they made my yesterday meaningful. --Jim Broede

Something god imagined.

I wonder how many of us ask ourselves, 'What do I want out of life?' And if we do, do we really have an answer? Or do we go through life without ever knowing? And if so, is that a problem? Maybe that's the essence of life. The search for meaning. Some of us find it. Some of us don't. And is meaning essential? I like to ponder these questions. Because it's fun. To think of answers. And to find meaning. Even if I'm fooling myself. If I'm here for only an instant in time. Like a blink of the eye. Do I really have time to find meaning? Maybe I'm just here to enjoy the moment. Single moments. Maybe I'm just a tiny fragment of god almighty himself. Maybe the grand god created us all. From his imagination. And that's all I am. Something god imagined. --Jim Broede

Trying to focus on the essentials.

I'm gonna take far less baggage back with me to Minnesota than I came with. I'm leaving lots of things here in Sardinia. Mostly my clothes. Either for storage for next winter. Or for giving away. To the Red Cross. Or anyone who'll take the stuff. Fact of the matter is that I have far too much stuff. An accumulation of clothes, especially. It's outlandish. More shirts, more sweaters, more trousers, more shoes, more jackets than I need. More just about everything. So when I board the plane, I won't check a bag in the cargo hold. I'll carry a back-pack and a brief case. Right on the plane. With me. Ideally, that's the way I'd like to travel. Coming and going. When I came, I checked an immense bag. And it got missent. To Sicily. Would have been just as well if it had gotten irretrievably lost. I could have lived without it. That's the story of my life. I have too much of the unessentials. Now I'm trying to focus on the essentials. Such as love. And happiness. --Jim Broede

To make for a better world.

If I could change one thing about the American educational system, it would be to put emphasis on teaching foreign languages. German. French. Spanish. Italian. Chinese. Russian. Yes, every langauge in the world. I'd create a multi-lingual society. And I'd start in preschool. Even before kindergarten or first grade. And everybody would be required to take foreign languages. It would be just as important as science or math or social studies. Knowledge of foreign languages would make Americans more worldly. More understanding of other people and other cultures. Seems to me that language is one of the best inventions ever. Now we need to exploit it. To make for a better world. --Jim Broede

Brings the world closer together.

Now that my winter stay in Sardinia is about to end, my true love keeps thinking of last-minute things to do. Things we should do, but didn't. Partly because of time limitations. But I keep telling her, let's not do too much. Let's not spread ourselves thin. I've had a wonderful time. Just doing things at an easy and relaxed pace. No hurry. The last thing I want to do is hurry through life. Let's just enjoy each other. Even lazily at times. The nice thing is that we are in touch. Daily. Even when I'm in Minnesota. And she's in Sardinia. Because we have Skype. An audio-video connection. So we see each other and talk to each other. Daily. Often, multiple times in a single day. Yes, the wonders of the modern age. Makes possible a long-distance romance. We're connected in so many ways. Brings the world and people so much closer together. --Jim Broede

I need a cord that doesn't tangle.

I've resisted joining the modern age when it comes to telephones. I rarely use a cell phone. And back home, I don't even own one. My true love, however, got me a cell phone that I can use in Europe. Won't work in the USA. And just as well. I've been reading about potential health hazards linked to cell phones. Especially to heavy use of such phones. Maybe linked to certain kinds of brain tumors. My handyman convinced me recently to install wireless mobile phones in my house. So that I can walk around with 'em. And have a phone in several locations. But I'm gonna bring back the more conventional, old-fashioned phone. At least for my desk. Where I generallly use the phone. I didn't like the tangling cord. But maybe I can find a cord that doesn't tangle into a jumble. It's annoying. Having to untangle a phone cord every now and then. But better that than a brain tumor. --Jim Broede

I'll try to let Republicans be.

I'm a happy being. But I'm not always happy with myself. For occasionally being unhappy. With other people. Instead, I should just let everyone be. Themselves. If I can manage that, I'd probably be happy almost all of the time. I'm unhappy with Republicans, for instance. But I should respect Republicans. For having the gawd-given right to be idiots. I should just let them be. Idiots. Instead of wishing they'd see the light. And make for a better world. --Jim Broede

I only have myself to blame.

Being away from my usual home for a while probably makes me more appreciative of home. That's one of the advantages of getting away. The old saying goes, absence makes the heart grow fonder. Well, it may be doing that for me. I miss my two cats, for instance. Now it remains to be seen if they missed me. Probably not. But I won't let that hurt my ego. And it's gonna be interesting seeing deep snow again. Though I can't say I missed it. I've reached the stage at which I can live without snow. Without winter, in fact. Anyway, I'm more disciplined at home. In Minnesota. I keep a closer eye on my diet. And I exercise more. Aerobically. Got on the scale tonight, and discovered, to my chagrin, that I weigh 8 pounds more than when I arrived in Sardinia. That ain't good. The same thing happened to me when I was in Iceland this past summer. Put on weight. Came back weighing 176. So I trimmed down. To 168. That's what I weighed when I came to Sardinia. Now it's 176 again. I'd like to think the weight gain is between my ears. But it ain't. I'm no longer svelte. Good gawd. I'm eight pounds more than svelte. Italian food. Maybe I gotta learn to live without it. Or certainly less of it. But my true love suggests that it ain't the Italian food. It's other kinds of goodies. That aren't Italian. And that I only have myself to blame. --Jim Broede

Onward! Long live the rebellion!

I'm seeing signs of a middle class rebellion. In the USA, of all places. And that's encouraging. I've often wondered if the middle class consists mostly of zombies. The living dead. People exploited by the ruling elite. Big-money interests. Bankers. Wall Street. Big corporations. Rich politicians. Just look at the U.S. Senate. You've pretty much gotta be a millionaire or even a billionaire to get elected these days. Middle class America has all but disappeared. Into a silent, sleepy majority. That's allowed the conservative minority to thrive. To wield the power. More or less by default. The conservatives in America are out to destroy government. Of the people. And by the people. To make the rich richer. And the poor poorer. And to make the middle class ineffective. In a sense, the American middle class is just as bad off as the people of Egypt and Tunisia and Libya. But finally, I'm reading of long overdue protests springing up all over America. Relatively small protests so far. But it's a start. And one of the most effective protests is occurring in Wisconsin, the state in which I grew up. There the new Republican governor is trying to destroy labor unions. Under the guise of balancing the budget. But the governor's underlying motive is to destroy the middle class and to privatize everything. In essence, to allow the oligarchs to run the show. And believe me, they'll do it in a ruthless manner. They don't care about the common good. But rather about the good of an elite few. The filty rich. They'll make the rich even filthier. Unless the middle class wakes up. Onward! Onward! Long live the rebellion! --Jim Broede

We've been brainwashed.

We humans are products of our upbringings. Or so it seems to me. And that may be unfortunate. Because then we don't start with a clean slate. We were moulded by our parents. Our teachers. Playmates. Our acquaintances. To be comformists. More or less. I've had to really struggle. To be myself. Rather than what people around me expect me to be. I accept much of what I was taught. But probably far too much. I don't question the ways of the world nearly enough. Just because things have been done certain ways for a long, long time doesn't mean they are right. I suspect we do wrong things all our lives. Because we were taught that wrong was right. Our forms of government, for instance. Or our social mores. Just think about how we humans accepted the notion of slavery. As if it was the morally right thing for humankind. Some day, we'll think of capitalism being just as immoral as slavery. But it's gonna take a while for us to get there. Because we've been brainwashed into thinking that wrong is right. --Jim Broede

Yes, beautiful dandelions.

I'm gazing at dandelions. Here in Sardinia. But the dandelions don't seem to abound as much in Sardinia as in America. Maybe because it's February. The middle of winter here. But mild enough for dandelions to grow. I'm thinking. These are beautiful dandelions. But I was brainwashed all my life to believe that dandelions are ugly. Weeds. To be eradicated. With weed-diggers. And with nasty chemicals that make people sick. But now I'm opening my mind. Taking a new look at dandelions. Yellow flowers. To be adored. Revered. I'm gonna encourage dandelions to grow in my yard this summer. And I'll even pick a bouquet. And bring the dandelions indoors. Yes, beautiful dandelions. --Jim Broede

Another magical moment.

I'm feeling a gentle breeze. On my face. My head. My hair. And warm sunshine, too. I'm sleepy. Sitting on a park bench. I'm closing my eyes. My hands folded. I'm leaning forward. Arms braced on top of my thighs. It's a significant moment. A moment of pleasure. Peace. Tranquility. I don't want to be doing anything else. Or be in any other place. Just absorbing this moment. And now I've captured the moment. In writing. So that I can linger over the moment. Time and again. Now I'm listening to chirping birds. My eyes closed. I'm about to enter another magical moment. --Jim Broede

Steering my life in a stirring way.

I like to live life without a set plan. In other words, stay flexible. Consider the options. The alternatives. As they arise. And then take action. Often, impulsively. Yes, living one day at a time. Living in the moment. I'm doing that now. By writing. About the moment. Maybe an insignificant moment. But I'm searching for significance. Always am. I'm in Sardinia. Here because I took conscious action. By cultivating a loving relationship. With a Sardinian. What can be more significant than that? Makes me a man of action. I did what I wanted to do. Instead of merely dreaming about it. I don't know yet how this will affect the rest of my life. That's the wonderful part of living. Waiting to see. By living each day. And seeing how it unfolds. I like the glamour and the thought of it all. Maybe I'll do something bold. Something yet that I haven't even dreamed of. I'll consider all possibilities. And when it's time for action, I'll take it. Meanwhile, I'm gonna enjoy the significance of what I've already done. Steered my life in a stirring way. In a romantic direction. --Jim Broede

I've been properly Italianized.

