Imagine that. A god-given blessing.

I amaze myself. At the number of people I don’t need in my life. Far more than I do. What does that say about me? I can easily get by with one, two or three friends. Or even no one for short periods. Of course, I usually find that one true love is sufficient. That’s enough to make me happy. And for me to feel alive. And fulfilled. But seems to me there were short periods in my life when I didn’t need anyone. Guess that qualified me as a loner. I’m able to turn inward. Into a spiritual realm. Able to live with myself. And nature. And the spirits. Many people don’t believe in spirits. But I do. In that sense, it means that I’m never alone. I can always summon a spirit. Maybe even god himself. The non-believers suggest that all of this is a figment of my imagination. And if it is, that’s all right. Because I have a very vivid imagination. It’s maybe my best asset. My imagination is as real as real can be. Makes me a creator. I presume that’s what god intended. To make us all imaginative beings. But some of us choose not to imagine anything. Which is a pity. To neglect a god-given blessing. –Jim Broede

Playing life the way I want to play.

Winning doesn’t have to be the everything in life. That’s one thing my Chicago Cubs have taught me. In other words, the game of life is to be enjoyed. Even when losing. What’s the big deal about winning a game anyway? Shouldn’t be. Life is good even when one loses. Just playing the game. That’s good enough. Seems to me, though, that we live in a society that puts emphasis on winning. To me, society’s concept of winning is tantamount to losing. Because in the process, one often sells his soul. And misses the real meaning of life. To savor it all. One day at a time. To feel fulfilled. Even in defeat. For just being alive. And conscious. And aware of the wonders. The actual feeling of love. Of life. And of another being. Makes me feel as if I am in Paradise. Even if the Cubs lose today and every day. No big deal. It’s more important that I’m here to watch the game. If I so choose. And not only that, I’m free to play the game of life. The way I want to play it. –Jim Broede

I find comfort inside my cocoon.

I’m uncomfortable when people invade my cocoon. Because it’s my private domain. My escape from the rest of the world. But I could hardly turn away my son Jack and his girlfriend. So I gave ‘em a little corner of my cocoon. And I tried to erect a cocoon within my cocoon. Which is difficult. Sometimes, I felt there was no escape. I suppose that says something about me. I tend to be very selective about whom I allow in. My Italian true love is always welcome. Maybe she’s the only one that makes me feel absolutely comfortable. Meanwhile, don’t get me wrong. I venture out into the real world virtually every day. But I also retreat to the cocoon. For a sense of security. And relaxation. Knowing that it’s possible to create my own world. A protective shelter. My own desert island in the vast universe. Where I can ponder. Undisturbed. And write pieces such as this. And find real meaning and comfort. –Jim Broede

So he can find his own Paradise.

My son Jack has returned to the state of Washington. After a visit with me in Minnesota. For several weeks. We became reacquainted. After not seeing each other for something like 12 or 13 years. It was a good reintroduction. Jack has changed in some ways. In good ways. He used to be more conservative than liberal. Now he’s more liberal than conservative. In all sorts of realms. Politically. Economically. Socially. I call that progress. Jack is still Jack. But he’s becoming a constantly evolving Jack. He’s no longer static. He’s on the move. Open to change. More flexible. More thoughtful. I’ve learned to let Jack be Jack. So that he can discover life in his own way. Jack knows he’s gonna make mistakes. Plenty of ‘em. But he’s learning to listen to his own being. His own soul. Rather than allow himself to be manipulated by alien forces. Jack once thought he could go home again. And he can. But he doesn’t want to. He’d rather explore the world. And life. So that he can find his own Paradise. –Jim Broede

I refuse to stay in hell full-time.

Maybe the worst thing about most American politicians is their nonsensical idea that there’s a right way and a wrong way and that they are all imbued with natural knowledge of the right way. Yes, they all think they have the right way. The correct way. And everybody else had better acquiesce. Because they are gonna impose the right way. In the same manner as religious zealots. In other words, there is no such thing as compromise. That’s why we have little Adolph Hitlers and Tea Party Republicans in this land of ours. It’s a gawd-forsaken situation. Something we Americans must bear. Because we are a country of idiots and religious fanatics. We accept our politicians. We are too stupid to do otherwise. Maybe a few of us, such as me, know better. But we find ourselves in hell. And many of us never escape. Except me. Because I flee regularly to Sardinia, an island in the Mediterranean Sea. Yes, to Paradise. And I return to America for part of the year. To toughen myself. To prove that I am capable of living in hell. Part-time. So that I can display my utter disdain for American politicians. Yes, I am a daredevil. I like to demonstrate to everyone that one can enter hell and still survive. Maybe that gives hope to others. If I can do it, you can, too. Maybe you have to flee for part of the year. To other parts of the world. Face it. Every decent American needs a respite. Time away from hell. Away from his homeland. Just because I was born in hell doesn’t mean I have to stay there full-time. –Jim Broede

All the way to hell.

In the thread below this one, I call everyone in Washington an idiot. But upon reflection, my judgment may be a bit too harsh. That tag may apply only to Republicans. Some Democrats seem to be imbeciles and morons. That ain’t a whole lot better than an idiot. But it’s better. The Democrats allow Republicans to run the show. That’s very stupid. A sensible imbecile or sensible moron would figure out a way to outfox, out-maneuver an idiot. But these Democrats are too dumb for that. They’ve been outclassed by inferior beings. Which is a dirty rotten shame. A disgrace to their manhood. I also speculate that there’s a new species that has entered the picture. So-called Tea Party idiots. They really aren’t idiots. Instead, they are a new class of sub-idiots. Yes, something less than an idiot. More grossly stupid than the traditional Republican idiot. They have more or less seized control of the Republican Party from the ordinary idiots. Brought the GOP to subterranean depths. All the way to hell. –Jim Broede

A life worse than death.

More and more, I’m convinced that Washington is full of idiots. There’s not even a moron or an imbecile in the bunch. They’re all idiots. Everyone of our politicians are full-fledged idiots. They can’t claim to be imbeciles or morons, generally considered to be slightly brighter than idiots. And to think. We’re at a time in our history when we need a genius. To lead us out of our national stupor. You’d think there’d be at least one imbecile or moron in the mix. Someone to contrast with the idiots. But there’s not one. Might as well rename Washington. Let’s call it Idiotville. And then let’s put a wall around the place. And keep ‘em all in Idiotville. Don’t allow the idiots to escape. And then turn Idiotville into a national zoo. Allowing people to look in. From outside. To see forever how idiots operate and live. That would be good for the rest of us. A stark reminder. That even those of us with half a brain are fortunate. Very fortunate. Because we could have virtually no brain. No ability to think rationally. That’s a horrible thought, isn’t it? To be condemned to a life in Idiotville. That would be worse than death. –Jim Broede

I'd require psychoanalysis.

