Tuesday, May 31, 2011

I can even accept phonies.

I tell many people that I can accept them as they are. More or less unconditionally. Doesn’t matter whether we have disagreements. And unresolved issues. They can be very much unlike me. And quite possibly, they may dislike me. And can’t accept me as I am. Which is all right with me. I don’t expect everybody to accept me as I am. They may want to change me. Or just plain ignore me. That’s fine. It’s meant as a compliment when I tell people I genuinely accept them as they are. That’s always been the case with the two true loves I’ve had in my life. And the same goes for many of my friends and acquaintances. Often, I like them just because they are different. Independent beings. They are themselves. They aren’t faking it. But even if they are faking it – well, that’s another way of being themselves. True blue fakes/phonies. Think about it. They were born to be fakes/phonies. Take the politician Newt Gingrich, for instance. There’s nobody more fake/phony than Newt. And I think he knows it. But that doesn’t stop him from being fake/phony. I gotta give Newt credit for that. I accept him. Phony Newt and all. –Jim Broede

No reason to complain.

I feel relatively poor and downtrodden. Because I have neighbors that live in multi-million dollar mansions. In fact, just three doors down from me, the neighbor has his mansion listed with the prestigious Southby’s international real estate company. For $4.5 million. Yes, that’s correct. It’s not a typo. And two doors down, his son owns a mansion that he never lived in. And it’s for sale, too. Listed as a ‘dream home,’ available for about $2 million. Of course, relatively speaking, I live in a shack. My lake shore lot is worth far more than my house. And if I ever sold, chances are the buyer would be a rich man. And he’d have my shack bulldozed down to make way for a mansion. Guess that means I have no reason to complain. –Jim Broede

Only 99 miscues from perfection.

I like to paint myself in a favorable light. By not always making myself seem favorable. I think that’s important if one is to come across as favorable. Admitting that one has weaknesses. Flaws. Imperfections. I really know what I’m doing. I’m calculating. In addition to being analytical. I readily acknowledge making mistakes. I have yet to live a mistake-free day. And that, after 75 years of trying. If my math is correct, that’s more than 26,000 mistake-prone days in a row. Imagine that. I have yet to live a perfect day. When I didn’t make at least one mistake. Thing is, I’ve never come close. Most days, I make an astronomical number of mistakes. I think the closest I’ve come to perfection is a day in which I made only 99 mistakes. –Jim Broede

Better than being blase.

I keep reminding myself to not be disgusted or upset with my Chicago Cubs. Despite their inept and losing ways. Because there’s been an influx of young players. Which is a move in the right direction. The old reliable veterans are no longer reliable. So it makes sense to bring in new blood. To build for a brighter future. Which means a few lean years. While these players mature. Get better. In recent years, the Cubs tried to get better by recruiting veteran free agents. But now they are making an effort at developing decent players in the minor leagues. The difference is that now when the Cubs lose, they lose with enthusiasm. That’s better than being blasé about it. –Jim Broede

I'm a man of moderation.

I have to ride my bicycle only 35 miles today. To eclipse 1,000 miles for the month of May. And it’ll be the second month in a row I’ve reached the coveted 1,000 miles. So, it’ll be 2,000 miles since April 1. Anyway, that’s the equivalent of bicycling all the way from my home in Minnesota to Tucson in Arizona. Almost all the way to Mexico. And I think it’s one of the reasons why I’m down to a svelte 167 pounds. About 10 pounds lighter than when I returned from a winter in Sardinia in Italy. Most of my life, I’ve been a walker and a jogger and a runner. But I took up bicycling when I had a sore foot. The foot has healed. But I’m still bicycling. Generally, I try to go a minimum 30 miles a day. I occasionally go 50 miles. If I had to, I’m sure I could go 100 miles, or more. I don’t like to over-do it. In days when I did daily running or jogging, I’d occasionally go 13 miles. Half of a marathon. And I’m sure I could have run a marathon. If I had set my mind to it. But once again, I told myself, ‘Don’t over-do it.’ My true love thinks I over-do it when I bicycle 50 miles. But that ain’t true. I keep telling her that I’m a man of moderation. She doesn’t always believe me. –Jim Broede

Loverboy, the profound mind-reader.

Loverboy is a scaredy cat. In that he doesn’t like to take his twice-a-day pills. Which I try to toss down his throat. He runs away. Hides. Or so he thinks he’s hiding. From me. The thing is Loverboy is smart. Perceptive. Intelligent. He seems to know. Automatically. When the thought occurs to me. That it’s time to give him his pill. Forcefully. I try to disguise my thought. But always, Loverboy seems to read my mind. It’s as if he has an extraordinary sense. A signal. That I have something evil on my mind. Foisting a pill down his throat. I even have the pill out. Ahead of time. So that I don’t have to fetch it from the bottle. I can have the pill in hand in an instant. But still, Loverboy knows. In an instant. He makes an instant beeline for a hiding place. Maybe under the bed. Or in a closet. But he should know better. I’ll find him. And then I’ll give him the pill. And I’ll soothe him. Pet his throat. To make sure the pill goes down. And soon we are the best of friends again. Maybe because Loverboy reads my mind. He knows there won’t be another pill to take. Until tonight. Or tomorrow morning. Maybe that’s it. Maybe Loverboy can tell time. But sometimes, I alter the time. By several hours. But still, Loverboy knows. He must be a profound mind-reader. –Jim Broede

Monday, May 30, 2011

Into the land of bliss. Into Paradise.

I’ve learned to let myself go. To say what’s on my mind. And what I feel. Emotionally. I think that’s an attribute. Something I’ve always wanted to do. But maybe when I was younger I was afraid to let loose. To be myself. Heck, if I was the young me, I’d probably never have fallen in love a second time. I would have missed the opportunity. Because I didn’t go with the natural flow. I was hesitant. Except with dear Jeanne. That’s when I started learning to be me. To become capable of falling in love. And I came to think that I would only fall in love once. Once in my life. That is, until I met someone extraordinarily special. After Jeanne died. And I acted. And she acted. And here we are. Thinking about the grandeur and the wonderful nature of life. Learning to let go. To go with the flow. On a daily basis. Taking it all one day at a time. And having faith that the flow will take us to where we want to be. Into the land of bliss. Into Paradise. –Jim Broede

I was sort of homeless.

I wasn’t aware of it at the time. But I was sort of homeless in the late 1930s. I was 2 or 3 years old at the time. And we were living out of my dad’s car. No other home to go to. My mother, late in life, talked about those days. Which I appreciated. Because it gave me a taste of what life was really like during tough economic times. When the nation hadn’t yet come out of the Great Depression. Mom told me that each morning dad would take me into public restrooms at parks in Chicago and clean me up. I don’t remember any of that. And as far as I know, there was no personal trauma involved in spending my early years living out of a car. Must have seemed natural. But I suspect that mom and dad were experiencing trauma. Wondering where they’d end up. Anyway, my first conscious memories were of living in the basement of my uncle’s home in Chicago. And we shared the basement with my paternal grandparents. They lived on one side of the basement. And we lived on the other side. And when I was given a bath by my parents, they put me in a wash tub on my grandparents’ side of the basement. And when we had to use the toilet, we went upstairs to my uncle’s living quarters. We were still living in the basement when I started school. In Chicago. I still have a picture of the kindergarten class. And I looked quite happy. Perched in the front row. Sitting on the floor. It wasn’t until I was in the first grade that we moved out of the basement, and 120 miles away, to a small town in southeast Wisconsin, where I more or less grew up. We rented a home, and I still remember the address, 132 River Lawn Avenue. A two-story house. My brother and I shared a bedroom. My sister’s bedroom was across the hall. I lived there until I went away to college, in 1953. I wonder if the house is still standing. Maybe I’ll go back this summer, and see. I remember that my mom would send me up to the landlady’s house to pay the monthly rent. It was $40. And I still remember our phone number. It was 954-W. A party line that we shared with the neighbor across the street. Their number was 954-J. And when we made a call, we’d get the operator. And she had to make the connection for us. And oh, yes, the house was heated by a coal furnace. On cold winter nights, it was my responsibility to bank the coal in the furnace. Hopefully, in a way that made the fire last overnight. But sometimes it didn’t, and I had to get up and start the fire anew. I’d stand at the bedroom heat register to warm myself before traipsing off to school. And I’d come home for lunch. Because we had an hour and 20 minute lunch break. From 11:50 a.m. to 1:10 p.m. I never rode a school bus. The schools were within walking distance. Anyway, it was a happy childhood. Because I don’t ever remember being homeless. Guess I always had a home. Even if it was in a car. Or maybe even on a park bench. –Jim Broede

Government is our salvation.

I think government is necessary. And desirable. As a balance to private business. A balance to rampant capitalism. I want a socialist-leaning government. One that provides for the common good. A government that has a moral conscience. Because generally, the private sector doesn’t have a suitable conscience. Seems to me that capitalists put too much emphasis on making money. For individuals. Often with selfish motives. Rather than doing what’s best for society. Government has to step in if we are to have a fair and decent society. We need government regulation. And government financing. And government taxing. We need government to put a rein on things that tend to be bad for society. Such as the widening gap between the rich and the poor. We need government to provide security for the least of us. Seems odd to me that in a time when we need more government, we have conservative politicians calling for less government. Politicians that call government a beast that must be starved. When actually, government is our salvation. –Jim Broede

Sunday, May 29, 2011

Pretending we don't have a problem.

I’d like a society in which everyone is guaranteed a job. Because it’s the decent and wise thing to do. Anybody that wants to work should have a job. Maybe it’ll
take a government-sponsored works program. Building and fixing the infrastructure. Yes, things that benefit society. And it’d sure be a boost to the economy if everyone was put to work. Something like 14 million Americans are unemployed. And as a nation, we are doing virtually nothing about it. We’re just ignoring the problem. Pretending that it isn’t a problem. Guess that’s the American way. –Jim Broede

Doesn't have to be profound.

I like the idea of writing. Just sitting down and filling empty space on a blank page. With words. With thoughts. I recommend that others try it. Recording your own thoughts. And if your mind is a blank – well, then just fill it. With whatever comes to mind. A mind can be trained, you know. To think. I assume that’s what a mind was built for. Thinking. My day is lost if I don’t think of something. Doesn’t have to be profound. –Jim Broede

I'm around to quell things.

If I’m in crisis, my true love doesn’t take me seriously. She seems to think that I never have a full-blown crisis. At most, I’m faking it. But let me tell you, I really do go into crisis. But I know how to get myself out of it. Before I go into a full-fledged nervous breakdown. Because I know how to get my act together. Therefore, some people are fooled. They assume that I always have full grasp of the situation. I really don’t. Not initially. But I swing into action. And find a solution to the problem. Quickly. Seldom takes more than a few hours. I like my true love to understand that I’m prone to crisis moments. But only moments. And that I handle situations well. Because I’m calm, cool and collected. She ain’t as calm, cool and collected. But she’s blessed. Because I’m around to quell things. Before they get totally out of hand. –Jim Broede

The GOP deserves to go to hell.