I purchased a pair of Italian-made walking shoes shortly after my arrival in Sardinia in December. And they are wearing out. Showing signs of having to be replaced. Maybe before I return to the U.S. next month. They have been good shoes. Never got a blister. Even when breaking them in. I've been walking. Up to 10 or 11 miles a day. Discovering Sardinia on foot. That tends to wear out shoe leather. I also bought a pair of more casual walking shoes. I'll wear then when I board the plane for my return trip. Along with new Italian trousers and Italian sport coat. Yes, I've been properly Italianized. In apparel, at least. Even though I probably still look more German or Czech. Not so very American, I think. --Jim Broede

Makes us a perfect fit.

My true love is acclimating me to the ways of Sardinia, the ways of the Italians. I'm not so sure that I buy into all of it. But I certainly do to a large extent. Maybe not when it comes to a too-Spartan way of life. Such as going without certain modern conveniences. The ones that save time. It'd be like if I relied always on pen/pencil and paper. Like I am doing now. Sitting in a piazza. Writing. My thoughts. My observations. More often than not, I do this at the computer. At home. Saves me so very much time. I can capture thoughts more easily on a computer. And file or edit 'em with the punch of a button. Oh, I've been tempted to write everything by longhand. Or to even use an old-fashioned typewriter. Like I did when I was in the 6th grade, and got a typewriter for Christmas. Maybe I'm selling my soul by adopting time-saving measures of living. Such as using a clothes dryer. My true love simply hangs the wash outdoors. May take a day or two or even three for everything to dry. I'm also used to using a microwave oven more often than not. My true love relies on a gas stove and a small electric oven. My true love doesn't even own a toaster. And doesn't eat out all that often. Unless I kidnap her and drive off to a restauramt. Indeed, she has some Spartan blood and genes. Which I accept. However, I'm more the Athenian. But my true love enjoys museums. Goes out of her way to visit museums. Wherever we go. And brings me along. For which I am grateful. So maybe she's an Athenian after all. And yes, she likes to travel. And she has a romantic nature. That makes us a perfect fit. --Jim Broede

Into my pleasant reality.

I create my own reality. Right here in my blog. Because I record what I'm thinking. And feeling. And seeing. Something nice. Ordinary life. I'm out for a walk. And I've taken a break. Sitting on a concrete stoop. In a piazza, of sorts. Next to a coffee and snack shop. Actually, I'm in a parking lot. But not the usual blacktop one finds in the U.S. Instead, it's paving brick. Rather classy. The modern-day version of cobblestone. I like it. Across the road are two four-story apartment buildings. With businesses on the lower levels. Including one that specializes in home security services. There's also a post office. And several small businesses. The street is lined with trees about 10 to 12 feet high. Some day, they'll be much bigger. Making for a more attractive thoroughfare. A small dog has just run across the pavement. Right past me. Hardly gave me notice. A man in a jogging suit also walked by. His hands clasped behind his back. As if handcuffed. It's about 6 in the evening. And the sun is setting. An amber-colored sunset. Highlighted by a small patch of cumulus clouds. In an otherwise clear sky. Maybe a sign of a weather system moving in. It's been sunny all day. Now a man walking a cocker spaniel on a leash has appeared on the scene. If I spoke Italian, I might approach him for the purpose of paying attention to his dog. Beyond a metal fence where I sit is an elementary school. With three flags hoisted on poles at the front of the building. The Italian, the Sardinian and the European Union flags. And the school building is decorated with modern art. Graffiti. Dusk has set in. And I'm off for more walking. Into a dark night. Into my pleasant reality. In Sardinia. In Italy. --Jim Broede

When I write, I am saved.

Writing. That may be my salvation. The written word pulls be through life. My written words. Especially at difficult times. Because when I write, I'm forced to think. I put thoughts on paper. Or on the computer screen. I can see the words. I can reflect on what I've written. And it's my creation. I think I could live without love. Although I'd hate to. But it would be more difficult for me to live without the ability to write. Without being able to record my thoughts. To know that I am alive. To be able to create words. My own meaningful words. My own thoughts. Loving thoughts, too. In that sense, I am never without love. As long as I have loving thoughts. I often end the day by writing a love letter. And when I spend part of the day writing, it's a successful day. No matter what else happens. Especially if I've written a love letter. And when I'm upset over something, I sit down and write. So that I can find the words that put my life in proper perspective. Usually, I determine that I have no valid reason to be upset. I merely over-reacted to a particular situation. --Jim Broede

Tell me, who's the selfish one?

I'm wondering if I'm selfish. Because occasionally I'm accused of being selfish. I don't think I am particualrly selfish. I may be at times. Everybody is, I suppose, selfish to some degree. Anyway, I try to give more than I take from a relationship. But maybe I take more. Because I know how to receive. To savor. I can take a few crumbs and turn them into a loaf of bread. Therefore, it could be argued that I receive more than I give. I know how to appreciate. Yes, how to receive. But the person to whom I may be giving may be unappreciative. Incompetent at receiving. Not knowing how to savor. So tell me, who's the selfish one? --Jim Broede

I'll be back next winter.

I have a week left in Sardinia. And I don't know if I'm sad to leave. Doesn't really matter. Because I'm learning to take life one day at a time. And to savor each day. No matter where I am. Sardinia. Timbuktu. Minnesota. Every place is nice. That is, if one makes the most of it. By getting a feel for a place. And I certainly got that in Sardinia. I am experiencing Sardinia from a relaxed, easy-going perspective. Moving about freely. Observing. Not worried that I am getting too little. I'm sitting on a stone wall now. In Piazza Roma, the city center in Carbonia. It's 9 in the morning. Bright sunshine. Makes me warm. On an otherwise cool day. I'm casting a long shadow on the piazza. I'm looking across the sprawling piazza. To a city park. The one with a multiple geyser fountain. Turned off for now. But it'll be on in an hour or so. Then shut off at 2 in the afternoon. When the city goes into a siesta mode for a while. Most businesses close at 2. But life springs up again at 4. And the fountain will be on again. I know the ritual. The routine. The timing. The pulse beat in this community. In America, we go pretty much around the clock. Especially during the daytime. We wouldn't dream of closing in mid-afternoon. Or shutting off our fountains. We Americans have to be on the go. All the time. Making money. Profits galore. Our grocery stores stay open all night. In Sardinia, they are closed by 8 or 9. Maybe all this makes the Italians better equipped to cope with life and with the world--wide economic crisis. Because Italians embrace leisure time. Better than we Americans. We see such embracing as laziness. As lost opportunity to make an extra buck. To make the capitalist system thrive. I'm ready to accept the Italian way. It's more sane. More sensible. More comfortable. The way life was meant to be lived. Oh, not every Italian is alike. Anymore than every American being the same. But I see trends. Drifts in both countries. And it's easier for me to be caught up in the slower flow in Sardinia. Which means I'll be back next winter. For a longer stay. --Jim Broede

My incomplete thoughts.

I have incomplete thoughts. Nothing wrong with that. Maybe there is no such thing as a complete thought. Because one thought seems to lead to another. Even before the original thought is finished. It's an endless chain. Or maybe it's just plain difficult for me to organize my thoughts. To figure out where one thought ends and another begins. Leaves me confused. Maybe that's why my blog is written in relatively short pieces. Threads. Little thoughts. Maybe I shouldn't even call some of the stuff thoughts. Maybe I picked the right title for my blog. Broodings. Seems to me that's what I've been doing all my life. Brooding. Fits with my surname Broede. Broede's Broodings. An expanding collection of incomplete thoughts. --Jim Broede

I want fewer desperate people.

My true love thinks its unsafe for me to go walking the streets at night. Almost anywhere in Italy. Even in her town of 30,000 inhabitants in Sardinia. But I haven't seen anything that would make me fearful. However, my true love believes in playing it safe. For example, she won't leave her car parked overnight outside her mechanic's shop. Because it's in a secluded area. And she imagines some nasty guy coming by and setting fire to her beloved 1986 Fiat. Just for kicks. Because she's read that such has happened. Elsewhere in Italy. And she locks the entry door to the house with a fancy lock. That locks not once, but four times. Takes four clicks. Four turns of the key. That makes it more difficult for anyone to break in. And she leaves the key in the door at night. Inside. Which blocks against anyone inserting a key from outside. Even when she's home, she keeps the door locked. My true love doesn't exactly trust people. Especially destitute people. Italy has hordes of unemployed. Some people that more or less live hand to mouth. Desperate people, my true love says. I guess that tells me something about the social system. It's lacking. Maybe even more so than in the U.S. Albeit, Italian families tend to take care of their own. That's nice. But still, I'd like to see more effort in Italy, and worldwide. To provide better social services. To make for fewer desperate people. --Jim Broede

Maybe I'm gonna run out of time.

In too many ways, I don't like what I've become. Oh, don't get me wrong. I like myself. I like being me. But I have faults. Shortcomings. I'm not perfect. Far from it. And so I strive to change. For the better. But sometimes it may be for the worse. Because I don't know where I'm going. I'm feeling my way. In the darkness. And I fail. And that can be discouraging. Until I remind myself that's exactly how one learns. By failing. Over and over again. Until one gets it right. That's why I need to live forever. So I have time to get it right. In a sense, I'm constantly making myself into a new being. I am evolving. I'd like to think that overall I'm a better being than I was when I came into this world. But sometimes, I wonder. Maybe I'm gonna run out of time. --Jim Broede

In clever and meaningful ways.