Nothing wrong with writing the story of one’s life. Better than letting other people do it. Because they’d never get around to it. And if they did, they wouldn’t be as fair as I am. Or as insightful. Ever since I was a kid, I wanted to define myself. Rather than let my parents and teachers and other people define me. Because they invariably got it wrong. And I got it right. I know me. Better than anyone else. I’m not afraid to psychoanalyze myself. Truthfully. Even brutally. My guess is that most people don’t know their real selves. They’re ignorant. Haven’t even got a clue. Of course, I could be wrong about that. But I’m not afraid to make mistakes. Better than never trying. Never daring. I have theories. All sorts of theories. Many about human relationships. I put ‘em to the test. Some I abandon. Others I hang on to. Until they prove wrong. I’m curious. Always have been. About myself. And about others. If I were designing a school curriculum, all students would be required to take psychology. Even in elementary school. And by the time they graduate from high school, they’d be required to psychoanalyze themselves. –Jim Broede

Redeeming stuff in everything.

I lead an interesting life. Believe me. Often not knowing what's gonna happen next. Weird stuff. The unexpected. Such as me renewing acquaintances this summer with my long-lost son Jack. Hadn't seen him in 10 years. Of course, all this could be at some peril to my sanity. Anyway, it’s another example of life taking unusual twists and turns. Maybe more often than not. One has to adjust. As I do. On a daily basis. But still, it all seems to turn out for the best. Or at least, reasonably well. Because I adapt. And solve problems along the way. And I’m able to give a romantic twist to much of what happens. Unexpectedly, and otherwise. Life ain’t so bad, I guess. Especially when I have an Italian true love in my life. I’m able to chronicle the story of my life. And give it the flavor that I want. That I crave. By how I interpret events and happenings. I have great flexibility. I’m able to find redeeming stuff. In almost everything. --Jim Broede

They all would rather kill, kill, kill.

As a liberal, I’m perfectly capable of compromising. Of giving in to some significant degree. To reach a political settlement. Yes, meeting my opponent even more than half way. Settling for a package that neither one of us totally like. In other words, a deal in which we get doses of what we like and doses of what we don’t like. Of course, that can be dangerous. Depending on the nature of the opponent. For instance, if it’s Adolph Hitler or a faction of the lunatic fringe of the Republican Party, it can be a gawd-awful compromise. And maybe one has to go to war. Though I think World War II could have been averted. To the benefit of virtually all of the players. Even our American civil war could have been averted. If there had been adequate give and take. Saving many lives in the process. If only both sides had a sense of decency. And made decisions based on what we know now. The benefits of hindsight. That one gets with turning back the clock. Seems to me that in America, we are on the verge of a second civil war. Politically speaking. The battle lines are being drawn. On how this nation should be governed. Economically. Politically. Socially. And in the process, I suspect the USA could be harmed more irreparably than it was by the conflagration of 1861-1865. Merely because one side would rather destroy the nation’s economy rather than give in to gawd-forsaken idiotic principle. To me, it’s akin to the suicide bomber willing to blow himself to pieces in a crowded marketplace. Just so he can take innocent people along with him. Yes, folks, the extreme right wing in America isn’t all that much different than an Islamic terrorist or that madman in Norway. They all would rather kill, kill, kill than find a way to live in peace and harmony. –Jim Broede

The stink is the smell of money.

Do you wanna know why the poor and the middle class get the shaft in America? I’ll tell you why. Because in the U. S. Congress there are 237 millionaires. And in the U.S. Senate the count is 40 millionaires. That’s who decides the big political, economic and social issues. Millionaires. And most millionaires don’t think like poor people and members of the middle class. Instead, they’re out to make themselves richer. And to hell with poor people and the middle class. If the millionaires once were poor or in the middle class, they’ve forgotten all about it. They don’t have empathy any more. They’ve got their money. Their success. And many of ‘em couldn’t care less about the less affluent. Face the facts of life, folks. Money buys power. Money buys influence. And if you ain’t got the money, you are more or less powerless. That’s why the American political system stinks. It’s run by big money. –Jim Broede

I try to create my own world.

I have had my fill of American politicians. At every level of government. But especially in Washington. Unfortunately, the higher up one goes on the political ladder, the worse it gets. Yes, I know I’ve been saying this forever and ever. I’d like to put the whole system on the scrap heap. And start all over. Finding a way to get decent people to run for political office. We do get some at the local level. But the good ones get a sour taste in their mouths. And decide they want out. Rather than having to sell their souls. The ones that put their souls up for sale, advance to higher levels of power. So sad. The worst of the worst make it to the top. Because they know how to lie and cheat. And the common good be damned. And we Americans put up with it. Some of us even naively declare that the American system of government is the best in the world. What a horrid, misguided thought. Then just imagine the worst. Meanwhile, nothing is done about it. Because most people are like me. We know we have no say. No power. We are virtually helpless. So I retreat to my cocoon. And attempt to create my own world. –Jim Broede

I let my sister and my mother die.

I’ve just entered a burning house. And I’ve discovered three people lying together. Unconscious. Overcome by the smoke. The roof is about to collapse. I have an opportunity to pick up and save one victim. With the distinct possibility that I will be unable to return to rescue the others. The people are my 72-year-old mother. My 52-year-old sister. And an unrelated 12-year-old boy. I have to make a quick decision. With virtually no time to think about it. Whom do I save? I’m thinking that if I do the right thing, I save the 12-year-old boy. I let my sister and my mother die. –Jim Broede

Choosing the way one dies.

I wonder how my sister’s life might have been so much better. If only she had obtained good mental health treatment at a young age. Maybe in her teens and 20s. We have a society in which there’s far more emphasis on physical health than on mental health. That’s a shame. My sister ended up an alcoholic and in several abusive relationships. She’s got her act together. But it took until a few years ago. And now she’s 72. So much of her life was wasted. Although, alcoholics will tell you that’s not necessarily true. That they had a good time drinking. Not my sister though. Her life would have been so much different, in positive ways, if she hadn’t been addicted to alcohol. But the past is the past. And she’s living in the now. As a recovering alcoholic. That’s a real plus. Coming before it was too late. So she may have a few relatively good years left. Better than not. I only wish she had seen a psychiatrist early on. To deal with her mental issues. Might have even persuaded her to stay sober. If only… That’s often the lament of many lives. If only, if only, if only. I would have loved to get my sister committed. To mental health treatment. Even against her will. But that’s not the way the system works. One is allowed the freedom to destroy one’s life. Even to commit suicide. Some alcoholics choose to do it gradually. Slowly. Over a period of decades. But it still qualifies as a form of suicide. And they know it. But there are trade offs in life. One can sometimes choose the way one dies. –Jim Broede

I don't rule out the impossible.