It’s time for Democrats to tell Republicans to go to hell. Because enough is enough. The Republicans have been telling Democrats to go to hell. For a long, long time. By holding fast to their ideological positions. No compromise. When there’s been compromise, it’s been on the part of the Democrats. Because liberals tend to give more than conservatives. That’s the nature of liberals. To give in. To meet the opponent part way. If not half way. But one won’t find that happening with the lunatic fringe of the Republican Party. In a sense, one has gotta admire them for their steadfastness. But it ain’t fair. In politics there should be give and take. A negotiated settlement. And if one side won’t budge – well, then they should go to hell. That’s where they deserve to be. –Jim Broede

I need an annual cleansing.

I think I'm tough on people. Particularly on my friends and acquaintances. Too tough. I have this urge to speak my mind. My piece. To get to the truth. And it may not be the truth. That’s the sad thing about life. Maybe one never uncovers the truth. Maybe life is no more than deceptions. We fool ourselves. And we fool others. I like to think that there’s such a thing as honesty. Total honesty. But maybe there isn’t. Because we don’t know the truth. We don’t truly know each other. That’s why we have arguments. Disagreements. Hostilities. Why individuals and nations go to war. The thought of it makes me a little weary. And sad. Even despondent. I’m generally a positive thinker. But occasionally I lapse into negativity. Melancholia. Maybe for a total 6 or 7 days a year. A week. Which I think I’m entitled to. I need such an outlet. Because I think it leads to a cleansing, not only of the mind, but of the soul. --Jim Broede

Saturday, May 28, 2011

Things could be worse.

I’m trying to decide whether my Chicago Cubs are genuinely bad or merely a mediocre baseball team. Such a thought is triggered by the fact that after two months of the season, the Cubs have yet to win more than two straight games. But then, they haven’t lost more than four in a row. And several teams have worse records. So the internal debate goes on. Thing is, I’m certain about one thing. The Cubs are not a good team. But I suppose there’s consolation if the Cubs prove to be mediocre. In other words, things could be worse. –Jim Broede

Makes life worthwhile and fulfilling.

One thing I’ve learned about love. All people don’t love in the same manner. Oh, so many, many ways to love. I love in a unique way. Profoundly. But never more than one love at a time. I find it impossible to carry on two loves at the same time. One is all I can handle. I’m speaking of genuine love. Not superficial love. In which one merely goes through the motions. Another thing I’ve discovered. I don’t have to be loved genuinely in order to give genuine love. Because genuine love comes unconditionally. No strings attached. I like this notion of love. I’ve come to it only late in life. When I was younger, I was strictly a superficial lover. I had no or little idea of what real love was all about. It was shallow love. Not deep love. Real love has to go deep. To one’s essence. To one’s soul. Maybe even deeper than the soul, if there is such a thing. And I think there is. I’m still cultivating this thing called love. It’s my priority. My pursuit. Makes life worthwhile and fulfilling. –Jim Broede

Wish I knew how to worry.

I’m amazed when I start counting up the number of worry warts I know. Makes me think that the world is made up predominantly of worry warts. People who insist on worrying. About any and everything. They especially worry about things going wrong. Even over things that never go wrong. But they imagine that the sky is about to fall. And no matter how hard I try, they won’t believe me if I tell ‘em everything will be all right. Just go on living. Savoring today. Without all the unnecessary worry. But that causes some of ‘em to worry about me. Because I don’t worry enough. They suggest that I have no grasp of reality. And that the proof of it is that I don’t know how to worry. And maybe now that I think of it, that worries me a little bit. The fact that there may be something I don’t know how to do. –Jim Broede

Friday, May 27, 2011

Makes life less complicated.

I’ve learned to accept the things I can’t change. Maybe the breakthrough came when my dear Jeanne had Alzheimer’s. I fought it for a while. Didn’t want to accept it. I was in denial. But as time went on, I learned to accept it. And deal with it. In positive ways. That was good for Jeanne. And good for me. I became a good care-giver. Actually, I enjoyed the role. Got a sense of satisfaction. Fulfillment. Love. Jeanne died. And I missed her dearly. But I got on with life. Accepting life as it is. And making the most of it. By being happy. By being a romantic idealist, a free-thinker, a liberal, a lover. Yes, I have learned to take control of things I can control. And accept things I cannot control. Makes life less complicated. And interesting, too. –Jim Broede

Stupid people are the smart ones.

I think people get exasperated with me. Probably for good reason. Because I like to exasperate people. I do it on purpose. It’s a form of stimulation. Maybe I should use the term ‘annoy.’ I suppose ‘exasperate’ and ‘annoy’ are sort of synonymous. Could be that the world is full of people like me. Especially political pundits. They purposely stir the pot. That’s how they make a living. And get attention. Some of ‘em are downright stupid. And that’s a plus. For them. Because that’s even more exasperating, more annoying. It’s difficult being annoyed by an intelligent fella. Because he makes sense. But in this day and age, sounding intelligent can be boring. Puts people to sleep. Little wonder that stupid people are the smart ones. They get the attention. –Jim Broede

Quite possibly, I am an idiot.

I don’t understand lots of things. That’s why I keep asking questions. That’s how I learn. That I’m really pretty stupid. But still, that doesn’t stop me from learning. And becoming informed. Because my aim is to not remain stupid about everything. Only about some things. I know that I won’t ever know everything. But if I keep being curious, even to the point of asking stupid questions, I’m bound to learn something. Turns out that the more I learn, the more I understand that there’s a hell of a lot that I don’t know. And that I’m stumbling through life. And that I’m easily taken for being an idiot. Quite possibly because I actually am an idiot. –Jim Broede

Seeing what's around the corner.

I’m self-centered. In many ways. Which isn’t all bad. Because that’s a way of getting to know one’s self. By turning inward. I’d hate to go through life without knowing myself. Of course, that doesn’t stop me from knowing others. But if I were incapable of knowing myself, I’d be in no position to know others. Because I have to know how to relate. Based on what and who I am. I’m well aware that I’m not perfect. I have foibles. Many of which I recognize. Precisely because I know myself. And that helps me deal with the foibles. With the shortcomings. If that’s what they be. In a sense, I like my shortcomings. They make me different. And I want to be different. Because I was born to be different. It comes so naturally. All this may sound confusing. But once again, I like to be confused. Wandering in a labyrinth. Called life. Half the time I don’t know where I’m going. But that’s the thrill of it all. Seeing the grand and glorious surprises around the corner. –Jim Broede

Beautiful, intelligent and decent.

I tend not to like celebrities. They are made largely by the media. In arbitrary fashion. Often because they are freaks. Unusual. Different. Also, they are inaccessible. To regular people. Because they are celebrities. Most of us wouldn’t think about approaching a famous being. A celebrity. I personally know people who aren’t celebrities. Other than in my mind. My true love, for instance. She’s the most unique person in the world. At least to me. And isn’t that what counts? She’s not known to the rest of the world. You people don’t even know her name. But I know so much about her. Things I wouldn’t share with others. Especially in a public arena. I wouldn’t want her to be a celebrity. Because she deserves better. And besides, like I say, I don’t particularly like celebrities. Because many of ‘em are publicity seekers. And ego-centric. And too freakish for me. I’ve found something far better than a celebrity. A very beautiful and intelligent and decent human being. –Jim Broede

Thursday, May 26, 2011

On becoming a decent example.

Seems to me that if Republicans had their way, they'd hire and grossly overpay private corporate bosses and bankers to run government. Yes, Republicans are in love with the private sector. And especially private entrepreneurs that have become monetarily rich. Republicans have a disdain for democracy. For ordinary, every-day citizens running government. They want business-oriented Republicans to run the show instead. Yes, people dedicated to old-fashioned, money-grubbing capitalism. In other words, robbing the not-so-affluent to further pad the already bulging pockets of the rich. I’m a liberal. With socialist leanings. I prefer taking from the filthy rich to ease the burdens of the impoverished poor and underclasses. Yes, the redistribution of the nation's wealth. As I think are most Americans. Because it’s the right and moral thing to do. The serving of the common good. Many Americans have been duped by the Republicans and their nonsensical platitudes. Also known as bullshit. But I’m sensing that Americans are wising up. If so, the USA will finally reach its positive potential. And become a decent example for the rest of the world. –Jim Broede

A black man sounding awfully white.

It’s sad when black people become white. Too white. They forget their roots. And they join the Tea Party. And they sound like lily white Michele Bachmann or Sarah Palin. Like ultra-conservatives. Ding-bats. It’s as if they’ve sold their souls to the devil. Sold out. Almost as if they’ve decided one can’t beat the white social and political system. So just join the white crowd. Become one of ‘em. A white man/woman in a black skin. Yes, I find that terribly sad. This morning I was watching a congressman, Allen West, on C-Span. He’s 50. A retired military officer. He’s black. But he sounds white. Yes, awfully white. –Jim Broede

The know-it-alls scare me.

We have too many people in the world that know it all. Or act as if they know it all. When, in reality, nobody knows it all. Not even god himself. Yet every day, I tune in people who tell me they know it all. They tell me on radio and TV and in the newspapers and in the halls of Congress. I’m inundated by people that profess to know it all. And I know better. They don’t know it all. But don’t try to tell them that. Because they are convinced beyond the shadow of a doubt that they know it all. That’s why they won’t sit down and work with each other. Because they come from a perspective that they know it all. And if anybody tells them that ain’t true, they don’t believe it. They prefer to think that they know it all. And that’s why the world is in difficult shape. Because it’s being taken over by the know-it-alls. Rather scary, isn’t it? –Jim Broede

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

A welcome kind of suicide.

Suicides are on the increase. Political suicides, that is. Republicans are killing themselves. By insisting on changing Medicare. So that it becomes private. Which mean seniors will end up paying more. Out of their pockets. But that ain’t gonna happen. Fortunately. Because Republicans are on a course to mass suicide. But you won’t see me grieving over these political deaths. Instead, my attitude is good riddance. Fewer surviving Republicans will make the world a much better place. –Jim Broede

I'm solitary. And analytical, too.

I’m a solitary man. Or what might be called a lone wolf. By nature. By inclination. And by solitary, I mean I’m able to rely on myself. And I can live alone. And thrive. Not everybody can do that. Doesn’t mean I choose to live alone. I choose to cultivate a close, loving relationship. Because that’s when I’m at my best. My happiest. But I’m fully capable of living alone. Of even going without close friends. A true loner. But I know that’s not the best course for me. Even though I could do it. And thrive. Fact is that I am fiercely independent. And maybe that’s what makes me solitary. And a loner. I like being independent. And I like people who are independent. My true love happens to be very independent. Has a mind of her own. And she’s capable of being solitary, too. But not as solitary as me. She needs nourishing. From another. More than I need nourishing. I’m more able to nourish myself. To survive fully on my own. That is, if I have to. But I don’t have to. I come to conclusions like this. Because I’m also very analytical. –Jim Broede

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

When bad news becomes good news.