I'm caught between desires to change the world and to accept the world as it is. Maybe that's the dilemma we all face. The dilemma of mankind. In my younger days, I probably leaned more toward change. Now I'm probably tilted toward acceptance. Maybe I've learned that no matter how hard I try, I ain't got the power/ability to bring about the necessary change. I have to accept the world as I've found it, and make the best of it. Even the so-called undesirable stuff. Actually, if there's anything being changed, it's me. I can change myself. From within. My attitudes. My principles. My actions. But I can't do much with the world around me. Even with other people. They have to change themselves. I have to accept them. As they are. And that's a difficult challenge. Meanwhile, I know that there are people trying to change me. For one reason or another. But mainly to make me a comformist. To make me fit into their concept of what I should be. Fortunately, I have the ability to resist. I can still be myself. Me. To some great and significant extent. I can swim against the tide. I can be Sisyphus. I may have to roll my rock up the hill. But I can still try to thwart the gods. In clever and meaningful ways. --Jim Broede

Let's retrieve the American soul.

I'm looking forward to coming home to America after an absence of almost three months. Because I like changes in my life. Changes in scenery. Going back and forth. To countries such as Italy. For extended periods of time. And then returning to Minnesota. With a fresh outlook. The contrasts I see from one country to another makes me more appreciative of 'em all. I like the diversity. I like to feel like a welcomed foreigner. Even in my own country. The experience has opened my mind. And my heart. Given me a better understanding of other people. And of myself, too. It was foreigners who made America what it is. A blending. A hodge-podge of people. Making dreams come true. But as we Americans became more settled, we also became more complacent. And corrupted. We learned to worship money. And forgot our lofty principles. We divided into social classes. Based on income. On money. The more money, the more status. The big money interests wield the political power. They run the show. And in the process, they have robbed America of its soul. And now we have to learn to retrieve our soul. Take it back. Take the money, too. And put it to good use. For the common good instead of for the exclusive good of the rich and powerful. --Jim Broede

Robinhood must become our hero.

I don't know how it's gonna be done. But we have to take money out of American politics. Because it's the big-money interests that control our politicians. With money. The politicians are bought and paid for by rich people and rich corporations. They have a virtually unlimited pool of money. Poor people and the middle class have hardly a voice at all in the political realm. Maybe a whisper. The vast majority of Americans have been disenfranchised. By the oligarchs. We have an oligarchy/plutocracy in America. Don't believe the bull shit about a democracy. And the political system we have is corrupt to the core. And deeply entrenched. We common folk don't have a chance of effectively changing the system without a blood bath. On both sides of the spectrum. Eventually, we common folk are gonna have to stand up and fight. Live and die. For fairness. For a new political system. It may take several generations to bring about the necessary changes. A dramatic shift in moral attitudes and principles. We have to recognize money for what it is. Money. Used in evil ways. It's not free speech. Really, it's what oligarchs use to speak. To bribe. Money flows from their mouths. Not speech. Their mouths are their pocketbooks. And it's gonna take the making of a nation of many, many Robinhoods to change the system. Taking from the rich, especially the filthy rich, and giving to the poor and the less fortunate. Yes, Robinhood must become our hero. --Jim Broede

You gotta dream big.

This may sound absurd. But I'm predicting the Chicago Cubs will go all the way this baseball season. Into the play-offs, into the World Series. Winning it all. Of course, I've been making such predictions for a long, long time. Ever since I was a kid. The Cubs last won a world championship in 1908. Even before my father was born. But he had the good sense to be a Chicago White Sox fan. My mother was the Cubs fan. And she introduced me to my addiction. To the Cubs. I have a better feeling about the Cubs this year than I had last. Because the Cubs seem to do their best when the experts say they don't have much of a chance. When they are expected to do well, they invariably flop. I'm optimistic because the Cubs closed on an upbeat streak last season. Going 24-13 under a new manager. Sure, they finished in 5th place in their 6-team division. But I like the players' attitudes as they go into spring training in Arizona. And baseball is very much a mind game. You gotta dream big. --Jim Broede

On capturing the moment.

I don’t capture enough moments. Not nearly enough. Moments that are meaningful. Memorable. Really, I should have those kinds of moments daily. That is, if I am truly alive. That worries me a little bit. That I may not be alive. Keenly aware of my existence. Some days, it’s difficult for me to recall anything meaningful that happened. Maybe because I wasn’t looking for anything meaningful. Meaningful stuff probably occurs around me all the time. But I don’t notice. Maybe it’s just a tiny detail. The song of a bird. A fragrant flower. The warmth of the sunshine. Instead, I’m just going through the motions of living. Without truly living. That’s what I’ve been thinking today In an effort to find something meaningful. Of course, it could be that I’m tired. From a meaningful weekend. Traveling through the mountains and valleys of Sardinia. And now I need a little respite. I was tired when my true love and I got home last night. I must have driven 300 kilometers. Much of it at night. The mountains were beautiful. But I couldn’t focus my full attention on the scenery. Because I was driving on winding mountain roads. Wasn’t wise to take my eyes off the road. Except when we stopped. I might be better off on a bus or a train. More opportunity to look. To see. And to capture the moments. –Jim Broede

Entertainingly.

The nice thing about me is that I don't have to be entertained. Because I can easily entertain myself. All alone. If necesary. I don't need people all that much. Although I like to have a true love in my life. Just one true love. That's all I need. But even if I lived alone, I'm easily entertained. By myself. Just by thinking. Nice thoughts. Imagining things. And writing. I'm able to carry on conversations. With myself. I'm really entertaining. More so than most professional entertainers. I could easily be a stand-up comic. And get on stage. And improvise the entire act. Fifty years ago, when I was a younger man, I would have been stage struck. Because I wouldn't have been able to pull it off. And I knew it. But now I know me. The confident me. That does things. Entertainingly. --Jim Broede

My way is better.

I know people who lose it. Lose their cool, that is. Everytime something goes wrong in their lives. Even over minor or trivial things. I used to be that way. Quite a few years ago. Now I take life in stride. If things go wrong, I don't lose sleep over it. I keep my cool. I even know people who imagine things going wrong. As if they really want the sky to fall. Because then they have an excuse to get upset. They like to cultivate the art of getting upset. And here I am. Cutivating the art of not getting upset. Believe me. My way is better. It's a nice way to live. --Jim Broede

Just let things happen.

Usually, when we travel, my true love and I book accommodations ahead. By searching the Internet for nice looking bed and breakfast places. But on Sunday night, while traveling through the high mountains of Sardinia, we decided to stop early. Without a reservation. In the village of Desulo. It was getting dark. And foggy. So we stepped into a little pizza parlor. On the main street. And inquired. Whether anyone knew of a bed and breakfast in town. The properietor was very accommodating. Got on the phone. Got the lady that ran the Casetta Santa Ruge bed and breakfast to come over. To fetch us. Which was nice. After all this, we decided we'd book at the place. Even if we didn't quite fully like it. But it was nice. With a downstairs living room. Complete with fireplace. And a nice fire. Just what we needed. To take the chill out of our bones. Later that night, we walked back to the pizza parlor. And had pizzas. And I thought about how nice life is. That all it takes is to just let things happen. And enjoy it all. --Jim Broede

That can't be true winter.

Makes me feel good. Because my true love wants me back in Sardinia next winter. My winter stay in this land of enchantment is fast running out. I'll be back in Minnesota in March. But next winter, my true love wants me to come earlier and stay later. I'd arrive in the autumn. And leave in the spring. Maybe not until May or June. That would allow me to better experience the Mediterranean Sea. The natives usually don't take to the beaches and the sea until May. Though I'd consider a dip even now. In the middle of a Sardinian so-called winter. When it doesn't even freeze overnight, that can't be true winter. --Jim Broede

Helps to salve our consciences.

When my true love and I eat out in Italy, we avoid being copy cats. She waits to see what I'm gonna order. And then she goes for something different. And we share each other's plate. That adds variety, and often a little spice to our lives. I generally go along with her recommendations. Because she's Sardinian. And understands Italian food. Much better than I do. Although I appreciate everything I eat. I savor it. More than she does. Because she finishes her plate before I do. Often, a half hour before I take my final bite. We also have taken to occasionally sharing desserts. That is, a single dessert. Helps to salve our consciences. And constricts our bellies. --Jim Broede

Like losing a family member.

I like my true love's tiny blue Fiat. Maybe more than she does. It's an older car. Dates to 1986. But it has only 125,000 kilometers on the odometer. Which is something less than 100,000 miles. Something goes wrong with the Fiat. Now and then. But that's to be expected. So far, it's nothing big. Such as the flashing turn signals. They went out last night. Just a few blocks from our home. After a weekend on the road. So the timing was good. I suspect it's a fuse. Or maybe a loose wire. But I'm not good at fixing stuff. Especially anything mechanical. So we'll take it to a mechanic. Sometimes, the transmission in the car locks. And we can't turn the key to get the car started. Unless we jiggle things a bit. And the battery went dead earlier this winter. Little stuff. That annoys my true love. But I take things matter-of-factly. I get a lot out of a car. Had one that went for 270,000 miles. Another for 222,000 miles. Still another for 192,000 miles. I wait for the car to fall apart before I get rid of it. And then it's with great regret. Like losing a member of the family. --Jim Broede

A most pleasurable experience.