I’m a natural born psychoanalyst. Or so I think. I’ve psychoanalyzed myself ever since I was a kid. Helped me to survive. And grasp meaning in life. I also tend to psychoanalyze the people around me. Whether they like it or not. Helps me understand what makes them tick. I certainly know what makes me tick. But I’m not so sure about others. I have my theories. My best guesses. Because I can see only deeply inside myself. I look at other people from outside. I’d like to think that they think a little like me. But maybe that’s not so. Take Republicans, for instance. Especially the very conservative ones. The lunatic fringe. Hard for me to fathom what makes them tick. Their thought seems so alien. So disturbed. So stupid. Maybe even insane. My guess is that the Norwegian that went on a killing spree last week would make a good Republican. He’d fit right in with the Republican crowd. And with many, many Christian fundamentalists. I wonder if these people ever try to psychoanalyze themselves. Or if they’re merely living life on automatic pilot. As robots. They don’t seem to be human. Maybe they are aliens. That have come to Earth from another planet. Another universe. Another dimension. I don’t rule out the impossible. –Jim Broede

If not for things going awry.

So many times in my life, things have gone awry. In unplanned ways. And at the time, it seemed like a disaster. But years later, after reflection, it almost always takes on an aura of something wonderful. Because of the way I dealt with it. Missed a plane once. In Iceland. And so I had to reschedule. Lost money in the process. And ended up in a German city called Fredrickshafen, near the Swiss border. A place I didn’t wanna be. I was supposed to be in Cologne. And I was with my Italian true love. We were inconvenienced. Spent most of the night with each other on a park bench. And waiting for a train at 4 in the morning. On a platform in a desolate train station. Wishing that things were different. But now it all seems like a thrilling experience. Coping. Brought us closer together. We think of it as funny. And thrilling. And for me, it was romantic. Very romantic. An experience so memorable that I’ll never forget it. Our brief stay in Fredrickshafen. A city I might never have seen. Never have experienced. If not for things going awry. –Jim Broede

Maybe Jack wants his way.

I don’t know if I should be in the business of rescuing people. Mainly from themselves. Such as my sister. Or my son. Believe me, it’s a tough call. For many years, I more or less wrote off my sister. Because she was a practicing alcoholic. I urged her to get help. Psychiatric and otherwise. But she wasn’t rational. She wasn’t about to help herself. Even though she had the ability and ample opportunities. So, I said goodbye. Allowed her to get on with her life. And I got on with mine. It was in keeping with my life’s philosophy. Don’t allow other people to drag me down with ‘em. I go my own way. They go theirs. I ain’t gonna change ‘em. I have enough difficulty managing my own life. I’m not gonna manage others. It’s a simple philosophy. And it seems to work. For me. Maybe I should have loved my sister more. Accepted her unconditionally. But it wasn’t in me. And I wasn’t gonna change to suit her. Any more than she was gonna change to suit me. That’s the nature of life. Anyway, my sister has emerged as a recovering alcoholic. She hasn’t had a drink in several years. In a sense, she’s a different being. Much nicer. Easier to take. So I take her. We’ve mended fences. We’re on good terms. In large part because she’s changed. If she hadn’t, we’d probably still be on the outs. Yes, my love for my sister is conditional. Very conditional. Maybe that doesn’t say much for me. I think I’ve truly loved only two people – no, maybe three – in my lifetime. And then I can’t know for sure. Because maybe I’ve never been truly tested. Now my long-lost son has reentered my life. After an absence of 10 years. And the internal debate goes on. Should I love him conditionally or unconditionally? I’m still searching for an answer. On one hand, I’d like to see him change. Become another being. But on the other, maybe I should just let him be. And accept him. Unconditionally. Which would be an expression of true love. He’s about to turn 52. And like my sister, he’s had many, many opportunities to get things right. I suppose that means my kind of right. Which may not necessarily be the same as his kind. I suspect that if he doesn’t change, he’s headed for disaster. But still, maybe that’s what Jack wants. His way. Rather than my way. –Jim Broede

Diverting the need to grumble.

I happen to think grumbling is very good and therapeutic for people who have a need or compulsion to grumble. It's a nice outlet. I don't have a particular need to grumble. But I like to go to a grumbling thread on the Alzheimer's message boards. To gain insights. Understandings. I personally like to avert my own grumbling. And go for alternatives to grumbling. But that's just me. I like to see other people grumble. Because it's mostly good for them. Whatever provides relief. I'd rather go out and exercise. Real hard. Rather than grumble. But again, that's just me. I'd even rather read a good book and divert my mind that way. Or converse with my true love about the nature of true love. And I also find that I have less reason to grumble when I hear other people grumble. Often, it makes me think I'm blessed. To get through a day without having to grumble. But golly. One thing for sure. If I have a need to grumble, I'm gonna grumble. And nobody is gonna stop me. I won't even mind if people begin to call me Grumbling Jim instead of Crazy Jim. Another thing, I find that humor diverts the need to grumble. --Jim Broede

Good advice from a nurse.

I allow certain people to have influence in my life. Because I trust ‘em. Only a few. My true love is at the top of the list. But there are others. Even a retired psychiatric nurse that I’ve never met face to face. But we’re in touch. Thanks to the Internet. And email. Interesting, isn’t it? How one cultivates relationships. Even from a distance. Without even formally meeting some of the people. That’s the advantage of living in the modern age. So many ways to communicate. Conveniently. And almost instantly. I’m able to make audio/video connections with people all around the world. Anyway, as for that nurse, she’s astute. And very perceptive. Has keen insights. Knows how to deal with people with mental problems. Maybe because she’s a good listener. She grasps the essence of what’s being said. And then she tells you to listen to your heart. Yes, she gives good advice. –Jim Broede

The making of a good society.

I’m for government. Relatively big government. I’m for private enterprise, too. A nice blending of the private and public sectors. Don’t understand why some people want less government. Especially here in America. After all, our government provides vital services. And in economical ways, too. Because government isn’t required to make a profit. Of course, I don’t like corrupt anything, in government or private business. To hear some Republicans talk, one would think that government is inherently bad. I don’t buy that nonsense. Seems to me that government was created to serve the common good. And when government is at its best, that’s exactly what it does. Helps the less fortunate of citizens get by. The poor. The downtrodden. Even the middle class. In the ideal society, one shouldn’t have to be rich to have the basics. Good health care. Good education. Social security. Nice parks. Good transportation. Good infrastructure. Yes, the good life. Seems to me these are the primary responsibilities of government. Good government makes for a good society. –Jim Broede

What will happen, will happen.