Medicare. And Social Security. America’s two greatest socialist-oriented programs. And the Republicans want to dismantle ‘em both. Through privatization. But something beautiful has happened along the way. Turns out that Americans like their Social Security and Medicare. Just the way it is. And Republicans are being lambasted. For daring to propose change. Radical change. The public opposition has taken Republicans by surprise. Because they thought that Americans were overwhelmingly opposed to any form of socialism. Turns out that’s not true. Polls are showing that up to 80 percent of Americans are opposed to Republicans tinkering with these programs. And that may spell bad news for Republicans in the 2012 elections. And when things go bad for Republicans – well, then that’s good news. For the likes of me. Because I’m a socialist at heart. I’m for whatever benefits poor people and the middle class. That’s why I’m not a Republican. Because the party caters to the rich, and especially the super rich. Republicans don’t give a damn about the poor and the middle class. But until recently, many Americans were duped into thinking that Republicans really cared. They don’t. –Jim Broede

I'm giving full respect.

Imagine a black man learning to live in a white racist society. For white people, that would be like living in a black racist society. Yes, pretty hard to do. No matter which way one casts the racism. That’s why I have tremendous respect for Barack Obama. He’s learned to tread the narrow path. To survive the racism. And to even thrive in a racist society. By actually getting himself elected president despite the relatively rampant racism in the USA. In some ways, Obama has even gained the grudging respect of some racists. In a sense, he’s won over some of ‘em. Of course, it’s also helped that he got about 96 percent of the black vote. And he got my vote, too. And those of a fair number of liberals. Nary a Republican would vote for Obama. Because so many of ‘em are racists. Through and through. Some openly admit it. Others are in denial, and always will be. I’ve been an opponent of racism ever since I was a youngster. And as a white man, I’ve never fully grasped how it’s best to combat racism. I don’t wanna come across as a moralist. And keep telling racists shame on you. I’d rather do it in more subtle ways. And appeal to everyone’s sense of decency. Or just by being color blind. What if black and white always appeared to be the same color? One couldn’t tell the difference. It’s sort of like when I see white people. It’s difficult determining if they are of Irish or French or German or Italian descent. They all look pretty much the same as I walk down the streets of America. But usually I can tell a black man from a white man. Merely by the color of skin. And I was raised to differentiate. Because I was brought up in a racist society. I was exposed to racism right from the start. But it never seemed right. Because I imagined myself as being black. And I didn’t want to be treated the way black people were being treated. It’s that simple. I wanted respect. And believe me, unlike some racist Americans, I’m giving full respect and admiration to Barack Obama. –Jim Broede

Monday, May 23, 2011

God may take up baseball.

If I were god, I’d become a baseball player. Just for a lark. And play for the Chicago Cubs. That would make god the greatest baseball player ever. Uncanny. Almost unbelievable. And god would spur the Cubs on to their first World Series championship since 1908. That also would prove that god can perform miracles. Enough to make god a saint. I wonder if god comes to Earth and plays a role now and then. Maybe as Nelson Mandela. Or Abe Lincoln. Or that philosopher Jesus. Lord knows. Yes, only god knows. I have a suspicion that god comes down and joins us occasionally. In disguise. In order to get things done. If he left everything to humans, we’d destroy ourselves. We need god to intervene. Just to save us. Otherwise, we’d have been long gone by now. That’s why I don’t believe these kooks that routinely predict the end of the world. One of ‘em proclaimed that the world was gonna end last Saturday. At 6 p.m. I didn’t believe it for a minute. Because god told me he still wants to play baseball. –Jim Broede

Guess I need a soulful language.

I’m supposed to be in motion. To move about. Physically. That’s why my soul was encased in my body. I suppose that could make my soul feel as if it’s imprisoned. But it really ain’t. My soul can leave my body. It can choose to roam. Just like my imagination. Makes me wonder if I’m more soul than body. More imagination than anything. I’m trying to figure it all out. At times, I’m surprised that I even exist. And maybe I don’t. Maybe that’s why I have a body. It’s tangible. I can see most of my body. I put my hand in front of my face. And look. I count five fingers on a hand. But there was a Chicago Cubs pitcher a few years ago that had six fingers. Gave him a better grip on the baseball. But I digress. That happens to me often. I go off on tangents. Because I’m curious. But ultimately I get back to my original thought. About having a body that wants to be in motion. I’m addicted to exercise. To motion. Makes me think that I’m a machine. With moving parts. If I were only a bodiless soul, I wonder what that would feel like. I suppose I’d be spirit. Just a thought floating out in space. Maybe into a void. I wonder if I’d even be occupying space. I wonder if my spirit would have eyes and ears and a mouth. A big mouth, like I have now. And would I be able to communicate with other spirits? Well, I’m answering my own question. I do talk to other spirits. Even to god himself. And it feels kind of peculiar. God seems to have eyes and ears and a mouth. But darned if I can describe it all in physical terms. Guess I need a soulful language. –Jim Broede

Why was I born?

I like to think about life. Daily. If I don’t, I maybe forget that I’m alive. I end up going through motions. Similar to a robot. Which means I’m not fully conscious of what I’m doing. I observe people around me. And I doubt that many of ‘em are conscious. They really aren’t thinking, They have blank looks. Like zombies. But then, maybe that’s their true role in life. They were born to be zombies. The living dead. Anyway, that’s why I sit down and write. Daily. I don’t wanna be a zombie. I’ve determined that I wanna be a romantic idealist, a free-thinker, a liberal and a lover. Ain’t always the easiest thing in the world to accomplish my goals. I have to work at it. By focusing. By actually thinking. By becoming alive. Oh, yes, that’s another thing I wanna be. Very much alive. To do that, I have to stimulate the thought process. Just to prove that I’m alive. Anyway, this ‘thinking’ makes life interesting. Sure beats not thinking. I was born to think. I’m sure of it. Maybe that’s the question I ask most often. Why was I born? –Jim Broede

Sunday, May 22, 2011

The way Jesus would tell it.

I could become Catholic. On one condition. That I be elected pope. Of course, that ain’t gonna happen. So I’ll continue living as a free-thinker. Personally, I’d make a good pope. I’d reform the church. Considerably. For instance, I’d allow women to become priests. And I’d allow priests to marry and raise families. Just like normal people. I’d allow contraception. And even abortions. But I’d discourage abortions. Preferring other alternatives. Such as adoption. Oh, and another thing. I’d divest the church of many of its valued treasures. And money. I’d raid the church coffers to aid the poor and the destitute. And instead of building more churches and cathedrals, I’d go for more outdoor masses/services. Under the canopy of the sky. And I’d tell the church hierarchy to quit wearing those silly hats and robes. That it would be all right to dress in jeans and sport shirts. And then I’d suggest better sermons. Telling it just the way Jesus would tell it. Instead of in the usual distorted terms. –Jim Broede

Where god lives.

Some of us want to live forever. But not necessarily locked in our physical beings. We’d probably live more like the mythical/real god. Presumably as a spirit. So that we can soar. And go anywhere. And be anything. To be everything. Or at least in everything. Maybe that’s the attraction of religion. Because religion often practices the myth/reality of everlasting life. I suspect that even people that commit suicide want everlasting life. But not in their physical beings. They want something better. More god-like. Especially when they are ill or in mental, physical or emotional pain. One begins to wonder if god is above all this. Maybe that’s why god is god. God has achieved perfection. Total, ever-lasting bliss. I suspect that I could settle for a little less than that. Which means I could accept being less than god. An underling, so to speak. Even servant in god’s house. As long as I could find genuine happiness. Love, I suppose. I could even settle for such a life in my physical being. As long as I wasn’t in severe pain. But if the pain or anguish were severe, maybe I would want out. Not necessarily death of consciousness. But relief from my physical pain/sorrow. I want the options god would have if encased in my physical being. I don’t wanna suffer for a prolonged period of time. Actually, I wanna live outside of time. I’m assuming that’s where god lives. –Jim Broede

Saturday, May 21, 2011

Better than science fiction.

I’m fascinated by the wonders of the cosmos. By new discoveries. Such as planets that exist outside of solar systems. With no star. No sun. Makes one wonder if there could be life in such places. Maybe they were planets that once circled a sun. But then got thrown out of orbit by one means or another. It’s so much fun to speculate. We know so very much about the cosmos. Yet so very little, too. People much smarter than me are making discoveries. For which I am appreciative. Makes me want to use my imagination. Just thinking about all of the possibilities. This stuff is better than science fiction. –Jim Broede

Alienating the rank and file.

I almost always side with labor over management. The same goes for the poor over the rich. That’s in my nature. Because I think that people with power tend to be corrupt. And basically unfair in their dealings with the less powerful. Little wonder that I’m not a Republican. I’m more inclined to support socialists. And even communists. Especially Italian communists. Because they seem to be quite intelligent and fair-minded. Anyway, I think Republicans have done themselves in. Cooked their own goose, so to speak. By trying to revoke public employees rights to bargain. And with their lame-brained proposals to privatize Medicare and Social Security. It’s energized Democrats and poor people and senior citizens to fight back. In Wisconsin, there are even gonna be recall elections for Republicans. Yes, the GOP went too far this time. Because polls show that 80 percent of Americans favor keeping Social Security and Medicare just as it is. Under government control. Usually, Republicans will say just about anything. To get themselves elected. But this time they alienated the rank and file. Labor and poor people and anybody with at least half a brain. –Jim Broede

Too many scoundrels.

Any political, economic or social system can easily go awry. If manipulated by scoundrels. Such as Republicans. Or corrupt communists. That’s why democracy in America has gone wrong. And why communism failed in the Soviet Union. If run properly, both democracy and communism can succeed. Just depends on who’s running the show. Either system could work. But it takes some ingenuity. And honesty. And transparency. Yes, a degree of understanding and tolerance, too. It’s called open-mindedness. Good people can co-exist and even thrive under political systems that are very much different. But bad people can’t. And that’s exactly what we have too much of in this world. Scoundrels. –Jim Broede

On making today a good day.

I like the fact that I’m living today. Don’t care that much about yesterday or tomorrow. Because I’m focused on today. I might ponder yesterday at another time. And I’ll deal with tomorrow, tomorrow. Of course, I could project ahead. Because I think tomorrow will be a good day. But I’d rather put my full attention on making today a good day. –Jim Broede

A certain cruelty in life.