Give me the Italian countryside. And the tiny, out-of-the-way villages. I’ll take that any day over the big cities such as Rome and Milano and Trieste. I’ll take the hinterlands even before wonderful Venice. I’m enamored with serene and quiet places such as Sutrio and Marlengo in the Italian Alps and the spacious rolling rural areas of Sardinia. Where my true love and I discovered L’Antica Locanda. In the village of Gesturi. It’s a bed and breakfast operated by Grazia Medda. She’s a 65-year-old woman, who looks more like 50. Maybe because she knows how to live. In a quaint setting. That could be out of the Middle Ages. A home with a cobblestone courtyard. With empty glass wine casks and colorful planted flowers and bushes and sea shells and fossils and sculptured busts on elevated stone walkways and terraces. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I walked in. Too good to be real, I thought momentarily. But it was real. And that included the room. With a vaulted wood ceiling. Must be 25 feet high. And during the night, a church bell signaled the time. In a soft, melodic way. My true love prefers a perfectly silent night. But she adjusted to the bells. And also to the breakfast. A light affair. With biscuits and toast and Grazia’s homemade marmalades. And an almost continuous conversation, in Italian, between Grazia and my true love. I couldn’t make out everything being said. But it was emotional enough for my true love to have tears in her eyes. Listening to Grazia’s nostalgic reminiscences. Grazia and her husband, Vittorio, turned the place into a bed and breakfast 10 years ago. It’s a family-run thing. With a big assist from daughter Rita Sofia. And I suspect they’re all in it mostly for the fun and delight of sharing their home with visitors. From all over the world. They can’t be in it to make a very big profit. A double room cost us 50 euros. I would have gladly paid triple or quadruple that. And felt that I got more than my money’s worth. In fact, it was one of my most pleasurable experiences. Ever. Believe me. We’ll be back next winter. And hopefully for many winters to come. –Jim Broede

I savored the view & the moment.

I love the narrow streets. So typical Italian. And Sardinia is no different. Especially in the older towns. The big ones. And the small villages. This morning, at our bed and breakfast place, I walked out on the balcony of our bedroom. And I was able to lean over far enough to touch the building across the narrow street. Too narrow for a car. Even a compact one. I also had a bird's eye view of orange-tile roofs, the neighbor's curtained window down below and a mountain off in the distance. I savored the view. And the moment. --Jim Broede

Snow in Paradise.

Sardinia has everything. Including snow. I saw the white stuff today. In the high mountain regions. On the roads. Reminded me of Minnesota. Not the mountains. But the snow. Felt good, really. Knowing there can be snow in Paradise. But not in Hell. Too hot for that. So I'll take snow. Wasn't enough to shovel. Or to worry about. No need to call out the snow plows or drive at a slower speed. The night before we had fog. A London-type fog at times. But still, I thought the weather experience of the past two days was romantic. Fog and snow. And it ended with sunshine. As my true love and I sauntered down a Mediterranean beach on Sardinia's east coast. Didn't even need a jacket. Yes, that's Sardinia. Snow on a mountain top. And balmy shirtsleeve type weather on the beach. All in the same day. --Jim Broede

Absolutely delightful.

Sardinia winter. I like it. My favorite kind of weather. Not too cold. Not too hot. Comfortable. Most days I wear a sweater or a light jacket. Occasionally, I can get by with a short-sleeved shirt. But sweater weather is perfect. And most days we have sunshine. But the rain is good. Makes for better plant life. The temperature hovers in the 50s and 60s fahrenheit most days. Cools into the 40s in the evening. If I found a land where a Sardinia winter lasts for the entire year, I'd consider it ideal. But the natives tell me I may not be so delighted in the summer. It's hot and humid. Tropical. But hey, there's consolation for Sardinians. Nothing extreme about their winters. Absolutely delightful. --Jim Broede

Doing the indecent thing.

I'm for stronger labor unions. For workers' rights. Management has had its way for far too long. Seems to me that big business is hoarding profits. Overpaying their managers. And stockholders. And short-changing the workers. The proletariat. I'm certainly a socialist at heart. If not a communist. Workers need to organize around the world. Until they do, they'll be exploited by management. By the owenrs. By the rich people who become rich by taking from the workers, without giving back a fair share. The top executives of corporations deserve better wages than workers. But not by a ratio of several hundred. That's obscene. The sad state of the economy hurts primarily the workers. Poor people. And the middle class. The corporate bosses and stockholders and bankers are making bigger profits than ever. Getting richer and richer. By laying off workers. They've chosen to do the indecent thing. --Jim Broede

Time to celebrate real spring.

When I return to the USA in March, I have the option of settling down at my home in Minnesota. Or going to Arizona for a couple of weeks. To take spring training with the Chicago Cubs. Not sure what I'm gonna do. But I'm inclined to stay in Minnesota. To reaclimate myself to winter. We'll still have a little bit of it left. March can be the snowiest month of winter. But it's also a month with great fluctuation. I can remember an 80-degree temperature in March. Though we'd be happy to settle for the 50s or 60s. At least for a few days. A reminder that spring is not far away. And in April, we may begin to see a few buds on the trees. And by May, time to celebrate real spring. Everything turning green. And flowers blooming. And maybe the lake water is warm enough for a swim. And a refreshing bath. --Jim Broede

Other realms. Other dimensions.

I am proving to myself that I don't have to live in the USA to be happy. And that I don't even have to live in an English-speaking country to be reasonably happy. I could easily become a citizen of the world. In recent years, I've been to Canada, Iceland, Scotland, Germany, France, Austria, Luxembourg, Switzerland and Italy. And I could adapt to life in any of these places. Of course, it's best if I can speak the native language. Makes communication much easier. But I can improvise. And make almost anything work. Especially if I'm living with my true love. Don't get me wrong. I like the USA. Especially where I've been living. In Minnesota. But I have no set loyalty. To one place over another. I like Mother Earth. And life, period. And if I were a spirit, I'd try living in other parts of the cosmos. Maybe even on another planet in our solar system. I'm thinking that may be an option. If my spirit leaves my body some day. I really want to feel free. Able to move about. Into other realms. Other dimensions. --Jim Broede

It's time for a change.

I'd rebuild America by taking from the rich and spending it on the less fortunate. The poor and middle classes. The nice thing about that strategy is that the rich will still be rich. And the rest of us will be far better off. For too long, we've allowed the rich to become richer. While the poor became poorer. That ain't right. Morally. Or any way. In a sense, America has become a little Egypt. Where the elite are allowed to rule. To have their way. At the expense of the common good. Egyptians have said enough is enough. But we Americans are too stupid to know that we have been given the shaft. For a long, long time. We actually believe it when the ruling elite tell us we should be satisfied and happy. Just to be Americans. For what we have. And that if we aren't, we are ungrateful Americans. I don't buy that bullshit for a second. I won't be hoodwinked. But my fellow Americans, you are gonna go down in history as the dumbest Americans ever. Unless you wake up pretty soon. Take to the town squares and the streets. Like the Egyptians. It's time for a change. Time for equality. Time for redistribution of the nation's wealth. --Jim Broede

Or so we imagine.

Maybe it's my imagination. But seems to me that far more many people live in fear today than back in the 1950s, when I was a youngster still growing up. And it was still a not-so-fearful society through the 1960s and into the 1970s. Maybe that's when the tide turned. We became less trustful of each other. And then the terrorists came along. Killing indiscrimiantely. Although at a much slower rate than happenstance of random murder on our nation's streets. Now I'm wondering if we check under our beds every night before we go to sleep. Fearful of the boogeyman. And the mistrust of each other seems to have become rampant. We don't trust our politicians. And probably for good reason. We've become a nation of liars and crooks and scaliwags. Or so we imagine. --Jim Broede

Yes, I apply a double standard.

I don't like it when people lose their names. Some of 'em chose to lose their identity. By using pseudonyms. Seems rather strange to me. As if they're ashamed of their real name. I've touched on this subject before. Because I'm baffled. I'm really proud of my name. No need to come up with a fake name. It's my gawd-given name. I guess some people think it's dangerous to be themselves. That it's much safer to hide one's identity. In essence, they live in fear. And I've always thought of that as a bad way to live. I have also noticed that on the Alzheimer's message boards many care-givers don't use their loved one's real name. They typically use ADLO. Which I guess stands for Alzheimer's Diseased Loved One. Seems sort of remote to me. My Jeanne was always my Jeanne. My dear and beloved Jeanne. Not a mere ADLO. But I do catch the idea of privacy. It has some merit. I refer to my Sardinian true love as 'true love' rather than by her first name. Yes, for the sake of her personal privacy. And maybe we want to protect our ADLO for the sake of privacy. I gotta admit. That sometimes I apply a double standard. --Jim Broede

It's home. And away.

We're headed this weekend for the interior of Sardinia. To places called Barumini and Olieno. In our tiny Fiat. I don't quite know what to expect. But I like that. Because in Sardinia, I'm always pleasantly surprised. This is a land of many contrasts. Many topographic features. It's an island in the Mediterranean Sea. Only 116 miles from one end to the other. But it's often described as a continent. Because there is so much to see. Mountains. Rolling hills. Farm country. Grazing sheep. Beaches that sprawl as far as the eye can see. And mild weather. Even in the middle of winter. Pine trees. Cacti. Wild flowers. And restuarants everywhere. Italian food. And it's home. And away. For me. And my true love. --Jim Broede

I keep dreaming.

Seems to me there's nothing better than living one's dreams. I've been able to do that since I was a child. Maybe that's when one has to start. Living dreams. Because then one knows early on that it's possible. Otherwise, one never learns that dreams can come true. But one has to work at it. And truly believe. Succeed once, and it becomes easier to succeed a second time. And then a third and a fourth. I have come to believe in no limits. Pursue 'em all. Granted, there may be a few failures mixed in. But hey, even baseball players don't succeed all of the time. Come to think of it, I dreamed of becoming a professional baseball player. But I wasn't even a good amateur player. I'm just settling on being a Chicago Cubs fan. And I keep dreaming. That the Cubs will win the World Series. This year. And if not, next year. --Jim Broede

I brought home 'strudelini'.