Yes, I should take life one day at a time. I know it. I like quick resolutions. Especially to what I perceive to be festering problems. For me. For others. But seldom are there quick resolutions. And maybe that annoys me. I see solutions. But I have to let people around me grapple. I prefer the quick fix. It could be on little personal matters. Or it could be in huge national and international issues. Over which I have virtually no control. Thing is that often I have no control over the little things over which I think I have control. When I really don't. I fool myself every day. The scary thing is that maybe I have no control over anything. Life just occurs. Happens. And I have to go along with everything. Like I am carried in a flow. A flow of life. And I'm compelled to let it happen. And accept it. What will happen, will happen. And I have no say in the matter. As if my life is a book already written. And I have to let it play out. Accept the good. And the bad. And just be thankful that there's more good than bad. --Jim Broede

I have a thick skin.

Sometimes I have to be aloof and detached. Just to survive. So I don’t become despondent. That’s the way to avoid depression. I’ve developed the skill of being aloof. And it is a skill. Maybe an art. Of course, it helps because I know that I can’t change other people. People may be annoying. Or upsetting. But I don’t have to let them annoy or upset me. Merely by remaining aloof. I can put myself above the fray. And not let it bother me. Maybe it’s a way of saying that I have a thick skin. –Jim Broede

Being rich and decent.

Under the American capitalist system, people have been allowed to get rich. Filthy rich. Obscenely rich. America has more millionaires and billionaires than any country in the world. The rich keep getting richer. And the poor keep getting poorer. The economic system is stacked in favor of the rich. So, it’s reasonable to help the nation's sagging economy and to help the poor and middle class by asking the rich to pay more taxes. Not a whole lot of more taxes. But a modest sum. Yet we have Republicans, especially the very conservative ones, opposed to any increase in taxes for the rich. Maybe because the rich have spent money to buy the favor of Republicans. That same money could be easily diverted to the right and proper use. Paying higher taxes. To serve the common good. Fact is, the rich will continue to get richer. Even if they pay higher taxes. Some of ‘em actually say they should be paying more taxes. Goes to show that one can be rich and still have a sense of decency. –Jim Broede

The naked truth.

I generally like to let people know where I’m coming from. In other words, what’s on my fertile mind. About things. About me. About them. Thoughts. No secrets. I even open up to strangers. Such as here, in my blog. Some of my friends and acquaintances think that maybe I talk and write too much. That I should have more secrets. Well, maybe I do. Because I don’t know everything about myself. I make new discoveries. Almost every day. Because I let my mind flow. And I dig deep. Because it’s so much fun. Learning more about myself. And other people. I quiz strangers. A whole lot. But to convince many of ‘em to talk, I have to talk, too. Volunteer information. I have to reciprocate. Set an example. Show that it’s all right to open up. To let me in on secrets. That’s one of the nice features of life. Learning the secrets. That’s why I became a writer for newspapers. So I could spend much of my life uncovering secrets. The stuff going on behind the scenes. The truth. Maybe that’s one of the things I like most about life. The naked truth. –Jim Broede

I wonder if there's ever a whimper.

In recent weeks, I’ve watched a mother deer and her fawn cross the road while I was biking. That always made my day. The mother proceeded ahead. Then waited for the fawn to cross. Then they scampered off into the woods. For a delightful romp. Together. Yesterday, I cried. The fawn was lying dead. In the roadside ditch. Apparently, it had been hit by a car. I grieved. And I wondered what the mother thought. If anything. Did she try to awaken her fawn? Or did she know the meaning of death? Maybe the mother has no more memory of what happened. And is enjoying life. In the woods. Without her fawn. Maybe until the hunting season. Life comes. And goes. And I wonder if there’s ever a whimper. In the deer’s world. –Jim Broede

There's no safety anymore.

Maybe it’s the convenient, easy accessible mass communication that’s at fault. For the world going to hell. Everybody has a forum now. Like me. I have this blog. Don’t attract as many readers as the mass media. But hey, I’m at about 45,000 hits, and counting. A small daily following. I’m not armed or dangerous. But many crackpots are. And they have a forum. And the pundits and the media latch on to ‘em. Because they are entertaining. That’s what gets attention. Entertain us. Go out and shoot 90 people. Or even one or two. It’ll get you attention. Rant and rave. Go off the deep end. Be a Michele Bachmann. Or a Sarah Palin. Sound like a wild-eyed idiot. You’ll become the darling of Fox News and Rupert Murdoch. And you’ll get yourself promoted for the presidency of the USA. Because you are a freakin’ piece of work. Used to be we had only three major networks. They filtered the news. Tried to truly make it fair and balanced. Now we have everybody and his uncle in the forum. And they’re out to entertain. Rather than inform. And the best entertainers get the high ratings. How else could a Rush Limbaugh and a Glenn Beck succeed? As a society, we have blended with the lowest common denominators. We no longer know how to regulate ourselves. We’re a society out of control. Taken over by idiots. Because the majority rules. Idiots have always been in the majority. But used to be we didn’t let them rule. We kept them in the asylum. So the rest of us would be safe. There’s no safety anymore. –Jim Broede

The inmates are taking charge.

I’ll tell you what genuinely scares me. Extremists. Religious fanatics. Muslims that turn to terror. And 'Christians' that are equally extreme. Certain self-proclaimed Christian fundamentalists. Like the guy in Norway. That went on a shooting rampage. Killing 90-some. Maybe more. They're still counting the bodies. Police call him a madman. He calls himself a Christian. Out to do god’s work, I guess. Muslims and Christians have something in common. Extremists in their ranks. People who have gone off the edge. Into the abyss. In the name of their religion. I wonder what made them insane. Made them kill. I see the making of such mania in America. On the far, far right. In politics. A blend of religious and political extremism. Fueled by the likes of Rush Limbaugh and Glenn Beck. Charlatans. Out to make a buck. In the mass media. By feeding the psyches and frenzy of potential madmen. Armed and dangerous. A nation going mad. If it can happen in Norway, it can happen anywhere. And certainly in America. Where the political, economic and social climate is highly combustible. No compromise. Extremists standing up for principle. Gawd-awful principle. No rationality. They are fanatics. Religious fanatics. Political fanatics. They are going completely mad. Berserk. One by one by one. Or is it in droves now? Makes me think so. Especially when I tune in the political debate. It really ain’t debate any more. It’s ranting. The inmates are taking over the asylum. An entire country. The world. –Jim Broede

A very sacred and private place.