The biggest mistake good people make is trying to be all things to all people. It’s an impossible task. And anyone who tries will be befuddled. And exhausted. And frustrated. Instead, one has to pick and choose. Set priorities. And more or less ignore some people. I can handle only so many friends. A handful. If I try for more, I spread myself thin. Then I begin to treat friends as mere acquaintances. Because I don’t give them sufficient time. Sufficient loving effort. That’s the nature of life. Some people get attention. Others get ignored. That may sound cruel. And maybe it is. Because there is a certain cruelty in life. –Jim Broede

At least it's a beginning.

I can be stupid. Awfully stupid. But what makes me less stupid than other people is that I know it. The most stupid people in the world are so stupid that they don’t even know it. Republicans, for instance. At least I’m honest about it. I acknowledge it. I’m aware. Maybe that allows me to do something about it. But if not, at least it’s a beginning. An opportunity. For me to do something about it. –Jim Broede

Friday, May 20, 2011

Unable to soar. To take flight.

True one-on-oneness goes beyond the physical. Far beyond. One becomes one. Complete. In a soulful way. Beyond human comprehension. I don’t know exactly how one achieves such a lofty status. But I innately know it’s possible. That is what makes me an optimist. And a romantic idealist, too. Some day I will reach this dimension. Which will bring me closer to the ultimate. To god, I suppose. The problem with physical life is the limiting factor. One can only go so far when anchored by the physical. It’s like being immersed in concrete. Weighed down. Unable to soar. To take flight. –Jim Broede

Total nakedness.

I think my friends tend to drift away. Or maybe it’s that I drift away. I’m not sure. Guess it’s that I tend to focus. On one particular friend. On my true love. Otherwise, I find myself spread thin. Too thin. Funny thing about human relationships. They must be cultivated. Kept alive. But how does one do it all? One can do only so much in a lifetime. Turns out that I need forever. Or maybe it’s a case that I desire forever. And I like to go on the assumption that I have forever. Which prompts me to take my time. To not hurry. To take full advantage of the moment. Now. Now. Now. I don’t have any difficulty choosing my focus. Because I’m drawn. Naturally. To my true love. I guess I’ve always needed a true love. That’s when I’m happiest. There’s a singularity about it. A one-on-oneness. Total exposure. Total nakedness. –Jim Broede

Before I run out of time.

Maybe the nicest gift of all is time. Time to live. Time to do what one wants to do. Maybe as I get older I should be feeling that I’m running out of time. But oddly, it’s just the opposite. I’m living more for today. Savoring today. Slowing down. I used to be more in a hurry. Trying to do too much. Quantity over quality. Maybe the shift came after I retired. When I didn’t have to report for work. I wasn’t obligated to show up. Wasn’t obligated to write. But turned out that I wrote more and more and more than I ever did before. Because I was writing exactly what I wanted to write. I was set free, in a sense. And I began pursuing exactly what I wanted to pursue. Do as I please. Oh, not totally. I’ve always had certain responsibilities. But my priority came to be a decent and loving human being. Consciously. I always wanted to be decent. But I didn’t think about it enough. And now I think about it. Because I want to put my time to good use. Before I run out of time. –Jim Broede

Thursday, May 19, 2011

Making the world a better place.

If I had lived in Nazi Germany, I suspect I’d have poked fun at the Nazis. Thinking I was safe. Maybe that shows I’m stupid. That I don’t know any better. But still, I would have tried to get away with being sarcastic. Maybe I would have limited such humor to when I was in the company of my trusted friends. Hoping that one of ‘em wasn’t a secret Nazi. Guess I can’t help myself. I’m very much inclined to mock anything or anybody that I don’t like. It’s in my nature. Gives me a good feeling. I wonder if I could have gotten away with it with some Nazis. I’m wondering if some Nazis actually had a genuine sense of humor. And tolerated good humor. As for Hitler – well, I didn’t ever see any humor in the guy. Maybe that was his problem. If he had cultivated a sense of humor while he was a youngster, he might have become a stand up comedian. Now I’m thinking that more Republicans should consider pursuing careers as comedians. Rather than politicians. The world would be a better place. –Jim Broede

In pursuit of consciousness.

Consciousness. Life’s most precious commodity. Yes, that’s it. Without awareness, I’d be unable to think for myself. Otherwise, everything would be a reflex response. Unconscious. Unaware, it seems to me. Unmindful. Anyway, I try to remind myself daily that I’m very much alive and conscious. That I’m far more than a robot. The point I wish to make is that I have to keep reminding myself. Otherwise, I might fall into going through life without being fully conscious. I suspect that many people around me have been caught in that trap. They don’t think for themselves. They simply exist. Yes, simply. Very simply. I like to poke fun at Republicans. For being simple-minded. But it’s an example of people going against their best interests. Because they have been trained. Like a dog. Like a seal. Like a rat in a laboratory. I suspect my cat Loverboy has more consciousness and common sense than some Republicans. I certainly like and revere Loverboy. But I can’t say the same for most Republicans. I accept ‘em and tolerate ‘em. But I’m not ever gonna stop poking fun at ‘em. It could be some Republicans don’t even know I’m poking fun. Because they ain’t conscious enough to know it. –Jim Broede

Maybe we're all odd.

When this blog started several years ago, or whenever it was, I initially attracted many negative thinkers. From the Alzheimer’s message boards. They were, for the most part, negative thinking care-givers. Because they were overworked. Exhausted. Emotionally drained. And I kept telling ‘em to think more positively. Despite the pitfalls of life. And that pissed ‘em off. They thought they had a right to be negative. And certainly, they do. But still, I let ‘em know that I thought that was a stupid choice. And that they ought to find better ways to be care-givers. Mostly by becoming positive. Because a negative care-giver generally does far more harm than good. It’s unproductive. Self-defeating. Come to think of it. This applies to everyone. Not just to Alzheimer care-givers. I suspect that many people put themselves into depression. Merely by being negative. And by refusing to fall in love with life. They prefer being unhappy. Which I think is a sickness. But a curable one. Amazingly, however, some people don’t wanna be cured. And maybe it’s that they find some degree of happiness in being unhappy. That may seem odd. But then, maybe we’re all odd. Me included. In our own ways. –Jim Broede

I'm gonna plant daisies.

I like the feeling of getting up in the morning and going to the computer. To write. But not knowing exactly what I want to write. So I have to think of something. Or maybe I decide that it’s best to not write. But inevitably, a thought comes to mind. Like this one. Or maybe it isn’t even a thought. But I know better. I can’t stop from thinking. That I’m in love, for instance. And that precipitates nice thoughts. Positive thoughts. My eyes are open. And I see. Out the windows. At the spring greenery. And I tell myself, I’m gonna plant flowers today. Daisies. A big patch of daisies. Oh, I’ll start small. I’ve been looking for painted daisies. And in the process, I’ve discovered all sorts of daisies. Daisies come to mind. Because my true love likes daisies. She showed me pictures of painted daisies. And I wondered for a moment if these were real. Maybe just made-up flowers. Painted on a canvas. But turns out they were photographs. Of actual daisies. And I thought I’d like access this summer to real daisies. So that I could just look at them. And maybe pick a bouquet. And give home-grown daisies to my true love. –Jim Broede

Wednesday, May 18, 2011

Those stone-throwing Republicans.

I’m bemused but not surprised by the rash of Republican politicians with extramarital affairs. Such as Newt Gingrich. Remember him during the Clinton presidency? Gingrich wanted Clinton impeached for having an affair. The irony of it all is that we now know that at the very time Gingrich was going after Clinton, he was having his own adulteress affair. Talk about being a hypocrite. And now California Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger’s marriage with Maria Shriver is breaking up. Because he’s admitted to fathering a child with one of his household’s help 10 years ago. Yes, this is the same Schwarzenegger that has touted family values throughout his political career. Anyway, the litany could go on and on. About two-faced, double standard Republicans. They are good at living in glass houses and throwing stones. –Jim Broede

Makes love feel like forever.

I need my daily vision of loveliness. I thrive on it. It’s when I get to see my true love on Skype. An audio/video hook-up. Makes it possible for me to converse with my true love. In living color. And directly with the spoken word. Even though she’s in Sardinia, in Italy, in the Mediterranean Sea, and I’m in Minnesota. Like 5,000 miles apart. Anyway, that’s the wonder of modern technology. And now we are getting in the habit of living with each other for much of the year. In the flesh. I go to Sardinia in the winter. And my true love comes and stays with me in the summer. How’s that for the good life? And we’ve learned to live one day at a time. Savoring each other. No matter the separation. On Skype. And I also write at least one love letter. Every night. Sometimes, two or three love letters. That’s become one of my specialties. Love letters. The written word. Sometimes it’s even better than the spoken word. Easier to ponder. One can read and re-read. I think of a love letter as a poem. It has a life all it’s own. With the possibility of living for a long time, if not forever. Oh, so many ways to express one’s love. By living love in full splendor. Fully. One day at a time. Makes love feel like forever. –Jim Broede

Subject to random chance.

I like my Chicago Cubs baseball team. Even when they lose. Because the Cubs are an expression of futility. They have been born to lose. In every way possible. With lousy pitching. Lousy hitting. Lousy fielding. By errors of omission and commission. And just by random bad luck. The Cubs have taught me a lot about life. On how to cope with the many blunders. To take it all matter-of-factly. To see much of life as merely a game. Not that much different than baseball. Subject to random chance. –Jim Broede

To be my real self.

I want to live. The way I want to live. Not by anyone’s dictates. Other than mine. Guess that’s my idea of freedom. Please understand. I don’t just wanna follow my selfish whims. I’m obligated to be a decent fella. And not cause societal harm. Or harm to other individuals. But I want great latitude. Great flexibility. I want to be able to operate within large-ranging parameters. For instance, I want to be able to write and think about anything. No restrictions. Yes, I want freedom of expression. I want to be able to say what’s on my mind. And in my heart. Doesn’t mean that I have to get everything right. I’m allowed to be wrong. To make mistakes. To become a fool. Yes, to be my real self. –Jim Broede

A treatise of protest. To everyone.

I have a recurring dream. No, maybe it’s a nightmare. My kind of nightmare. In that it often causes me anxiety. Until I wake up. And it’s that I have a writing assignment. At school. Or at work. And the deadline has arrived. And I haven’t finished. Or maybe I haven’t even started. And I wonder what I’m gonna do about it. Because I don’t feel like doing the assignment. But I’m still some how expected to do it. Obligated. And that’s a gawd-awful feeling. And this morning in the dream I finally decided to write a thesis, of sorts, on why I didn’t want to write. Because I simply didn’t feel like it. And it was as if I had just lifted a heavy burden from my shoulders. In fact, from my mind. Or even my soul. I began to feel that I had a right to say ‘no’ to a person in authority. My teacher. My boss. My parent. Maybe even to god. That I do not have to acquiesce. That I do not have to do everything that’s being expected of me. Being foisted on me. And that made me feel good. At peace. Because I would agree to write. But that I’d write only what I want to write. A treatise of protest. To god. To everyone. –Jim Broede

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

My moment of awareness.