I love to go grocery shopping. And buying more than we need. Especially now that I am living in Italy. I'm willing to try almost anything. In way of sinful goodies. And this is all happening to the consternation of my true love. I'm buying things that she says she shouldn't eat. But does. I tell her, then don't eat 'em. Very simple. But she says that's far easier said than done. That she doesn't want such sinful stuff in the house. Tempting her. Therefore, I have been trying to use some degree of restraint. Not yet effectively enough to suit my true love. I've offered to hide some of the stuff. And to start buying some things she doesn't like. I encourage her to practice old-fashioned willpower. But she doesn't take to that very well. Anyway, I am pledging to be a good boy. Within reason, that is. I gotta confess. Today I brought home something called 'strudelini.' Four of 'em. Looks a lot like what Germans call apple strudel. --Jim Broede

We're indifferent about politics.

I'm assuming that we Americans, for the most part, don't care much about politics. We're indifferent. Because we have other more important things to occupy us. Really doesn't matter whether there's a Republican or Democratic administration or Congress. Yes, there's a general apathy. Maybe that's why we get what we deserve. Bad politics. Bad government. Because we merely stay on the sidelines. We don't participate. We just let things happen. We take a ho-hum attitude. Maybe because we live at relatively decent standard. Doesn't matter to us that more and more people are living in poverty. As long as we aren't one of 'em. And we aren't all that concerned about the widening gap between the rich and poor. As long as we've got our share of the wealth. I complain about the state of our economic, social and political systems. But still, I'm probably more indifferent than concerned. Because I really don't do much about it. Other than to complain in places such as this blog. I don't work diligently enough for effective and practical change. I'm more a lamenter. I don't take to the streets. Like the people in Egypt. I don't become directly involved in any meaningful way. Because I have better things to do. Such as the pursuit of my love life. And living a life of relative leisure. Away from America. In Sardinia. And speaking of Sardinia, it's in Italy. And I gather that maybe a majority of Italians are indifferent about politics. Another reason why Silvio Berlusconi survives as prime minister despite his perceived corrupt regime and his alleged cavorting with under-aged prostitutes. No doubt, some Italians are incensed over the state of Italy's body politic. But the vast majority seem totally indifferent. Just like we Americans. --Jim Broede

On the pursuit of a happy life.

I'd like to ask my true love's brother many questions. But I don't want to invade his privacy. Or to put it another way, my true love doesn't want me to invade his privacy. I'd probably have no qualms about such an invasion. Because that's my nature. I like to delve. Rather deeply. In order to better understand people. Personally. I think that's one of my better traits. I can't know too much about people. Especially those around me. Unfortunately, I generally know too little. If I'm to have a decent conversation with my true love's brother, I need a translator. Because he speaks very little English. And I speak very little Italian. I'd ask him what it feels like to be out of work. He's been unemployed for several months. But he has prospects for a job. Soon. But if that doesn't happen, I assume it'll be a blow to his morale. The unemployment rate is high in Italy. Even higher than in the USA. That's sad. I'd do somerthing about it. If I could. But I can't. Instead, I can only empathize and sympathize with the brother and with the unemployed. I'd also ask the brother for his thoughts on the pursuit of happiness. Is it possible for him to achieve happiness in modern-day Italy? How is he trying to go about it? Or is he even trying? Has he given up? If so, that would be sad. Makes me feel a little guilty. Because I'm a very happy American living in Sardinia. I'd also ask my true love's brother what's going right in his life? I hope he has a list. Things he can build on. And take solace. That a reasonably happy life is still possible. --Jim Broede

My first thunderstorm in Sardinia.

We had a thunderstorm this morning. Before daybreak. The first thunder I've heard since arriving in Sardinia over two months ago. And it came with pelting rain. I guess it's a sign that Sardinian spring has arrived. Albeit, I could be fooled. Because it's seemed like spring, if not summer, since I arrived in mid-December. Because I'm used to Minnesota winters. I've been out walking today. And it's getting warm. I have on a light sweater and a light jacket. I have to shed some apparel by the time I walk this afternoon. --Jim Broede

No, I'm not Deutsch.

Maybe I look more German than American. When I was walking this morning, a truck driver pulled over. Asked me for directions. When I told him I didn't speak Italian, he asked if I was Deutch. Yes, German. No, I explained, I'm an American. Anyway, he thanked me. For nothing. I was of no help. I like it that I'm often stopped by people who seem lost. Or need to find a way to some place. Makes me think that I'm mistaken for a native Sardinian. Or at least, someone who knows the way. --Jim Broede

I'd rename Texas and call it Hell.

It'd be all right with me if a few states seceded from the union. And the first one I'd like see go is Texas. Texas Gov. Rick Perry has occasionally advocated secession. Because he thinks the federal government isn't conservative enough. Well, I say let Texas go its own way. To the far, far right. Let's see if Texas can succeed on its own. And if Texas wants to annex Mississippi and Louisiana and Alabama, I say fine to that idea, too. Personally, I like visiting and even living in foreign countries, such as Italy. That's where I am today. But Texas is far too foreign for me. I can live without ever setting foot in Texas. I'd rename the state. And call it Hell. --Jim Broede

To create my life. Imaginatively.

I dare become the fool. Doesn't bother me in the least bit. Because I want to be free to be anything. No limits. I even dream about becoming god. And that means becoming a fool. I know better. In my saner moments. That I can't be god. But that I am capable of imagining almost anything. Even what it might be like to be god. Yes, I can imagine the preposterous. Even conversations with god. Maybe life begins with the imagination. Imagined realities. Ones that feel so real that they are real. I suspect I have been put on Earth. To create. Yes, to create my own life. My own being. Imaginatively. --Jim Broede

On becoming fully conscious.

I had a step-father. And he was more like my real biological father than my real biological father. Strange, isn't it? How life evolves. Things have a way of evening out. We may miss something in life. But often, we find it. In other ways. A little bit like love. I've discovered that there's no need to search for love. It just comes. Naturally. When one isn't looking. Often in unexpected ways. There are so many, many opportunities. For love, for instance. But maybe we're too blind at the time to recognize an opportunity. And we don't pursue it. Maybe because we don't keep our eyes and our heart open. I've had many blessings in my life. So many that I have recognized. But I suspect there have been many more. The ones I didn't recognize. To this very day. The point I wish to make is that many of us don't know what's going on. In our own lives. We have yet to become fully conscious. Maybe that applies to all of us. --Jim Broede

Just because I feel like it.

I write when I don’t have to write. Then writing comes easy. There’s no pressure to produce. So I produce. I didn’t always enjoy writing when I had to write for deadline. When I had to produce. When I had to be effective. Immediately. That’s the nice thing about being retired. I’m more or less my own boss. I proceed at my own rate. On my own timetable. I’m not compelled by job obligations to show up and produce. Very nice, indeed. Now I often feel like writing. At the oddest moments. When I wake at 3 in the morning. Or when I’m out for a walk in the middle of the day. So that’s what I do. I get out of bed and come to the computer. Or I sit down on a park bench and take out pen and paper. And I write exactly what I want to write. Not what an editor tells me to write. I don’t have an assignment. Took me years to get into this position. I had to live long enough to retire. And still feel in tip-top health. And the miraculous thing is that I’ve survived long enough to become a lover. I’m not required to be a lover. But I’ve learned to love life. Naturally. So that’s what I do. On a daily basis. Just because I feel like it. –Jim Broede

I don't want all that responsibility.

I like to have many thoughts on my mind. But I can focus on only one at a time. So I file away many, many thoughts. In writing. Far too many to remember. It's stimulating. To think. To be a conscious being. Aware. Able to conceive a thought. And mull it over. When I was younger. A teen-ager in high school. I think I had a lazy brain. I didn't want to think too much. Or maybe I was incapable of thinking a complex thought. Maybe I wasn't fully alive yet. Although there's no absolute proof that I am fully alive now. I may just think I am. Because I don't know any better. I acknowledge that I am stupid. I tell people that. And I'm not kidding. Because there's so much I don't know. But I'm inquisitive. I'm trying to discover what I don't know. I'd like to know everything. But then, that might be too much for me to handle. I'd be overwhelmed. And then I'd probably be god. And I don't want all that responsibility. --Jim Broede

I am majoring in love.

After my dear Jeanne died 4 years ago, I thought for a while of living abroad for 6 months. In English-speaking countries. Ireland. Wales. Scotland. Iceland. Australia. New Zealand. Tahiti. I’d pick out a different country each year. I thought I could do it. Practically. Economically. Pretty much getting by on my social security and pension. Well, as it turns out, I’m living part-time in Italy. On the island of Sardinia in the Mediterranean Sea. Because that’s the way life unfolded. So nicely. I have a new true love. A Sardinian. That I met. Maybe by accident. Maybe by design. Something fated. I’m inclined to believe the latter. So I’m in my third month with her. And this summer she’ll join me in Minnesota. And next winter I’ll be back with her in Sardinia. This time for closer to six months. Of course, Italy isn’t an English-speaking country. But I am making do. And I am committed to learning the language. Decently. If not fluently. And it helps that my true love is bilingual. Actually, she teaches English and English literature. Anyway, I’ve been living my dreams. All of my life. And I’ve been learning all along. About love. That’s what I am majoring in. Love. –Jim Broede

I want a world without secrets.