Occasionally, people invade my cocoon. Uninvited. And I’m not sure what to do about it. I like my privacy. My solitude. Peace. Quiet. Usually, I allow only my true love and a small contingent of friends to enter my domain. People with whom I am at ease. People that stimulate me in good ways. But what if unwelcome family members enter? Or an acquaintance in dire need of help? I find it difficult to turn them away. But I also have difficulty accepting them. Because my cocoon is my cocoon. A very sacred and private place. –Jim Broede

Maybe I've never been truly tested.

One thing about me. I never allow other people to pull me down with them. Doesn’t matter who it is. My father. My mother. My brother. My sister. My son. Virtually anybody except a true love. For instance, I won’t live with an abuser. Even those who abuse themselves. Even when my father committed suicide, when I was 13, I found ways to remain relatively aloof and detached. That was his choice. Not my choice. I don’t have to feel the least bit guilty or remorse about other people’s stupid actions. For a long time, I wrote off my sister. Because of her drinking problem. She was uncommunicative. Irrational. And I wasn’t gonna waste my time. She’s recovering now. And we are on good terms. I accepted her conditionally. Like I do with most people. I apply unconditional acceptance only to my true loves. I’ve had two of ‘em in my life. One, currently. Yes, I’m able to apply unconditional love, or so I think. I’ll concede one thing though. Maybe I’ve never been truly tested. –Jim Broede

Maybe Jack hasn't lost his soul.

My son Jack has a distorted definition of liberal. In fact, one might call it a half-assed grasp. Which is typical of an ultra-conservative. Only thing is, Jack isn’t a conservative. Rather in the past 10 years away from home, Jack has been brainwashed. Jack ain’t stupid. He has an analytical mind. If only he uses it. Jack has been known for lack of intellectual pursuit. Especially when he was young and attending school. He chose not to be a quick learner. Even now, at age 50, he’s still trying to figure out how to use his own mind. Effectively. He’s still capable of falling for conservative bullshit. Not as much as he used to. But nevertheless, he still falls for some of it. Like the idea of what a liberal is supposed to be. A few hours ago, Jack thought I’d be for schizophrenics using medicinal marijuana. I might be. Under the right circumstances. But generally not. I think marijuana can do far more harm than good to schizophrenics. Jack says that makes me less than a liberal. Which shows his ignorance. Because liberals like me don’t allow ourselves to be pigeonholed. We’re flexible. Very flexible. We don’t adopt hard and fast rules. We’re open-minded. We’ll even support conservative positions. For the sake of compromise. To meet people half way. We liberals are in constant motion. On the move. Doesn’t bother us to change our stance on issues. Or to even contradict ourselves. For the sake of achieving peace and harmony. Better that than going to war and killing each other. When it comes to budget talks, we liberals are far more like Barack Obama than like most Republicans. We’ll bargain. For the sake of achieving a settlement. We call it compromise. For the sake of saving the nation. The ultra-conservative Republicans would rather destroy the nation and the economy than abandon a ludicrous principle. Yes, a conservative will proclaim that he has a right to be an idiot. And to be proud of it. Because a conservative wants to always know where he is at in this universe. Locked down. Solid as a rock. Immovable. Inflexible. Yes, a complete idiot. That’s why conservatives try to define liberals. In downright nasty and stupid ways. They want to create a bogus enemy. Something they can oppose. They want everything to be black or white. Good or evil. No inbetweens. We liberals don’t buy into that crap. Jack is beginning to learn that. It’s a sign of progress. Maybe Jack hasn’t lost his mind. Or better yet, hasn't lost his soul. –Jim Broede

Killing. That's our way.

My gawd. Eighty dead in Norway. I don't know what makes a human being do this. Something has gone haywire. Awry. But indiscriminate killing goes on daily. All over the world. Not only by random individuals. But by the state. By nations. A mentality that puts people to death. Executes 'em. Probably not much different from executions carried out in legal manners. By states. By armies. In wars. Kill. Kill. Kill. I try to imagine what it'd take for me to kill someone. What would motivate me? Compel me? Could I hate people to the point of killing them? I don't think so. But I try to imagine what's going on in the brain of the killer in Norway. Or how politicians in Germany or the Soviet Union or any country could justify war. The killing of millions of people. Men. Women. Children. So how much worse is it when a guy in Norway flips out...and kills, kills, kills. One after another. Why? Why? Why? Is it any worse than dropping an atomic bomb on Hiroshima or Nagasaki? Imagine how a single bomb can obliterate so many people. So many more than the 80 shot by one individual in Norway. We think of that as horrendous. But it's a paltry sum compared to dead left by a little skirmish in a war. And maybe we don't even shudder about that any more. It's routine. It's accepted. War/killing is a big part of our culture. Always has been. Always will be. That's our way. --Jim Broede

The sun rises -- unless it's a hoax.

I like people. I like life. But most of all, I like the fact that I have the opportunity to like. Just about anything and anybody. Because I’m alive. And conscious. I’m able to give meaning to whatever it is I’m perceiving. I don’t know if my perceptions are correct. Some may not be. And I may just be hallucinating. But that’s all right, too. Because if it seems real, it’s real. For me. If I just watched a sunrise, and it’s all a figment of my imagination, so be it. I’ll take it. Because the sunrise was beautiful. Seemed so real. Meanwhile, I just read of a big explosion and shooting in Norway. Maybe I’m just imagining that. Because I personally didn’t see it happen. I saw the sunrise. No doubt about it. Maybe I can pretend that there was no violence in Norway. After all, I’ve always thought of Norway as a peaceful, non-violent nation. Where stuff like that doesn’t happen. So maybe the report was false. That’s what I would prefer to think. But one thing I know for certain. The sun rises every morning. And sets every evening. Unless, of course, god is pulling a colossal hoax. –Jim Broede

Can't ask for much more than love.

I’m pondering. Thoughts. Always thoughts. Never knowing what’s to come. The third or fourth or fifth thought today. I still don’t know what they’ll be. I just let the thoughts come. Willy-nilly. That’s another thing I like about life. Not fully knowing what’s around the corner. Oh, I suspect. I make guesses. Even wild guesses. And occasionally I guess right. But more often than not, I’m surprised. I like surprises. The unexpected. My greatest, most satisfying finds have been love. True love. Twice. Which means I have been twice blessed. With real love. Can’t ask for much more than love. –Jim Broede

I've found a new pursuit.

I feel like I am feeling my way through life. And that’s a good feeling. Because I’m learning to take life as it comes. Making the best of it. By feeling. Something. Being aware. That I have choices. So very many. Happy choices. Fulfilling choices. I choose every day to be a romantic idealist. A spiritual free-thinker. A liberal. A lover. I know what I am. And what I want to be. And I’m keeping an open mind. Allowing myself to evolve. Lately, I’ve found a new pursuit. I also want to be a full-fledged dreamer. –Jim Broede

I want serenity.