I like being. Yes, being me. I don’t wanna be anyone else. And the nicest thing of all is that I have opportunities. To evolve. To grow. To expand. To explore. To satisfy my curiosity. I don’t know how I ever became me. Guess I just happened. Sprang from a seed. In my mother’s womb. And lo and behold. There I was. Like magic. One moment I wasn’t. And the next moment I was. Maybe I’ll vanish as quickly as I appeared. Never to be heard of again. As if I never lived. But I don’t worry about that. Because I’m here now. That’s the important and significant thing. I have now. I’ve been living in the now for 75 years, and counting. Which is a marvel. I can hardly believe it. Oh, maybe that’s an exaggeration. Because I really do believe it. Although I occasionally wonder if it’s all a dream. An imaginary thing. And all I am is one of god’s random thoughts. A day dream. But still, it feels so very real. And that’s good enough for me. I have never experienced anything more fantastic than life. I’m astounded. Mesmerized. Enthralled. Even if this life is only an instant in time. It’s my instant. My moment of awareness. –Jim Broede

Everything is possible.

I refuse to feel down for any extended period of time. Because I don’t like the feeling. I’d rather feel up, up, up. In that sense, I take care of myself. It’s been that way ever since I was a kid. I wanna feel good. About myself. And life. So I make a conscious decision to feel good. If I allowed myself to feel down, down, down – well, that would qualify as depression. And it’s downright silly to go through life in depression. Yet people do it. Some psychiatrists and doctors claim that such people have no or little choice. That it’s a chemical imbalance. So they give ‘em pills called anti-depressants in efforts to make ‘em well again. But I’m more for talk therapy. Convincing one’s self to be happy. To pursue happiness no matter what. Some people say that’s impossible. But I prefer being stupid enough to believe that everything is possible. Even happiness. –Jim Broede

Bolstering one's love instinct.

Lots of things went wrong yesterday. Little things, fortunately. It got so that I was expecting a chain of bad events. But it really wasn’t a bad day. Because I had the opportunity to think of my true love. I kept her prominent in my thoughts. To offset the day’s negative flow. Amazing. When one has a true love to bolster one’s vitality and love instinct. –Jim Broede

A racist. In heart, body and soul.

This guy Newt Gingrich. I can hardly believe he’s real. He’s a phony from the word go. He’s running for president. As a Republican, of course. But I gotta admit that many Democrats are phonies, too. Guys like Edwards, for instance. If Obama is a phony – well, then he’s fooled me. He’s a rare, rare politician that I like. He’s still a politician. But I think he has some degree of honesty. And I think he’s got a liberal instinct. Maybe too willing to compromise. Willing to meet the devil halfway. Yes, willing to sit down and talk to Republicans. In an effort to give some and take some. For the sake of reaching accord. But as for Newt, I doubt that he’s got an honest bone in his whole body. He’s fake through and through. And it doesn’t say much for we Americans that Gingrich has some degree of popular support. Seems to me that racists are naturally drawn to Gingrich. Because deep down, he’s a racist. In heart, body and soul. –Jim Broede

Perfection will take forever.

Maybe god designed a world of conflict. Didn’t want everything to go smoothly. For the sake of enlivening life. So we humans wouldn’t be bored. Or maybe it was more a case of god wanting to see if stupid people can still make a go of it. By improvising. By seeking order. Even in difficult times. Could be that god himself started out as a mistake-prone idiot. In need of finding his way. And lo and behold, he did just that. Picked himself up by the bootstraps and became an all-knowing god. And now he wants his creatures to do pretty much the same. Achieve perfection. But no doubt, it’ll take forever. –Jim Broede

Sunday, May 15, 2011

I'm happy. And having fun.

I’m having fun. Because I’m truly living today. Not yesterday. Not tomorrow. I’m living this moment. Sitting at the computer. Thinking. Writing. For my blog. I don’t call it a journal. Instead, a nomenclature I never heard of not so many years ago. A blog. An expressive invention of the modern age. It’s an opportunity to publish. On the Internet. A relative handful of people visit the blog. Regularly. Or spasmodically. I know. Because there’s a counter. With 43,000-some hits so far. Hits every day. Maybe 30, 40 or 50. It’s variable. And I get comments. And 10 people who have registered as ‘followers.’ Guess that’s another name for readers. Anyway. Like I said at the outset. I’m having fun. Writing in a unique way. Because I have the opportunity. I write letters, too. Emails. That’s one of my favorite pastimes. Linking me to friends and other interesting people. Across the globe. Yes, I have an audio/video connection. With people all over the world. I can see them in living color. Talk to ‘em face to face. Amazing. So many technical advances. And there are more to come. An endless array of personalities. Connections. I don’t like everything going on in the world. I’d remake our political, economic and social systems. If I could. But I can’t. I don’t have that much power. And I’m not sure that I’d want to. Because then I’d have to start playing god. Which might be all right in a play. A thinking man’s play. But I really wouldn’t want to be god. I’d rather be me. And this blog is helping me do that. It’s giving me a personality. A new dimension. An outreach. Sort of like god, in a way. Because it makes me a creator. Of the written word. Of thought. And links me to the world. Outside. And inside. I’m even linked to Italy. To the island of Sardinia. In the Mediterranean Sea. Where I live part of the year. With my true love. And she comes to live with me, too. In Minnesota. And we travel together. It’s a nice way to live. And once again, I’m happy. And having fun. I’m alive. And conscious. And in love. At this very moment. Can’t ask for more than that. –Jim Broede

Saturday, May 14, 2011

In the living soul and spirit.

I like to see people dig deep into themselves. To reach their potential. I think we all have parts of our being that need discovery. Buried inside us. There for the uncovering. If only we dig deeper and deeper. That’s what I try to do. Daily. Dig. Dig. Dig. I keep discovering fantastic things. A new aliveness. A new awareness. A new consciousness. I’m sure that it was always there. But I didn’t know where to look. I thought maybe I’d find my meaning and significance in the wide world around me. But really, it was inside me instead. There’s a world within. In the living soul and spirit. –Jim Broede

My own little world.

Seems to me the world needs a new approach to dealing with everything. A shake-up, of sorts. Because I don’t think that, generally speaking, the common good is being served. Instead, it’s the good of a relative few. Corrupt capitalists. Selfish hoarders. Which makes for an ever-widening gap between the rich and the poor. We have economic, political and social systems geared to benefit a ruling elite. Money-grubbers. In essence, we need a better and more sensible distribution of wealth. Yes, I keep coming back to the same theme. Serving the common good. And we don’t come close to that now. It ain’t right. It ain’t moral. We have gotten to where we are now under the guise of personal freedom. Allowing the individual to do pretty much as he pleases. I’m not so sure that’s best for society. Because that allows the selfish to reign. The exploiters. The manipulators. The defenders of rampant capitalism. The Wall Street barons. I know it’s gonna take a long, long time to bring about significant change. That people like me will have to put up with life as it is. Finding consolation in our personal lives. For me, that means practicing being a romantic idealist, a free-thinker, a liberal and a lover. Able to retreat to my cocoon. And create my own little world. –Jim Broede

I wonder if it's coincidence.

Oil companies and health insurers are making record profits. At the same time that our economy is sagging. And when health care and gasoline are at record high prices. I wonder if that’s coincidence. Makes me think of the word ‘nationalize.’ It has a nice ring to it. Seems to me there are certain industries that need to be nationalized. In order to serve the common good. Rather than the pockets of a handful of capitalist swine. –Jim Broede

By losing our collective soul.

In the old days, when we went to war, as a nation, we had conscription. The draft. But no way would Americans stand for war any more if we forced ‘em into uniform. And our politicians know it. So they’ve had to find other ways to raise an army, a navy, an air force. They have to look for volunteers. And it helps if there’s a pool of jobless and relatively uneducated young people out there. Makes ‘em ripe for the picking. Especially if they are sold a bill of goods. That it’s patriotic. To fight for your country. To risk your life. In gawd-forsaken and immoral wars all over the globe. In Iraq. In Afghanistan. If nothing else, it gets you a job. Not very decent pay, of course. But then, when you’re dumb and patriotic, pay doesn’t matter. Yes, a whole class of Americans have been manipulated. To make war possible. The technicians have helped, too. With lethal weapons. Drones. Missiles. Guided bombs. We’ve learned how to kill more efficiently and effectively. From a distance. We just bomb the hell out of places. Call it shock and awe. And to hell with the collateral damage. But we also can resort to highly trained killers. Elite assassination/execution squads. To take out individuals. Yes, we Americans have mastered the art of war. By losing our collective soul. –Jim Broede

Friday, May 13, 2011

Making love. Not war.

Make love. Not war. Seems to me that was the credo of the 1960s. I like that. Although I didn’t quite understand the notion of love back then. I was too young. Too inexperienced. But now, 50 years later, I’m learning to live. As if I was back in the 1960s. Guess I’m a slow learner. Takes time for the notion of love to fully take hold. To permeate. But I’m making up for lost time. And I feel young again. Fully capable of making love. My kind of love. Not war. –Jim Broede

Making us peacefully whole again.

Trying to remember when’s the last time America wasn’t at war. Seems that peace isn’t a part of our vocabulary any more. And then we wonder why we’ve got a national debt that puts our economy and social programs and infrastructure into jeopardy. But I have a solution. Let’s declare a moratorium on war. And then take every penny from our defense budget and use the money to make the USA peacefully whole again. –Jim Broede

How to annoy a Christian.

I spell god with a lower case ‘g’ for a variety of reasons. But partly to annoy Christians. I know Christians that become livid when I use a small letter ‘g’ in god. They say I should capitalize god out of proper respect. And they imply that I’m a sinner or even worse, for not doing it. As if that makes me an unforgiveable heathen. They think I’m thumbing my nose at god. In reality, I’m having fun with Christians. Over their inclination to get hung up over trivial and meaningless matters. That’s one of many reasons why I don’t wanna be a Christian. But mostly it’s because Christians often spout bullshit. I don’t begrudge Christians for that. Because I think it’s funny. And downright entertaining. And who am I to say that they don’t have a right to believe their bullshit? Because we all believe some preposterous things. Such as the chants of politicians. But some of us recognize pure bullshit as pure bullshit. We readily admit that we use it. We don’t lie in that regard. We don’t deceive ourselves. One might say that we are the honest bull-shitters. If there is such a thing as an honest bull-shitter. –Jim Broede

Equivalent to walking on water.