I used to work in Florida. In Lakeland. For the daily newspaper. The Lakeland Ledger. Writing about the citrus industry. And I rubbed some of the big-wigs the wrong way. Because I wanted openness. I wanted to know what was going on. So I could inform readers. The subscribers to the newspaper. Robert Rutledge was the chief executive officer of Florida Citrus Mutual, the growers' organization. And I know the board of directors had a right to meet in private. And they usually did. But I pushed for open meetings. So the citrus industry knew better of what was going on behind closed doors. Rutledge and his cronies didn't like that. But I had my news sources. And I found out things that Rutledge didn't want the public to know about. That's the way I operate. I want the sun to shine in. Florida has long touted itself as the sunshine state. But not when it comes to keeping the public informed. The Florida Citrus Commission, a state agency, was secretive, too. And so I took on the likes of its director, Homer Hooks. By developing more sources. Within the commission itself. Hooks didn't like that. All I can say is that's too bad. I'd rather live in a world without secrets. --Jim Broede

I like surprises.

I’m willing to volunteer lots of information about myself. Even relatively personal stuff. Doesn’t mean I’m self-absorbed. Rather, it means I ain’t very secretive. Seems to me I have nothing to hide. I like to think of my life as an open book. I’m not the least bit ashamed to be me. Of course, I know people ashamed to be themselves. Kind of sad, isn’t it? They put up a façade. Make people think they are something else. They look at life as a masquerade. I don’t like to wear a mask. Maybe I’m not the handsomest guy around. But that doesn’t bother me. Because I think of myself as unique. In many, many ways. And I don’t mind establishing that. As fact. But to do that, I have to be open. I have to more or less go naked into the world. That’s a unique trait. I don’t care very much about what other people think. About me. That is, I respect their right to be wrong. I try to set the record straight. But that’s all I can do. Try. I can’t foist understanding on anyone. I share my thoughts. Like in this blog. I keep taking the blog over the next horizon. Not fully knowing where I’m going. That’s another thing I like about life. I don’t have to know where I’m going. I like surprises. –Jim Broede

Capturing my random thoughts.

The nice thing about writing. It gives me the opportunity to capture my thoughts. Random thoughts. After all, thoughts can be so very fleeting. They come. They go. Often, in a flash. And if one doesn't capture the thought, it may be gone forever. I have so many thoughts. Makes it hard to keep track of 'em. I've already lost track of a thought I had five minutes ago. Maybe it's irretrievable. And at the time, I thought it was a profound thought. So much for profundity. I've taken to carrying pen and paper with me when I go for a walk. So that I can record a thought. So that I'll be able to recall it later. Since I started my blog, I've posted over 3,000 threads. Most of 'em no more than random thoughts. But they tell me what's been on my mind. --Jim Broede

They don't deserve pity.

When I encounter unhappy people, I'm likely to look for a potential fix to their problems. So they can becone reasonably happy again. I even put solutions ahead of consoling 'em. Because I figure consoling is no more than a temporary patchwork thing. It doesn't do away with the root cause of their unhappiness. Maybe that's the reason I rub some unhappy people the wrong way. They want me to throw them a full-fledged pity party. And I suggest that they don't deserve pity. They deserve far more than that. An end to their troubles. --Jim Broede

On forgetting how to laugh.

When people get upset, it's usually at a moment when they take life too seriously. So I try to calm them. By being funny. Light-hearted. Silly. If I'm even slightly annoyed, I try to start acting like a stand-up comedian. I poke fun at myself. Because that's what I deserve. For taking myself too seriously. Serious people tend to be worry-warts. They focus on the possibility of things going wrong. Such as the sky falling. Things that'll never happen. But still, they worry. In rather serious ways. And I immediately see that as funny. Uproarishly funny. But they don't. Because they've forgotten how to laugh. Especially at themselves. --Jim Broede

Sardinian food is too good.

I have a confession to make. I've put on 4 pounds in my two months in Sardinia. Which ain't all that bad, really. From 168 to 172. I still consider myself reasonably svelte. Maybe 6 or 7 pounds too heavy. But when I return to Minnesota, I'll probably need a thin coating of fat. To keep me warm. So I'm taking the weight gain in stride. Looking at it as a desirable thing. No need to lament. Anyway, I'm an exercise freak. Moreso in Minnesota than in Sardinia. If for no other reason that in Minnesota, I have to stay aerobically exercised. In order to stay warm. I'll go 40 miles a day on my bicycle. For an extended period of time. Or I'll walk 10 miles a day. And I'm more likely to skip breakfast or lunch. Can't do that in Sardinia. Because the food is very, very good. Maybe too good. --Jim Broede

I am a pure, complete lover.

I'm learning how to be a real lover. In ways far beyond purely sexual ways. From the heart. From the soul. Loving with one's whole being. Yes, loving life. There's so much to love. Sort of like capturing an eternal moment. When time stops. One becomes One with the pulse of life. With all of Creation. Absorbed in the flow. Immersed. I'm swept away. I let go. And I drift. Out of my physical being. I am set free. In a spiritual realm. In a dimension beyond even my most vivid imagination. I am tranquil. Serene. And hey, I am not even on a drug. I am a pure, complete lover. --Jim Broede

I find Paradise everywhere.

The writer D. H. Lawrence fell in love with Sardinia. And especially with the sea. The Mediterranean. And I understand why. Because the same thing is happening to me. Maybe it helps that my true love is a Sardinian. She's my guide. Showing me around. For which I am grateful. I'm well aware that we are living in Paradise. Maybe we are both from Paradise. There have to be at least several paradises on Earth. Including Minnesota. In the summertime. That's when I'll be my true love's guide. Showing her around. Like I did last summer. When we traveled about. Around Lake Superior. And into Canada. By the way, Lawrence also fell in love with the American Southwest. Especially New Mexico. Around a place called Taos. I've been there, too. It also qualifies as Paradise. Seems that no matter where I go, I find Paradise. --Jim Broede

I'm a take-charge guy.

My granddaughter tells me I'm missing the coldest and snowiest winter in Minnesota in a long, long time. Sounds good to me. Because in my over two months in Sardinia so far, I haven't seen anything remotely close to a freezing temperature, or a snowflake. And I've been sunning myself. Got a litte bit of a tan while walking the Mediterranean beaches. Sure, we have an occasional rainy day and night. But I can handle it. Really, if I were back in Minnesota, I'd handle the snow and cold, too. Whatever comes. I'd adjust. And find a way to savor it all. Or at least, I'd try to. Because I don't wanna suffer or be unhappy. I suppose what I miss most about Minnesota are my two cats, Loverboy and Chenuska. But I know they are being well-cared for. By granddaughter. And her husband, who happens to be a veterinarian. The kitties are being spoiled, I'm sure. Maybe they won't want to come home with me. But they ain't gonna have a choice. I'm the boss. I'm a take-charge guy. And that keeps me happy. --Jim Broede

The good ones make the best of it.

I'm learning to like living with limitations. Here in Sardinia, I'm limited. Because I don't speak much more than a few rudimentary words of Italian. Means I have to improvise. Make myself known in other ways. Or do things in which speaking Italian isn't necessarily required. I can still go shopping. For groceries. For apparel. For most of my basic needs. And I also rely on my true love, who's bilingual. And I use my eyes. To see. And to observe. All sorts of things. Including people. In a way, I feel handicapped. And that ain't all bad. Makes me better understand truly handicapped people. And what they go through. The good ones make the best of it. --Jim Broede

I'm OK, even with a little bliss.

I wonder how many unhappy people could change their lives. Significantly. If they wanted to. My guess is that it's a fair number that could change. And if they don't, I question whether they really want to. They'd rather stay unhappy. In their present situation. Maybe they lack gumption. Or maybe they feel morally obligated to their present course. Even though they don't like it. For instance, it may be a dreadful marriage. But they choose to stick it out. Because a marriage break-up may cause other problems. Personally, I'm intrigued by unhappy people. I like to know what makes them tick. Could be it's an affliction. Depression. And they can't seem to do anything about it. Even a pill doesn't help. Nor psychological counseling. Too often, I see people focused on negative aspects of life. Even though there are many positives in their lives. But it's the negative that gets the emphasis. Maybe they want everything to be perfect. Not just 80 percent perfect. They want everything to fall into place. Like a grand design. Maybe I used to think that way. I wanted complete bliss. Which is ridiculous. Instead, I've learned to accept whatever I can get. Even if it's only a little bliss. Because bliss is bliss. And even a small amount makes me feel very blissful. --Jim Broede

Getting on with their own lives.

I'm losing track of what's happening in the world. Not that it matters. Because like I have frequently said, I can't change the world scene. It's there. And stuff happens. So if I ignore it all, it won't make a difference. And it allows me to focus on the life immediately around me. In Sardinia. I have the good life here. With my true love. And for that I am thankful and appreciative. I'm a retiree. With an income that gets me by. Without having to go to work. Gives me a sense of freedom. The opportunity to enjoy life. Pretty much as it comes. Off the beaten track. Sardinians live on an island. In the Mediteranean Sea. Just south of the French island of Corsica. Where Napoleon was born. And Sardinia is 116 miles from the Italian boot. Which means if you are gonna arrive here, you have to come by plane or by boat. Though, I suppose you could swim if you had the stamina and the know-how and a foolhardy adventuresome spirit. For the most part, Sardinians mind their own business. They ain't big players on the world stage. And that's what I like about Sardinians. They just get on with their own lives. --Jim Broede

Italians want to savor it all.