I like listening to music. Especially classical music. Always have. Even as a youngster. But my tastes have changed. I grew up listening mostly to bombastic classical music. Loud. Triumphant. Full orchestral stuff. But now I like it soft. Slow. Adagios. A solo piano. Or cello. But also string quartets. I could listen all day. All night. When I’m writing, classical music plays in the background. Used to be that I wanted classical music to arouse me. Stir my rambunctious emotions. Now I want to be soothed. I want serenity. Tranquility. Solitude. –Jim Broede

So can everyone.

People I know tell me they are okay. But I’m not so sure. I’m not quite buying it. I want them to be more upbeat. That’s not an order. Just a wish. When something goes bad in life, such as the death of a loved one, it’s time to start focusing life on other things. There’s still life. Our loved one wasn’t ever our everything. Only most of everything. One is essentially alone now. Able to move on. To other things. Other ways. Other endeavors. One must give a loved one who’s dying as much love as one can. Even the Alzheimer patient that seems out of it. But there’s only so much one can do. So start taking care of one’s self, I tell the care-givers. In better ways. Indulge one’s self a bit. Do nice things for one’s self. Treat one’s self like a decent human being. Maybe even like royalty. Don’t be glum. Get on with life. In the pursuit of something. Life ain’t over. If an old man like me can do it, so can everyone. –Jim Broede

Is it foolhardy or bravery?

I know people who invite unnecessary trouble. Take risks. Even violate the law. Try to get away with things. Because they have strong beliefs that it’s all right. And I often tend to be judgmental. Tell them it ain’t worth the risk. But then I stop to reflect. That life is full of risks. Especially if one is principled. And stands up for one’s beliefs. Wanting to serve the common good. That’s how protest movements get started. Even revolutions. One defies the authorities. Even the law of a corrupt regime. Even here in America. My country ain’t perfect. And if I want to be free, I’ve gotta occasionally stand up. And shout. That I’m not gonna take it any more. That can pose difficulty. Even great personal risk. Some may see that as foolhardy. Others call it bravery –Jim Broede.

A detour amidst all the blessings.

A detour in life. Yes, that’s the way a woman on the Alzheimer’s message board looks at her role as a care-giver. First for her father. Then her mother. But she still insists that she has a good life. Because she’s basically happy. Counting her blessings. Including a husband that she dearly loves. They’ve been married for 24 years. And she has children, too. Of course, she wishes her parents didn’t have Alzheimer’s. But it happens. Amidst all the blessings. A mix. A detour. She’s really got a good grasp on life. She’s my kind of people. I like her already. Without ever having formally met her. –Jim Broede

Dealing with life. The best way I can.

I can seem like I am aloof. Because I compartmentalize. I separate issues and tasks. To avoid becoming overwhelmed. I focus on one thing. Shut out the rest. I’m detached from other things. Giving my full attention to the matter at hand. Wearing blinders, so to speak. Didn’t always do that. Used to be a spectacular juggler. With a half dozen balls in the air. Caused me too much stress. Even if I didn’t drop a ball. Now I’m nicer to myself. Makes some people think I’m aloof. But it really ain’t so. I’m merely dealing with life. The best way I can. –Jim Broede

My search for human decency.

I more or less divide the world into decent people and not-so-decent people. I tolerate ‘em all. To some degree. But mainly I try to cultivate very decent people. The exceptional ones. And it seems to me that there are a fair number of ‘em out there. Of course, my idea of decency may not be the same as your’s. For instance, I look at the big picture in deciding on decency. Some folks call Bill Clinton indecent for cheating on his wife. But I don’t judge Clinton on that basis. Instead, I see Clinton as a very, very decent human being. Because of his political agenda. Calculated to serve the common good. Rather than special interests. On the other hand, there’s Newt Gingrich. He’s the same Gingrich that sought impeachment of Clinton for his sexcapades. And at that very time, Gingrich was having an adulteress affair. Betraying his own wife. Talk about hypocrisy. Also, consider Gingrich’s political agenda. Geared for special interests. Rich people and big corporations. Gingrich couldn’t care less about poor people and the middle class. Which is in sharp contrast to Clinton. Therefore, I see far more decency in Clinton than in Gingrich. When I look for the very decent amongst us, I certainly won’t waste my time focusing on American politicians. Most of ‘em seem to have sold their souls to the devil. –Jim Broede

My kind of people.

I like to spend parts of every day being silly. Plain silly. Because it’s a way to exercise my sense of humor. I have to stay in practice. And silliness comes to me very naturally. But like a good piano player, it takes practice. Only then can one excel. Practice may not make me perfectly silly. But I’m damn good at it. So much so that I’m able to irritate overly serious people with my silliness. Which is all right. They deserve to be irritated. Very irritated. The more, the better. On the other hand, I like people who can put up with my silliness. Some actually welcome it. Because they see the silly side of life. That makes them my kind of people. –Jim Broede

We don't get far ahead of ourselves.

My son Jack and I have different comfort levels. Jack, who's about 50 years old, can live like a Spartan. With far fewer basics than me. And be reasonably happy. I need more creature comforts. Not nearly as many as some people. But certainly more than Jack. I don’t wanna live in poverty. Jack can manage. He’ll settle for living in a tent. Or for that matter, under the blue sky. Or under the stars at nighttime. And during the hot summer, he’ll put up with the heat and humidity. Or the cold of winter. Preferably in a thermal sleeping bag and with makeshift protection from the snow. Maybe a lean-to. Jack doesn’t even need the security of a full-time, permanent job. He’ll find a way to exist, and survive, even when he’s out of work. He’ll improvise. He’s out of work now. And living with his girlfriend right here on my property. In a tent, and in a spare Spartan-like room attached to the garage. It’s been an unusually hot and humid summer. But Jack and his girlfriend make do. With a fan. And by frequent dips in the lake. He travels about in a beat-up car. He looks for temporary work, and subsists on little cash. I’ve given him canned goods and other things. And he and his girlfriend mostly cook their meals outdoors. On a grill and in a hand-constructed fire pit. They come indoors to use the toilet and other bathroom facilities. But not always. There are other ways of improvising. I just let Jack be. I don’t hound him to get a job. But I do inquire about how the job hunt is going. And I just observe. Trying to avoid being judgmental or preachy. I used to be that way. But no more. Meanwhile, Jack pretty much accepts me, too. Let’s me go my way, without being preachy himself. And he pretty much respects my privacy. Doesn’t disturb me much. Because he knows I cherish peace and quiet. Solitude. Especially when I’m writing. Anyway, Jack and I have some things in common. But we also are quite different personalities. We’ve learned respect and acceptance for each other over the years. Maybe even when we weren’t together. I hadn’t seen Jack in 10 years. Until he showed up on my door step about two weeks ago. Meanwhile, I’m curious. Wondering what’s to come next. Never can tell. Jack might be gone tomorrow. Or he may still be around months from now. Guess we’ll see. Because one thing we have in common. We take life one day at a time. Don’t ever get very far ahead of ourselves. –Jim Broede

A true sign of true love.