In matters spiritual, I believe what I want to believe. Nobody dictates to me. If I want to believe in an abstract called god (spelled with a lower case 'g'), I believe it. Unequivocally. If I don’t want to, then I don’t. It’s my decision. Totally. I don’t necessarily use reason or logic in coming to my beliefs. In coming to my bottom-line conclusions. I just simply believe. Exactly what I want to believe. Because there is no reason or logic when it comes to spiritual matters. It’s even ridiculous to try to figure it all out intellectually. Mindfully. Instead, it’s more a soulful thing. Whatever my inner being tells me to believe, instinctively, I believe. Or I at least profess a belief. I suppose it’s a form of faith. I’m not a Christian. Or a member of any organized religion. Because I don’t wanna be. I was brought up as a Christian. But I renounced being a Christian, simply because I don’t wanna be one. Because there's too much totally unbelievable bullshit connected with Christianity. Beyond anything that I truly want to believe. I’d rather be independent. A free-thinker. On my own terms. By my own definitions. Which, granted, may be rather vague. And which may change from day to day. Or even moment to moment. And experience to experience. Depending on my mood. I might be called a spiritual work in progress. Evolving. Forever feeling my way. That’s the nice thing about spirituality. It’s fluid. Very, very fluid. In a sense, one must go out of one’s mind to reach the spiritual side. One must enter another aura. Beyond the three-dimensional universe. Beyond our traditional concepts of creation. Humans can do it. Not fully though. Unless one leaves his physical being. Discarding one’s body. And one’s mind. Or at least that’s what I wanna believe. At the moment. So I convince myself to believe it. I come to realize that the impossible is possible. Among my most enlightening discoveries is that true love has an immense spiritual dimension. To be explored. Won’t ever fully grasp it. Intellectually, that is. But hey, I’m into this thing called love. Soulfully. Spiritually. Yes, a magnificent feat. Equivalent to walking on water. –Jim Broede

Thursday, May 12, 2011

Detestable characters.

I’m being nice even when I don’t seem to be nice. Because some people shouldn’t be treated nice. And in a sense, that’s the nice way to treat ‘em. Not so nicely. So they get the message. That they could be nicer. Take Hitler, for instance. Or many Republicans. Especially those thinking about running for president against Barack Obama. For the most part, they are first-class assholes. People I wouldn’t want as friends. And I suppose the same goes for me. They wouldn’t want me as a friend. I’d happily accept Obama as a friend. Because I think he’s a decent guy. Very decent. But these Republicans – well, I’d like to keep my distance. And I’m doing ‘em a favor. And being nice. By telling ‘em the truth. They are detestable characters. –Jim Broede

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

Born to be misunderstood.

Some people jump to conclusions about me. Wrong conclusions. But I don’t mind. Because that’s the nature of life. To be misunderstood. If we really understood each other, life would be boring. Misunderstandings lead to volatility. To skirmishes. Even to wars. Think of the long history of humankind. We’ve had wars and misunderstandings right from the beginning. And that makes for good reading. And it justifies war. Because we’ve always had it. It must be all right. God must have intended that we have wars. Even religious wars. He must want us to fight it out. Many of us even think that god is on our side in war. Because we are moral and just. It’s all right to kill people in the name of god. Yes, I know. People will take my comments as justification for war. For endless slaughter. But if so, it makes my point. I was born to be misunderstood. –Jim Broede

I like being me.

Let me remind everyone. I’m opinionated. I was born with opinions. I think I spouted an opinion or two the moment I wiggled out of the womb. Maybe even when I was still inside the womb. I wanted out. Released into the world. Into real life. I have no regrets about being born. And about being opinionated. Seems to me that everyone else has opinions. So why not me? I offend some people. But that’s the risk of voicing opinions. I can be offended, too. But I try not to. Because I want to think of myself as open-mindedly opinionated. I can be swayed. I’ve been known to change my opinions. From day to day. I’m not afraid to be inconsistent. That’s usually the nature of opinionated people. They have to be spewing words out of their mouths. Constantly. Little wonder that I had a nickname growing up. ‘Big Mouth.’ I’ve worn the name as a badge of honor. I like my reputation as opinionated. I like being me. –Jim Broede

A believer in love & good vibes.

I encounter so very many defeatist attitudes. Among Alzheimer care-givers. I suppose I can’t blame ‘em. But still I do. Because a defeatist attitude usually leads to defeat. And it doesn’t have to. Merely by experimenting. By looking for solutions to problems. Making things work. Every problem can be solved. One way or another. It’s just a matter of finding the right way. I post on the Alzheimer’s message boards. To try to encourage care-givers that have problems. Because I spent 13 years as a care-giver. To my dear Jeanne. And I once had a defeatist attitude. Which did me no good. But finally I said, ‘I’ll find a way to cope. To solve every problem that I encounter. I’ll stay upbeat. I’ll exude good vibes. All of the time when I am in Jeanne’s presence. Even if I don’t feel like it. I’ll fake it.’ And do you know what? It worked. Worked for Jeanne. Worked for me. Yes, it’s all in the attitude. One has to keep plugging away. And become a believer. In pure love. And good vibes. –Jim Broede

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

Loving without fear & trepidation.

I’m a philosophical being. I suppose that makes me a philosopher. Granted, an amateur. But nevertheless, a philosopher. My dictionary defines philosophy as the pursuit of wisdom. And a search for general understanding of values and reality by chiefly speculative rather than observational means. That’s me, all right. But I suspect I’m just as observational as I am speculative. I see what’s going on around me. In my immediate environs. And I often give it interpretation. But I’ve noticed one thing about myself. I reach the point where I quit speculating. About this notion of love, for instance. I just go ahead. Without fear and trepidation. And live as a lover. –Jim Broede

The only thing I've gotten right.

As I see it, life is a constant quest to get things right. And not to get discouraged in the process. It’s more or less a trial and error system. One looks for what works. For what makes one happy. But one has to go beyond the self, too. To make others happy. I don’t mean the entire world. Only a handful. Of people that one respects, and even loves. No way can everyone be made happy. That’s impossible. And no way can anyone ever get everything right. Like everyone else, I was born to make mistakes. Serious mistakes. Minor mistakes. One just hopes that they aren’t fatal mistakes. Early in life, I probably didn’t have a clue. As to right and wrong. And which way to go. But then I discovered this abstract notion of love. Maybe as a kid, I thought love was sissy stuff. That maybe men don’t love. Because it ain’t masculine. But turns out there isn’t anything more masculine than love. Gentle, tender, compassionate love. Gradually, I’ve learned to love. Mostly life. But another, too. That’s my mission in life. Why I was born, and put on Earth. To be a good lover. Maybe that’s the only thing I’ve gotten right. –Jim Broede

To endearing relationships.

I think it’s all right, and even nice, to put one’s personal relationships ahead of one’s career. I know people that do that. And generally, I like ‘em. Because it seems to me that they have their priorities straight. They put life into proper perspective. They know what’s important. Yes, the pursuit of happiness. I acknowledge that it’s also possible and desirable to find happiness through one’s career. But so very many people are frustrated in their line of work. The way they make a living. For instance, I know frustrated teachers. They work in school systems with, oh, so very many problems. Bureaucratic and otherwise. For relatively low pay. And with little, if any, appreciation. Despite being dedicated teachers. But some of ‘em have good, solid personal relationships. And they’re in love. With life. That’s how they get their primary sustenance. Outside of their careers. That allows them to continue teaching. Allows them to fight the battles with the political, economic and social realities of the world. Because they are able to retreat daily to cocoons in which they are loved and appreciated. To endearing personal relationships. –Jim Broede

Monday, May 9, 2011

Yes, I practice common sense.

People tell me that they are tired. Oh, so tired. They wonder why. That maybe they have a health problem. In many instances, I discover that it’s lack of sleep. Yes, something as simple as averaging only 6 or 7 hours of sleep a night, instead of 8 or 9 or 10 hours. It didn’t occur to them that the solution/cure was so simple. I’m tired, too. At the end of the day. That’s why I go to bed. To get some sleep. Actually, I like to feel tired. Makes me relaxed. Signals for me to doze off. To have sweet dreams. I expect to feel tired after a long day. Or if I’ve been sleep-deprived for a while. Same thing with feeling depressed. Used to be I went into doldrums. Because I had negative thoughts. So I found the cure. Again, very simple. Started thinking more positively. I even learned to fall in love. With life. Yes, I practice common sense. –Jim Broede

Give me a peaceful adagio.

I put on the CD. Because it was labeled ‘romantic music.’ But I was being duped. It was bombastic music. Of Tchaikovsky. Yes, I know he’s been labeled a romantic. But that ain’t romantic music he composed. It’s too wild. Too noisy. Too turbulent. I’m a true romantic. I yearn for the tranquil. The serene. Something soothing. Give me a peaceful adagio. –Jim Broede

I can mingle with spirits.

I’m not sure that I like the notion of democracy. The idea that everybody has a voice in the decision-making. A vote for everyone. Because I sense that maybe the majority of us are stupid. Idiots. Nincompoops. Not knowing right from wrong. Truth from fiction. Easily manipulated. Fooled. Which often means that the lowest common denominator prevails. We are like sheep. We merely follow the rest of the flock. Of course, if we had a great leader, a great shepherd, all would be just fine. But our shepherds are evil. They are selfish capitalists. Opponents of the common good. So we sheep are led astray. Too often to slaughter. To exploitation. Because we are unable to think for ourselves. Unable to see the manipulation. As for me, I don’t really fully know what I am. Although for the moment, I don’t mind being a lone wolf. Wandering in a primeval forest. I’m not out to hunt. Sheep or anything. I don’t have to live on flesh. I can eat berries. I can mingle with spirits. –Jim Broede

Loverboy takes his medicine.

My beloved cat Loverboy has an intestinal disorder. And so he’s to take some medicine for two weeks. Believe me. He doesn’t like to take medicine. So I thought I’d be clever. I grind up the tiny tablet. And mix it in his food. But Loverboy has uncanny taste buds. He detects the tiniest foreign ingredient. And tells me he ain’t gonna stand for this deception. He’ll go on a hunger strike, if necessary. But Loverboy soon learns of my resolve. To see that he takes his medicine. The hard way. I do what I have to do. Kneel down on the floor. Catch him between my knees. From behind. Force open his big mouth. Stick my finger to the back of his tongue. Plop in the pill. Force shut his mouth. Pet his throat. To make him swallow. He’s a bit annoyed. But hey, I’ve served notice. I’m the boss. I’m in command. I call the shots. And Loverboy takes his medicine. –Jim Broede

An amazing saving grace.