I get the feeling in Italy that I can step into a restaurant at almost any place, and I'll get a good meal. Doesn't matter if it's tucked away in a remote corner of a city or village. The food is good almost everywhere I go. But I don't have the same feeling about the USA. When I'm traveling around the states, I have to be wary. Because we Americans have some pretty terrible restaurants. Some very good ones, too. But bad is bad. And I have yet to find a restaurant in Italy that I consider truly bad. Maybe Italians appreciate food more than do Americans. An American will settle for a badly prepared meal. And relatively tasteless food. An Italian wants to savor it all. Tastefully. From appetizers, through mulitple courses, to dessert. --Jim Broede

A sacred feeling.

One can't help but fall in love with the sea in Sardinia. And with a beach. They are all similar in some ways. Yet different. Each with its own personality. And I've taken fancy especially to San Niccolo beach. Just outside the village of Buggeru. My first visit there two weeks ago was cut short. Because we arrived late. Shortly before sunset. I saw sun rays shooting down from patchy clouds. Like the gods in heaven were talking to me. Sending me a sacred signal. That I had arrived in Paradise. And I hated to leave. I wanted to stay at least overnight. If not forever. But my true love and I went home. Dutifully. But not without a pledge to return. Soon. And last week we did. This time, arriving early. So that we had plenty of time to walk the entire length of the sandy beach. Maybe two miles. One way. Came across a fisherman. With four sturdy rods planted at the sea’s edge. Don’t know if he caught anything. Because he was gone on our return trek. A couple seated on a blanket. Far back near the sand dunes. Had a little terrier dog. He came out and greeted us. Meanwhile, my true love fetched stones and sea shells. Made me store part of the load in my pockets. And I took some arty photographs. With my digital camera. It was dark when we left the beach. Climbed into our little Fiat. After shaking the sand from my shoes. I thought of it as sacred sand. From a sacred beach. But there was something more important to take home with me. A sacred feeling. --Jim Broede

I want to get to the truth.

Occasionally I’m accused of talking and writing too much. Of never shutting up. And getting too personal. Yes, I am advised to talk and write less. But such a complaint is a problem with civilization, generally. We don’t communicate effectively. And we speak and write too little. We aren’t nearly intimate enough. We never get to really know each other. Other than superficially. Because we hide too much of ourselves. I rarely cross paths with a truly open being. Of course, I think of myself as open. For the most part. And that scares some people. Especially when I accuse them of clamming up. I long ago became an advocate of openness. Especially when I was writing for newspapers. That’s how I got good stories. Good information. Seems to me that openness/truth sets one free. Brings one into the real world. I know people with emotional and mental problems and I suggest that many of these hang-ups stem from lack of candidness. Not only with others. But with themselves. Maybe they should talk more and write more. Even if it’s only to themselves. This probably holds true especially for couples trying to establish close and intimate relationships. How else can they truly get to know each other? Other than by openness. Personally, I have nothing to hide. Maybe that’s why I advocate openness. Doesn’t mean that everything I do is right and proper. It ain’t. But why hide it? My aim is to do the decent thing. Even though I don’t always do it. Sure, lots of people don’t feel like talking. Or sharing. And I must learn to respect that. But sometimes, I’d rather show a little lack of respect. Just to get someone to talk. Because I want to get to the truth. Maybe it’s only my truth. But that’s a good start. –Jim Broede

I'd stay forever.

The botanical gardens in Cagliari, the capitol city of Sardinia, is only a 5-minute walk from by true love's aunt. Whom she visited yesterday. It's a remarkable place. We spent two hours ambling through the sprawling gardens. And it was my true love's first visit there since childhood. And now that she has rediscovered it, she'll be back. Frequently. Maybe every time she's in Cagliari. I certainly will be back. It's like a central park in Cagliari. With high-rise apartment buildings looking down on it. Her aunt is elderly. And doesn't get out any more. Which is a shame. If I lived in Cagliari, I'd probably become addicted to the botanical gardens. So much to explore. Tropical stuff. And desert plants and trees. Cacti galore. Makes me think I'm in Arizona. But there's far more botanical variety than I find in the desert of southwest USA. There's a token fee. Just a half euro. To get in. And one is encouraged to sign the register. I was the first visitor of the day from the USA. But others had come from Russia, Poland, France and Germany. There was a Mediterranean cruise ship in the harbor. And that brought in lots of foreign visitors. We sat on a bench at the seaside. And absorbed the sunshine and the beauty of Cagliari and the sea. I lost track of time. And thought that maybe I'd stay forever. --Jim Broede

All Italian bread is good.

The lady must have been in her 80s. Maybe 90. Walking quite sprightly down the main street of Carbonia in Sardinia. And I was about to walk past her. When she turned and said something in Italian. Sounded as if she was telling me it's such a beautiful day. But I confessed in Italian that I don't speak Italian. And that I'm an American. She seemed thrilled about that. Gave me a happy greeting. And then talked to me some more. In Italian. And I nodded by head. As if in agreement to whatever she was saying. I kept repeating si, si, si. The Italian word for 'yes.' But I suspected I knew some of what she was saying. Because she used the word 'pane' several times. The Italian for bread. She probably was telling me where I could buy some good bread. But really, that's no problem. All Italian bread is good. --Jim Broede

I sensed the presence of a god.

I sort of worshipped on Sunday. At the ruins of a 2,600 year old Phoenician temple. In a remote rural area of Sardinia. Yes, the temple was built 600 years before that fellow Jesus and the Christians came on the scene. And before the Phoenicians, there were other people on Sardinia. At least 3,200 years ago. Worshiping their god. Oh, so many gods. So many religions. And everyone of 'em think they've got the true religion. And the true god. And I figured I was in the mood to accept the Phoenician god. At least for a day. Maybe I'll accept all the gods that ever were and ever will be. Even the Greek gods. Zeus , and all. I don't know what it is about human beings. So many of us declare a belief in one god or another. But for now, I'll believe in 'em all. Maybe a different one every Sunday. Meanwhile, I'm wondering what ever happened to the Phoenicians. To the best of my knoweldge, none of 'em are around any more. I sure hope they're off in another dimension. Saved. And living happily ever after. With their god. The one I worshipped in the empty temple. But then again, maybe it wasn't empty. I sensed the presence of spirits. Maybe even god. Of one kind or another. --Jim Broede

Daredevils, stupid, or in a hurry.

I get a little nervous when I drive the very winding mountain roads in Sardinia. I've driven in the Rocky Mountains. And it ain't always easy. But in Sardinia, the curves are sharper and steeper. As though I'm turning right and then left an instant later. Always turning. And when I'm coming down from the top of a mountain pass, I have to shift into low gears. To slow my speed without constantly putting my foot on the brakes. And there are times when it's best to not be driving. When staring into the setting sun. Or at nighttime. Or in a rain storm. Or into a fog. To really enjoy the scenery, I have to stop frequently. So I can look around. Because when I'm driving, I need to keep my eyes focused on the winding road. Seldom will you see me passing other vehicles in the mountains. But a fair number pass me. Even on the curves. Some Italians are daredevils. Or they are just plain stupid. And in a hurry. --Jim Broede

There has to be give and take.

I like to go with the natural flow of life. To just let things happen. But at the same time, I like to take charge. And make things happen. Because maybe sometimes I sense the flow ain't quite right. For instance, the way I'm treated by other people. I want to be treated nice. With a reasonable degree of respect. And courtesy. Because that's the way I try to treat others. But I do encounter rude people. Inconsiderarte people. And I don't let them walk over me. Yes, I'm capable of turning the other cheek a time or two. Maybe even three. But eventually, I've had enough. And I slap back. And another thing, it's quite possible that I have to actively pursue my romantic destiny. I gotta make things happen. I have to put myself into the driver's seat. And take advantage of opportunity. The guiding spirits can guide me only so far. But ultimately, it's up to me to get things done. The right way. The preferred way. I am compelled to become a man of action. Even though I have to accept some of the pitfalls of life. I can't have everything my own way. And I recognize that. But others around me also have to recognize that they can't always have their own ways. They have to compromise. Accept reality. Accept an occasional unwanted fate. Fact of the matter is that nobody can have his/her own way all of the time. There has to be give and take. --Jim Broede

A forgotten village.

I was riveted today. By the scene in Ingurtosu. A more or less abandoned village. In a spectacularly beautiful mountainous region of Sardinia. I was trying to imagine ghosts. Or spirits. Of coal miners that used to live there. No more coal mining in Sardinia. So the places where the miners lived have been abandoned. For decades. And the buildings have decayed. But walls still stand. Like an ancient ruin. A silent testament to what used to be. But one building still looks sturdy. And spiffy. Windows still intact. Architecturally superior and better constructed than anything provided to miners. Yes, it contained the administrative offices of the mining company. And living accommodations for the executives. Anyway, I stood there. Marveling at what I was seeing. As my true love walked further up the road. To take in more of the town. I watched as she became a speck against a 25-foot tall, three-foot thick stone wall built along the entry roadway to Ingurtosu. Maybe just to stabilize the hill on which many of the housing structures were built. I think the town still has a few residents. Because I saw people go in and out of some newer buildings. But there are no businesses. No reason to provide services such as restaurants or super markets. No more miners. But I thought to myself, it’d be a wonderful place to live. Quiet. Secluded. I could sit down. And write. About a forgotten village. Little wonder that it’s made my personal list of Paradises . –Jim Broede

Aware that we live in Paradise.