I listen to all sorts of people. But more to my true love than anyone. Because she makes sense. And even when she doesn’t, I still listen. Because I respect her opinions. And Italian ways. And advice. Even when I don’t necessarily follow the advice. Because – well, I’m independent. My own man. And a bit stubborn. And so is she. In fact, one of the first Italian words I learned was the one for a stubborn female. Ostinata. But you know what? I like her stubbornness. I have absolutely no desire to change her. I’ll gladly accept her. As she is. Maybe that’s a true sign of true love. –Jim Broede

Always speaking my piece.

One thing about me. I hardly ever hesitate writing or speaking about what’s on my mind. Always have. Even as a kid. Because it seems so natural. To sound off. Of course, that makes me appear to be a fool. Maybe more than occasionally. But nothing wrong with that. My attitude is, nothing ventured, nothing gained. The thing is, one isn’t required to remain a fool. One can learn from mistakes. And I make plenty of ‘em. Anyway, my lifestyle allows for adventure. Risk. I’d have it no other way. Because I am what I am. A romantic idealist. Which means I’m capable of going off the deep end. By falling in love. Yes, finding a true love. I believe in destiny. In letting things happen. Naturally. Blessedly. And always speaking my piece. –Jim Broede

More powerful than god himself.

We’ll always have Republicans with us. Because Republicans are the product of rich people. Of special interests. Of big private corporations. Republicans can be bought. Rather easily. Money is power. Power is money. In America, virtually every adult citizen is allowed to vote. But so very many of the votes don’t count. Because elected officials are for sale. They can be bought. By the highest bidder. Money rules the roost in America. Always has. Always will. That’s America’s founding principle. Money. Money. Money. He who has it makes the ultimate decisions. Yes, I’d like to take money out of politics. But it won’t happen. Because America worships money. Money is even more powerful than god himself. –Jim Broede

The very patriotic thing.

Conservative Republicans tell me that America has a spending problem. That government spends too much money. That our economic woes can be solved by spending less and less and less. By cutting entitlement programs. By spending less on so-called necessities. Because they really aren’t necessities. That it’s all luxury. And that we should just allow everybody to fend for himself. Of course, the Republicans won’t cut the defense budget. Because that would be unpatriotic. Republicans also will continue to give cash subsidies to big private corporations. Because that’s patriotic. The right thing to do. Well, folks, I have a different solution to our nation’s economic problems. Let’s tax the hell out of rich people. Especially millionaires and billionaires. Let’s spread the wealth. Narrow the gap between the rich and the poor. I’m not advocating making the rich poor. They’ll still be rich. But less rich. And to me, that’s the very patriotic thing to do. The right thing. –Jim Broede

I could see Hitler as a rabbi.

One’s life can be interpreted in so very many ways. As a complete success. As a failure, too. Depends on the twist one chooses to give it. Seems to me that one can even find solid redeeming meaning in a so-called ‘failed’ life. If one learned something significant and maybe spiritually-rewarding from it all. One can pull it all together. By maybe seeing glamor or pizzazz in it all. Maybe even Adolph Hitler, living in a spiritual realm, sees his life on Earth as a wonderful success. In that he learned that if given another opportunity, he wouldn’t live the same life over again. Maybe he’d pursue a life as a dedicated Jew. And become a rabbi. –Jim Broede

It takes a long, long time.

I’d like to learn Italian. But maybe it’s too late. Takes a long, long time to learn a language. Probably more time than I have left. Another reason why I’d like to live forever. So I’d have time to converse fluently in Italian. I sense it’s a beautiful language. Maybe even more beautiful than English. Which is extraordinarily beautiful. And bountiful, too. But fact of the matter is that I’m still learning English. And I’m in my 75th year. So many expressive words in English. And I don’t know nearly all of ‘em. Actually, we English-speaking people are still inventing words. The thing is, I’m learning new words daily. In all sorts of languages. Not merely English. But I need to know more English. Because it’s my primary language. In a sense, my only language. Because I feel grossly inadequate in other languages. And only adequate in English. Maybe that’s the way I would feel even if I had forever. Like I say, it takes a long, long time to learn a language. –Jim Broede

The ability to permeate my spirit.

I like to have creative outbursts. That’s how I spend many days. Experiencing creative outbursts. Of the spirit. My spirit. Really, it comes down to feeling alive. Aware. Conscious. Maybe it’s because I’m in love. Have been. For a long time. For 38 years with my dear Jeanne. Until she died in January 2007. Alzheimer’s. Now I’m in love again. Imagine that. Blessed with true love. Twice. In one lifetime. I assume that’s the way it’s supposed to be. The way god and the divine spirits meant it. I was supposed to write, too. Record my thoughts. In meaningful words. Maybe I wasn’t conscious until I learned a language. That made the big difference in my life. For the first time I was able to grasp the concept of love. And put it into words. Gave me the ability to permeate my spirit. Creatively. –Jim Broede

I like my story. My life.

Seems to me that I’ve always lived a storybook existence. From the very day that I became conscious. Aware. That I was a living human being. Not only with a mind. But with a spirit. It’s been a glamorous life. As a youngster. Growing up in Chicago and a small town in southeast Wisconsin. Going to college. Majoring in English and History. Spending three years in the U.S. Army. Mostly on assignment. In Germany. And writing for newspapers. In Wisconsin. In Florida. In Minnesota. Falling in love. With my dear Jeanne. My wife for 38 years. Until she died of Alzheimer’s in 2007. And now I’m in love again. With an Italian. Spending much of my life living in Italy. I travel around the world. To exotic places. Such as Scotland, Iceland, Germany. I’m retired. A free man. In my 75th year. Yes, I like my story. My life. –Jim Broede

I'm gonna savor every minute of it.