My guess is that we Americans wouldn’t be in the economic mess we’re in if Al Gore had become president in 2000. Instead, there was political chicanery in Florida. With an assist from the U.S. Supreme Court. And so George Bush saw to it that rich people got trillion dollar tax cuts. And we went off to costly trillion dollar wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. Little wonder that a budget surplus built during the Clinton presidency quickly evaporated. Into the biggest budget deficit in the nation’s history. Needlessly. Imagine if there hadn’t been those tax cuts and no wars. We’d have survived the recession in much better shape. Not necessarily smelling like roses. But maybe like daisies. Which ain’t all bad. Studies have since shown that if all of the votes had been counted in Florida, Gore would have become president. Oh, well. History is history. Events are events. And shit happens. So many ifs in this world. I accept life as it comes. And I try to make the best of it. During the interim, my dear Jeanne died of Alzheimer’s. I lamented for a while. But got on with life. By falling in love again. Living as a romantic idealist, a free-thinker, a liberal and a lover. Yes, I took control. In this crazy world. With the intention of making the best of it. In love. Blessed. By an amazing saving grace. –Jim Broede

Sunday, May 8, 2011

I gonna think about thinking.

I wonder how one measures the ability to think. Seems to me that’s supposed to be the purpose of education. To teach people how to think. On their own. Independently. One can accumulate knowledge. And come up with the right answers on a test. But that doesn’t mean the student knows how to think. One can be trained to pass a test. In a manner similar to a robot. But thinking – well, that’s another thing. If I were a teacher, I’d want my students to have far more than the right answers. I’d give the best grades to those that seem to be the best thinkers. But what makes a thinker? That’s what I want to know. I suspect there’s no easy answer. So I’m gonna think about thinking. –Jim Broede

Treating myself quite decently.

I treat myself decently. Because I owe it to me. But I’m surprised at how many people don’t treat themselves decently. They flagellate themselves. Or go on guilt trips. Or never work out. Avoid moments of pleasure. In fact, one might call them masochists. As if they hate themselves. They don’t even get adequate rest. They abuse themselves. Many of ‘em voluntarily go into bouts of depression. And tell us they can’t avoid it. That it’s a disease. And for all I know, maybe it is. As if they are compelled to be unhappy. Destined. It’s their lot in life. They were born into this world to suffer. Could be it makes them feel holy. Maybe I should give them the benefit of the doubt. Anyway, I don’t want to be like ‘em. I’d rather be happy. And in love. Today. This moment. Oh, sure, I could tell myself that it won’t last forever. I could project into the future. To bad times that are bound to come. But I don’t wanna live in the future. I’m satisfied with now. With being me. At the moment. Treating myself quite decently. –Jim Broede

Extraordinary, isn't it?

I’ve never been big on visiting cemeteries. I haven’t ever visited my mother’s grave. And I haven’t been to my father’s grave in at least 40 or 50 years. My mother didn’t even have a funeral. Which was a very decent decision on her part. Anyway, this doesn’t stop me from thinking of my mother and my father. In a spiritual sense. I’m free to talk to their spirits at any time. That’s sufficient. I don’t have to visit a grave site. The place of their physical remains. In my father’s case, I’m sure it’s only bones. Because it was 60-some years ago. By this time in Europe, one’s bones most likely will have been dug up already. To make way for another grave. Unless you were a great person of reknown. In the case of my mother – well, she was reduced to ashes even before she was put into a grave. So she’s encased in an urn rather than a coffin. Meanwhile, I’m assuming both of my parents have spirits that are roaming free. Somewhere in this cosmos. Maybe everywhere. Which means I have access to their spirits. All I have to do is focus. No matter where I’m at. Makes no sense to go all the way to a graveyard for a chat. I can do it right here. At home. At any time. It’s as if their spirits live with me. Inside me. Extraordinary, isn't it? –Jim Broede

Saturday, May 7, 2011

I know what's important.

Doesn’t matter if I’m disenchanted with the state of politics. Or the state of the world, in general. I’m still happy. To be alive. And in love with life. I’d remake politics. And the world. If I had the ability to do so. But I don’t. Instead, I only have the ability to be a lover. And really, that’s all I ever want to be. A happy lover. All the other stuff is secondary. Incidental. Used to be that I thought I could change politics and the world. But I was young. And naïve. Rather stupid, too. But now I’ve wised up. I know what’s important. The pursuit of happiness. Of love. –Jim Broede

Sort of a contradiction, isn't it?

If you ain’t a true lover, this blog may not be for you. Because I cater to lovers. Especially lovers of life. Haters of life should stay away. Many of ‘em in a state of depression. Or anguish. Because they aren’t in love. With anything. In a sense, they might as well be dead. I’d prefer that they be alive. And exuberant. But that’s their choice. Maybe they have the misfortune of being diseased. Mentally. Something in their lives went awry. That happens. Some call it shit. Really, it’s circumstance. My father was that way. He opted out. Committed suicide. When he was still relatively young. Only 38. I would have hated to die. At 38, or any age. Because I’m in love. With life. But I understand why some people don’t love life. Don’t even like it in the remotest way. I think that’s sad. Especially if they downright hate life. And try to rob others of happiness. Some even go on killing sprees. They like to see people die. Bin Laden was that sort, I guess. Hitler, too. Many of ‘em are suicidal. They don’t wanna live. But the saddest cases are the ones that wanna take the rest of the world with ‘em. Into oblivion. Or into an imaginary world of voluptuous virgins. Sort of a contradiction, isn’t it? –Jim Broede

Welcome aboard.

Something funny happened on the way to this blog. It started out as sort of hate-filled. Not by me. But by the followers. The people who showed up daily. To lambaste. Because they were annoyed with me. For questioning their motives. As care-givers. For their loved ones. Afflicted with Alzheimer’s. For a while, I took them on. In another forum. On the Alzheimer’s message boards. But that proved inappropriate. I was too limited in what I could say. Because I wasn’t the one setting the ground rules. So I started my own blog. In order to have more freedom of expression. Able to say what I wanted to say. Anyway, the blog has evolved. In interesting ways. Different ways. Often, it’s been an ode to love. Broodings, too. Random thoughts. Philosophical, and otherwise. Anything goes. Because I like to meander. And really not know where I’m going. I don’t have to follow rules. I merely follow my whims. Meanwhile, many of the original followers of broodings have fallen by the wayside. Gotten on with their lives. Maybe even died. And there’s a new set of followers. A select few. Positive thinkers. Curious folks. I like that. The negative comments are nearly gone. Most readers don’t comment at all. Which is just fine. I sense, instead, that people who visit my blog are good listeners. And lovers of life. Exactly what I’ve been looking for. Right from the beginning. Welcome aboard. –Jim Broede

Friday, May 6, 2011

A dictatorship of the proletariat.

Retirement has been a godsend for me. In that it’s allowed me to slow down. To take life at a slower, more leisurely pace. It’s taught me something. That maybe the biggest mistake of my life was being in a hurry. Trying to do too much. Not getting adequate rest. I was a juggler. I was multi-tasked. Often spread too thin. Didn’t always have time to savor life. Now I take the time. Because I refuse to be in a hurry. I proceed at my own pace. A comfortable pace. And I don’t get ahead of myself. Because then I might feel overwhelmed. And out of sorts. I don’t like to make lists anymore. Because that only reminds me that I have too much to do. If I have a list, it's short enough for me to keep it mentally. Short enough to remember. I focus on what I’m doing. At the moment. And maybe one or two other things. And I let the less important things slide. Maybe that’s what I’ve been urging others to do. But it’s not easy. Especially if one isn't retired. Working people have more responsibilities than I do. But if I were still working, I suspect I’d be moving at a slower pace. I wouldn’t allow myself to be overworked. Because that’s self-defeating. I want quality. Not quantity. But in the work world, the emphasis and expectation is on quantity. On doing the work of two people. To work doubly hard. Just for the sake of working doubly hard. Earning one's keep, so to speak. For the organization. For the corporation. For the employer. Workers are being exploited. I would prefer a dictatorship of the proletariat. But in America we have a dictatorship of the managers, of the bosses, of the ruling elites. And they’d like to deprive the workers of their basic human rights. Even to the point of abolishing trade/labor unions. --Jim Broede

As a gruesome trophy.

I like Barack Obama’s decision to not show Osama bin Laden’s corpse. In photographs. Bloodied. And with his head half blown off. Some people, for the sake of proving that it’s bin Ladin, want such a public posting. I’m surprised that they don’t want to put the head on a stake. Or mounted on a wall. As a gruesome trophy. Maybe they do. Like a moose head displayed by the great white hunter. –Jim Broede

On rubbing foreheads.

I’ve found a new way to communicate with my cat, Loverboy. We rub foreheads. Don’t know why I didn’t do this before now. I’d pet him. And he’d groom me. But we never rubbed foreheads. But turns out, we both like it. I know he does. Because he purrs. I think that forehead rubbing connects our minds. Our brains. Our emotions. Yes, it’s a natural way to communicate. A display of affection. Maybe more people should do that. Rub foreheads. Instead of shaking hands. Or paws. But for now, I’ll limit such a friendly gesture to Loverboy. –Jim Broede

I'm off to a good start.

The woman is a neighbor, of sorts. Lives a half-mile away. And when I walk or bike, I often pass by her house. I’ve said, ‘Hi!’ But not much more. In all these years, I’ve never bothered to get to know her name. Until the other day. When I stopped to chat. When she was walking with a man. My motivation. I was curious. Not so much about the woman. But a dog she once had. A boxer. And I hadn’t seen the dog for a while. Turns out the dog was put to sleep. About 18 months ago. Had a brain tumor. Anyway, she no longer has a dog. Used to have a beagle. And a basset hound. Not at the same time. But one after the other. Turns out the man walking with her is a new-found friend. They met on the Internet. After both of their spouses died. Maybe he’s in his 60s, and retired. She’s maybe in her 40s. Looks to me like they are in love. And very happy. I like ‘em both. Instinctively. Maybe because they are getting on with their lives. Together. In a truly loving way. I intend to get to know them better. They seem like my kind of people. I’m off to a good start. I even know their names. Jim and Diane. –Jim Broede

Thursday, May 5, 2011

The best way to sustain a love.

I like my decision. To pursue a life of love. I’m not sure exactly what that means. Because I don’t analyze love. I just love. Life. But I also have a true love. A real being. I made a decision three and a half years ago. To fall in love. For the second time in my life. I’m kind of choosey about that. I’m very selective. Don’t just fall in love with anyone. Gotta be someone special. And I need to feel that it was destiny. Meant to be. And that I must pursue love one day at a time. Never getting ahead of myself. That allows me to live love fully. In the moment. In the now. I try not to live in the past or in the future. That’s the best way to sustain a love. Total immersion. Every day. –Jim Broede

Am I fooled or fueled?