I’m getting my true love to restaurants she’s never been to before. In her hometown. In Carbonia. In Sardinia. And I consider that one of my greatest accomplishments. Teaching her how to be spoiled. Like many women, she’s reluctant to go out and dine alone. Of course, when she’s with me, she’s not alone. And yesterday, we had a leisurely and wonderful time. At a cozy restaurant. Recommended by one of her teaching colleagues. The place was a real winner. I’m sure we’ll go back. Again and again and again. It could become a favorite. We had a corner table. In a little nook. Away from the rest of the customers. Mainly a long table filled by a social group. Maybe 15 or 20 people. I didn’t bother to count. I was too occupied with my true love to do that. Marveling at how she’s becoming more mellow and more relaxed. Every day. I like that. Anyway, we focused on a single course lunch. Rather than the more traditional multi-courses. Even a single course can be a bit too much food. But this was just right. I had a traditional Sardinian pasta with a sauce made of mushrooms, blue cheese and almonds. Which made it triple delicious. One of the best meals I’ve ever had in Italy. I’ll have it again. But I also want to try a pizza. There are about 30 kinds on the menu. My favorite is with salami and a variety of other toppings. Depending on my culinary mood. One thing I’ve learned, by the way, is that what Americans call pepperoni isn’t the same thing in Italy. In the USA, it’s sort of miniature slices of salami-like sausage. But in Italy, pepperoni is a mild pepper. Really, a yellow or red pepper. Well, my true love had a spaghetti dish this time. With tomato sauce. And I sampled it. But preferred my own entre. For dessert, the restaurant owner tried to interest me in homemade peach cake. Ttempting. However, I opted for a dish of vanilla gelato/ice cream topped by sprinkles of white chocolate. My true love had ravioli-like little pastries filled with cream cheese and honey.. And she gave me one to sample. Which earned her a spoonful of my gelato. It was a continuous pleasant afternoon. Because after lunch, we drove to one of our favorite beaches and didn’t return until after dark. Satisfied. Contented. Well aware that we live in Paradise. –Jim Broede

I gotta take the risk.

I see middle-aged and elderly women walking down the streets here in Sardinia. Carrying shopping bags. Sometimes in both hands. And they look heavy. So I’m tempted to be a gentleman and carry the bags for them. If we happen to be going in the same direction. But since I don’t speak Italian to any noticeable degree, I might be mistaken for a thief. Or something worse. So I’ve refrained from offering to be a gentleman. But still, I can put a harness on myself for only so long. I gotta try being a real gentleman a time or two. And risk getting slapped in the face. –Jim Broede

Let's bring on the headbands.

My true love discourages me from wearing a headband here in Sardinia. Doesn’t prohibit it. Just simply discourages it. Guess because she doesn’t think it looks good on me. Or maybe it’s that seldom, if ever, does one see a Sardinian with a headband. Apparently, it’s not in fashion. But I see Sardinians wearing knit caps, which really are headbands attached to coverings of the top of one’s head. In fact, my true love occasionally wears a knit cap. Which is a shame. Because it covers her beautiful hair. Full, bountiful hair that resembles a lion’s mane. Anyway, she looks dazzling. No matter what she does or doesn’t wear. Meanwhile, I think I look all right with a headband. And I’d like to set a new fashion standard for Sardinian men. Yes, let’s bring on the headbands. –Jim Broede

Give me a schnitzel any day.

Italian food is good. But so is food from virtually every country I’ve been in. Even Britain. Which has a reputation for bad food. I always find food I like. Because there are so many, many choices. I suppose my favorite foods are Italian and German. I can go into virtually any restaurant in those two countries and find something I like. By just picking something random from the menus. And I don’t mind experimenting. But if I had to choose any single meal, it’d probably be a German schnitzel. With pan fried potatoes. A vegetable. A salad. And a beer. –Jim Broede

Working for the common good.

Believe me. Everybody deserves to live long enough to retire. In good health. And with a decent income. Maybe a pension. And social security. And a home owned free and clear. Of course, it doesn’t happen to everyone. Some die early. Others have poor health. And hardly any income. But still, I’d like to see an economic and social system in America that makes such a life possible for more and more of us. And if that means taking from the rich in order to assist the less affluent, so be it. That’s my attitude. And my political agenda. It won’t come easy. It’s gonna take a revolution. People taking to the streets. Just like they did in Egypt in recent weeks. And I mean a revolution that lasts and lasts and lasts. A continual revolution. To make sure that the common good is served. The revolution won’t come easy. We all have to pitch in. With religious fervor. With the kind of passion we’ve never exerted before. Imagine that. Working for the common good. –Jim Broede

Dirty rotten scoundrels.

If there’s gonna be significant change in the American political, economic and social systems, it has to come from the bottom up. Americans have to take to the streets. Just like the Egyptians. We Americans have been duped. Hood-winked into thinking we live in a democracy. We don’t. Instead, we live in a plutocracy. Where the rich rule. The common folk are around just to benefit the rich. Especially the big corporations. Big business. And bankers. And Wall Street financiers. Unfortunately, we common folk often are too dumb to know it. Because we believe anything we are told by the ruling elite. We believe the Republican pitch. That we Americans live in a democracy. And that we are setting an example for the rest of the world to follow. When really, the aim of the ruling elite in America is to make the rich richer and the poor poorer. And to stave off a revolution by making us all think we live on easy street. In Paradise. When our pockets are being picked right and left and from top to bottom. So that the rich can live even more lavishly. And we ordinary folk put up with it. But the ordinary folk in Egypt aren’t putting up with it any longer. But I’m not so sure that the Egyptians are gonna get what they want. The ruling elite that have run Egypt for so very many, many years may still have a trick or two up their sleeves. I don’t trust ‘em anymore than I trust the ruling elite in America. They are dirty rotten scoundrels. And always will be. Keep a close eye on ‘em. –Jim Broede

Talking. I like it.

I like to make people talk. But so many don't talk. Maybe because they have nothing to say. That, and being shy. And I don't just mean small talk. I like 'em to talk about meaningful stuff. Things going on in their lives. And how they cope with various problems and challenges. I know people who decline to talk because they're too tired. Or they say so. So I try to get them to talk about being tired. I want to know why? Are they working too hard? Don't they get enough sleep? Or maybe they need to get a physical exam. Or could be they're depressed. Seems to me that people should be talking to each other. And listening, too. That's the nice thing about language. It was meant to be spoken. Written, too. When I have nobody to talk to, I can easily resort to writing. And make up a conversation. With myself. Or with a mythical being. Even god himself. Of course, I've been told by some that I talk too much. They wish I'd be quiet. Others complain that I ask too many questions. The kinds of questions they don't like to answer. But once upon a time, that was my job. As a writer for newspapers. To ask all sorts of questions. Embarrassing ones, too. Personally, I don't mind being queried. Because it gives me opportunty to talk and talk and talk. --Jim Broede

I have little time to worry.

I don't think much about tomorrow. Until I get there. No sense in getting ahead of myself. Some people know precisely what they are gonna do tomorrow and the next day and next month and next year. I generally don't. Oh, I know when I'm gonna return to the USA. I have a plane ticket. For a set time. But that's about all I know about my future. I know people who are worried about their futures. They're really focused on it. Even today. I used to assume that older people worried about dying. That they had only a relatively short time left. But the older I get, the less I worry about the future. And even death. Because I've learned to live today. Rather fully. Which means I have little time to worry. --Jim Broede

No need to retrieve the moment.

I like to withdraw into my own little world. And I'm successful at it. I can shut out a whole lot. And not let things of the world bother me. Maybe it's that I don't know what the world is about. Haven't ever figured it out. And that's all the more reason to create my own world. I do that when I write. I decide what's important. Today. And then I focus on that. Maybe it's just walking. Aimlessly. And seeing what I see. And making something of it. I was walking this morning. With my digital camera. Taking pictures of anything that caught my fancy. But when two dogs appeared at a fence, and looked at me, quizzically, I didn't take a photograph. Because I was captivated. Connected to the dogs. Both docile. And I thought, how nice. I'm interested in them. And they are interested in me. Then I went on with my walk. Satisfied that I hadn't taken a picture of the dogs. Because I had already captured the moment. In a meaningful way. No need to retrieve it. --Jim Broede

Better to savor the good things.

Events will play out in Egypt and the way they play out I have no illusions about. Won’t necessarily be the right and just way. Because that isn’t the way of the world. In the end, there’ll be minority rule. By whatever faction or individuals that wield the most power. Quite possibly the most ruthless of people. That’s why dictators succeed. At least for a while. Until a more powerful element arises. We even have dictators/power elites running America. Yes, the grand old USA. Really, a faction of powerful and ruthless capitalists. Mostly, well-heeled people. They buy their way to power. At least that’s the way I see it. People tell me that I am wrong. That we have one of the best democracies/republics in the world. But it’s really an oligarchy. The rich. The elite. The anointed ones. They make us think that the masses, the common people actually run the show. But that’s bull shit. We are fooled into thinking we pick our leaders. We really are given few choices. Usually, candidates that are either bad or worse than bad. Take your pick. We are brain-washed. With inane sound bites. Hey, it’s all a charade. An exercise in futility. That is, if we even understand what’s happening. Most times we don’t. I long ago ceased being annoyed by the political, economic and social systems. I accept ‘em. Knowing that I can’t do much, if anything, to change the systems. I’m stuck. The systems are what they are. There’ll be few changes. Only negligible change in my lifetime. And maybe for the worse. Meanwhile, though, I’ll get on with the rest of my life. The good part. The living and loving part. In Minnesota and the USA about half of the time. And in Sardinia the other half. That’s my real life. My meaningful life. I’m pretty much able to ignore the rest of the crap. Yes, it’s better to savor the good things. Love. Joy. Contentment. Tranquility. Serenity. Friends. Nature. –Jim Broede