Occasionally, I wonder if I’m merely imagining life. My life. That’s all it is. A figment of imagination. I’m not real. Nobody is real. It’s an exploration into the imaginary realm. I was born with an imagination. Nothing else. And then it was up to me to imagine a world. A creation. So that I wouldn’t be alone. Wouldn’t be lonely. Imagine that. Everything around me is imaginary. I’ve created it. Just as if I were god. We’re all creators. Built in the image of god. With vivid imaginations. Able to create and do anything we imagine. In my world, the rest of you aren’t any more real than my imagination allows. You wouldn’t exist if I hadn’t created you. Imaginatively. For me to do anything, I have to imagine it. Even my own death. But at the same time, I can imagine living forever. Which means I can die and live forever. Simultaneously. Really, I am fueled by my imagination. You doubters will say that I’m fooled. Rather than fueled. –Jim Broede

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

A spring cleaning ritual.

I’m doing spring cleaning. In the attic. Above the garage. Getting rid of non-fiction books. No reason to keep ‘em. Many are out of date. But I’m saving the novels. And trying to get them organized. On shelves. Rather than in stacks. Must be 1,000 novels that I’ve collected. Many unread. But I have good intentions. To read ‘em all. Although I know that will never happen. I’d have to live well into my hundreds. But that ain’t a bad idea. I have lots and lots of books. Because I’m a collector. But my collection isn’t as massive as the one accumulated by the late Norman Mailer. The writer. His home in Lower Manhatten is for sale. And I’ve seen pictures. Books galore. All over the place. Mostly on shelves. But stacks under tables, too. I assume Mailer never read all of those books. But he must have liked being surrounded by books. I wonder if he had someone come in. To dust the books. Indeed, an appropriate spring cleaning ritual. –Jim Broede

So that I can have my say.

I have to sit down at the computer. And write. Something. Some thought. That’s part of my daily ritual. Sort of a relief valve. Gives me satisfaction. That I’m able to think. Certainly better than keeping my mind blank. And I’ve put on music. A CD. Several composers. Barber. Britten. And a Japanese fella I never heard of. The Tokyo String Quartet is playing. And I’m finishing a novel. Cosima. By the Sardinian writer, Grazia Deledda. Sixteen pages to go. I have to finish the book today. Because it’s to be returned to the Forest Lake library. It’s on loan from a university library. Can’t be renewed. Of course, I could ignore the deadline. No penalty. No fine. But today I’m in a mood to follow the library rules. But I’ll find ways to break other rules. Ones that rub me the wrong way. I like to be defiant. Always have. Maybe that’s why I write. So that I can have my say. About anything. –Jim Broede

Tuesday, May 3, 2011

Happily, I draw the line.

I marvel at how little it takes to salve the American psyche. Such as the killing of Osama bin Laden. That was cause for a spontaneous gathering outside the White House. Of American patriots. Singing the national anthem. We Americans relish the enemy being brought to justice. We think of bin Laden heading directly to hell. Suffering. Suffering. Suffering. It gives us immense satisfaction. Makes us think that America is numero uno once again. That nobody had better mess with us. It’s like when our team wins the Super Bowl or the World Series. A kind of euphoria. I’m not necessarily saying there’s anything wrong with that. But still, it doesn’t seem quite right. Maybe we should be more subdued in our celebration.. More humble. Maybe we should feel sad that the world is what it is. Because we’ve messed with it in some less than admirable ways. Because in the political realm, at least, we treat each other with remarkable disdain. Let’s face the truth. We Americans ain’t always right. We are evil-doers, too. But we don’t wanna recognize it. Because that would hurt our national psyche. Anyway, you won’t catch me singing the national anthem. Oh, I’m a patriot. But you’ll be happy that I draw the line. Especially after you’ve heard my singing voice. –Jim Broede

The decent thing to do.

When I call my sister in a distant city, often it’s because I’ve been chided into doing it. By my true love. She’s big on family. In keeping contact. With siblings. And others. Because it’s the decent thing to do. I didn’t call my sister regularly. Until I let my true love influence me. Anyway, I tell my sister I’m calling because my true love put me up to it. At least I’m being honest. My true love tells me I shouldn’t be quite so honest with my sister. But I like honesty. And maybe my sister thinks more highly of my true love than of me. Which is all right. –Jim Broede

Doing what you gotta do.

I know someone. Caring for her mate. With Alzheimer’s. Trying to keep him at home. Until the end. Maybe the bitter end. I think that’s a mistake. But then, maybe it isn’t. She has to decide. I couldn’t do it. Being a 24/7 care-giver from beginning to end. Because Alzheimer’s is a long siege. It can wear and tear on a care-giver. Lead to physical and mental and emotional exhaustion. Eventually, I put Jeanne into a nursing home. For 38 months and one day. And I became an 8-10 hour-a-day care-giver. Part of a care-giving team. That was the sensible thing to do. For Jeanne. For me. Made life better for Jeanne. And made me a better care-giver. But I acknowledge, every situation is different. You gotta do what you gotta do. –Jim Broede

I'm a curious fella.

I see that Osama has been buried at sea. In the Arabian Sea. And I’m wondering if he was buried wearing clothes. Or naked. And if he was put in a sack. And did they tie weights onto the corpse? To make sure that it won’t some day surface. And is it possible that fish may nibble at the body? And was consideration given to cremation? And was consideration given to donating some of Osama’s organs? And was there an autopsy? And was the brain removed. So that it could be studied. To determine if he had a brain malady. I’m a curious fella. –Jim Broede

Writing off the small stuff.

I have a true love. Maybe that’s my biggest blessing. In that that’s the major source of my happiness. If something goes wrong, such as the Chicago Cubs losing a game they should have won, I merely remind myself that I have a true love. That I am blessed. And therefore I write off the small stuff. The inconsequential stuff. The relatively meaningless stuff. I suppose that most of us have something in our lives that make us happy. Maybe even blissfully happy. And all we need do is focus on it. In order to stay happy. But occasionally we allow ourselves to be diverted. And we dwell on a negative. Forgetting all of the positives. –Jim Broede

Maybe god is playing tricks.

I don’t know what to think of Obama’s daring. His decision to allow Navy Seals to go in and kill Osama. My first thought, I guess, was the similarity in names. Obama and Osama. Hadn’t really consciously noticed that before. Something like Jim and Tim. Thing is, if I were writing a poem about the whole deal, I’d have a ready-made rhyme. I expect Republicans to mull over the similarity of names. And make something negative of it. Osama and Obama. Obama and Osama. After all, some Republicans politically exploited Obama’s middle name. Hussein. So many coincidences in history. Makes one wonder. Maybe god is playing tricks with us. Just to see if we are awake. Enough to notice the rhyming little details. –Jim Broede

Monday, May 2, 2011

Give me a naked stranger.

I like to cultivate dialogues. With interesting people. And virtually everyone is interesting. That is, if they open up. If they’re honest. If they’re willing to walk naked in the world. Unfortunately, too many people clam up. And they’re less than truthful. And they hide behind facades. That makes a dialogue almost impossible. Because there has to be abundant give and take. I don’t hesitate to start a conversation with a total stranger. And put ‘em to the test right away. To determine if they’re ready for a dialogue. By making more than small talk. Within the first five minutes of meeting a stranger, I want to know something significant about him/her. If I don’t, that’s a bad sign. Little likelihood for a genuine dialogue. I want strangers to be conversant. Naked, in a sense. Right from the start. –Jim Broede

Sunday, May 1, 2011

Righteousness coming and going.

I can be indignant. But I try never to be righteously indignant. Because I know people that act that way. Republicans, for instance. And I don’t wanna be like them. I’d rather just be plain indignant. Without any righteousness. I can’t stand righteous people. Many religious people are that way. Especially some Christians that I know. They’re very similar to Republicans. In fact, many of ‘em are. Both Christian and Republican. That’s a double whammy. They have two things working against ‘em. Righteousness coming and going. –Jim Broede

I wanna be aware of my existence.

Some days I forget to remind myself that I am an alive and conscious human being. So, I’m gonna write myself a note. And post it on my computer. With such a reminder. Because if I don’t actively think such a thought, I might go about my daily living on a too routine basis. More like a robot. A zombie. Just doing things without reflecting on the fact that I’m very much alive. And conscious, too. But I have to think about being conscious. Because that makes me more aware. Actually, makes me conscious. Of just what I’m doing. Otherwise, I sometimes catch myself going through motions. That ain’t good. I must spend more time knowing that I’m alive. Fully alive. And functioning. And that I am controlling my actions. That I am making choices. My own choices. I’m wondering if people around me know that they are alive. Living beings. Or if they’re merely on cruise control. Or automatic pilot. I have occasional days like that. But want to be always fully and consciously aware of my actions. And of my existence. Otherwise, I might as well be dead. –Jim Broede

Because I wanna be happy.

Some of my wishes/dreams come true. Some don’t. Anyway, when I reflect on all this, I’m seldom disappointed. Because I have been blessed. And I know it. Blessed with the fulfillment of so many wishes. To complain because they all weren’t granted would be ungrateful. And selfish. And arrogant. And just plain stupid. Yet I see so many people who are downright unhappy. Because they haven’t been granted a wish. When actually, they’ve been blessed in multiple other ways. Apparently, they want everything. Want it all. And that makes for unhappiness. I’ll settle for less than everything. Because I wanna be happy. –Jim Broede

My latest discovery.

I’ve discovered a new kind of bread. At a Scandinavian bakery. Apple walnut bread. So very good. Toasted. With a little olive oil spread. I’ve been long accustomed to a slice of toasted cinnamon bread for breakfast. With a cup of espresso. But I’m switching. To apple walnut bread. Scandinavian-style. I like to make new discoveries. Especially when it comes to food. I’m willing to try almost anything. And I like a bedtime snack, too. I’m gonna start finishing the day with more apple walnut bread. And a big glass of cold fat-free milk. –Jim Broede

Totally bad thinking.

I think bad of people that think bad of other people. Can’t help it. Just my nature. That’s why I think bad of Republicans. Most of ‘em seem to be thinking negative thoughts all the time. Incessantly. Republicans even make up bad things. About Obama. About anybody they don’t particularly like. Such as black people. Seems to me that most Republicans only like white people. And then, only some of ‘em. If you are a white socialist, you don’t stand a chance with a Republican. You are condemned right from the start. As un-American. Little wonder that the late Joe McCarthy was a Republican. He set the tone that permeates Republicans today. That there’s a bogeyman in every closet. And that if you ain’t a Republican, you are bad. Not to be trusted. Of course, I think that’s bad. Terrible. Totally bad thinking. –Jim Broede

Love sets a positive tone.

Here it is May 1. And it still feels like winter. In Minnesota. The afternoon temperature is 38 degrees. And there’s a strong wind. Which makes it feel colder. The normal high this time of year is about 65 degrees. But we were only that warm three times in April. And now it’s cold enough to snow. But mind you, I’m not complaining. When it comes to weather, I take what I get. And make the most of it. Because I can’t change the weather. It just is. And I can pretend that this is January. Yes, a relatively warm day in January. I’m allowing my imagination free rein today. Which is easy to do. Especially when one is in love. Sets the tone. For positive thinking. –Jim Broede