I want to live a storybook life. And I can do it. When I fall in love. And live my life one day at a time. Just imagine. I’m able to fall in love with an Italian. And split my time. Living in Sardinia. An island in the Mediterranean Sea. And in Minnesota in the USA. A fantasy? Maybe some days it feels like a fantasy. But it’s my real life. And when I’m not with my true love in the flesh, I’m with her by audio/video hook-up. In living color. For hours. Daily. And I write love letters every night. So that when she gets up in the morning, my words are waiting for her. She’s 7 hours ahead of me. Yes, this is the way I choose to live. The way I want to live. As if I’m a character in a novel. But it ain’t fiction. It’s real. I’m a romantic idealist, a spiritual free¬thinker, a political liberal and a lover. And a writer, too. With almost 4,000 threads in my daily blog. No doubt about it. I’m in love. With the most beautiful and intelligent woman in the world. And with life. At this very moment. Now. And I’m gonna savor every minute of it. –Jim Broede

I wonder what happened to Maebee.

Used to be that a gal from Michigan, going by the pseudonym Maebee, posted comments in my blog. Funny comments. She didn’t mean them to be funny. But Maebee was funny without knowing she’s funny. She’s really a natural born comedian. And a practicing clown. That was one of her hobbies. Dressing up as clown. I talk about her mostly in the present tense. Assuming she’s still alive. But it’s also possible that Maebee is no longer with us. Could be she died. Because it’s not like Maebee to disappear on her own. Voluntarily. She’s an addictive, compulsive and attention-seeking personality. Out to change people. Especially the likes of me. She wanted to reshape me into the image of what she wanted me to be. She thought I was misguided. Sort of a lost soul. I accepted Maebee for what she is. I think her real name is/was Nina. But she didn’t go by that name. Instead, she preferred Maebee. Maybe Maebee chose Maebee because it’s downright funny sounding. But I think Nina sounds beautiful. And respectable. Makes me wonder if Maebee didn’t wanna be beautiful and respectable. –Jim Broede

My fantasy is real fantasy.

I like to fantasize. To some degree. Nothing wrong with that. Because fantasy adds something to life. Real life. Love, for instance, is part fantasy. It’s the romanticizing of life. Especially true love. One gets carried away. One emulates his true love. Puts her on a pedestal. Writes love poems. Goes crazy. That’s why we call someone crazy in love. It’s a good thing. I distrust people who refuse to fantasize. They are too bland. They lack imagination. Even when I write true stories, I want to give the story an edge. By seeing something that maybe other people don’t see. Such as a golden hue to the word picture that I paint. I see it. Even if others don’t. Because I know how to fantasize. To me, it’s real. And I feel the love poem. And the love letter. Because I put my full self into it. I become a creator. I turn a mere human into a goddess. A love goddess. And like I said at the start, there’s nothing wrong with that. Because I believe in myths. They become real. I have been to Paradise. To Heaven. To Nirvana. To Valhalla. Some call it fantasy. I do, too. But it’s real fantasy. –Jim Broede

I'm never out of touch.

I’m self-reliant. Or so I think. I try not to rely on other people. Although I have to. Occasionally. Out of necessity. For instance, I’m incapable of fixing my car if something goes wrong. Because I don’t have a clue about how it’s done. Same thing goes for most home repairs. I have to bring in a handyman. I know my limits. But when it comes to most mental matters, I’m my own man. I think for myself. And I’m fully capable of living alone. Although I prefer living with my true love. Which I do for about half of the year. I rely on her. For moral support. All year-round. Because we are at the very least connected daily by an audio/video hook-up. I’m not very good at technical aspects of life. Such as all of the intricacies of the computer. But I know enough to be able to stay connected technically to my true love. By computer. By phone. And by spiritual vibrations. Telepathy. That’s the nature of love. So many, many ways to communicate. I’m never out of touch. –Jim Broede

My own flow.

We had a continuous rumble of thunder today. For maybe a half hour. Sounded like a big storm was about to hit. But it’s all passed. With only a few sprinkles. And no wind. Sounded ominous for a while. And I sort of liked it. Because it was different. Unusual. That’s one of the many things I like about life. The unusual. I’m drawn to unusual people, too. The ones that are different. Out of the ordinary. Yes, extraordinary. I’ve never had any qualms about being different. I don’t particularly want to be like others. It’s all right if I don’t fit. Some people just like to blend in. Well, I like to go with the flow, too. My own flow. –Jim Broede

Nothing wrong with never giving up.

In a way, I’m grateful that I’m not black. Because that would impose so many difficulties on me. Living in America. I’d face so much discrimination. Overtly. And subtly, too. I would have had such a different life experience. More negative. More upsetting. But I suppose I would have learned to cope. A little bit like living in an alien country. Where I wasn’t fully welcome. I’m not fully welcome even now. As a white man. Because I think differently. I’m radical in some ways. Politically. Socially. I don’t quite fit. Because of my ideas. But it would be especially annoying if I didn’t fit merely because of the color of my skin. I could be the same human being I am now. Except for a change in color. And it’d make a huge difference. Actually, I wouldn’t be the same being if I had been black all of my life. Because my life experiences would have been so very, very different. I would have been denied many opportunities. Instead, I’ve been one of the privileged elites. Because I’m white. That gave me many advantages in life. Maybe I didn’t deserve all of those advantages. But I’ll take ‘em. With a little sense of guilt. I did go South in the 1960s. Not with the intention of becoming actively involved in the Civil Rights movement. But I did get caught up in it. In positive ways. And I’m still involved. Because we Americans still have a long way to go to make for full racial equality. Maybe it’ll never be achieved. But hey, nothing wrong with never giving up the fight. –Jim Broede

A return to the good old days.

We Americans seldom face the truth. We pretend. A whole lot. For instance, we white Americans pretend that we don’t have very many racists amongst us. I’m not necessarily saying that a majority of us are racists. But there are enough to make America essentially a racist country. That’s the sole reason why so very many conservative Republicans have one goal in mind. To see to it that Barack Obama is a one-term president. They’ll do anything they can to defeat him. Because they detest having a black man in the White House. Insisting that if the oval office was intended for a black man, it would have been built in a black house. In a shack. More or less. Yes, that’s the way conservative Republicans think. They’d secretly like the return of slavery. Some of ‘em, such as Michele Bachmann, think that the slaves were better off under slavery than they are today. That black people are ill-suited to be free. Of course, I find such thinking crazy. And indecent. And obscene. And sinful. But then, it’s reality. It’s true. If one psychoanalyzed a stalwart conservative Republican, such nonsense would come to the surface. Think about it. Our nation was founded on the basis of an economic system that justified the existence of slavery. At the very time that the founders described America as the land of the free and the brave. But you had to be a white man to be relatively free. And then it helped to have money. Lots of money. That even applies today. It’s a guiding principle of our capitalist system. And if we leave it to ultra-conservative Republicans, everybody will be put in their suitable place. A return to the good old days. When black people knew their place. Because they had no choice. –Jim Broede

I become my own psychiatrist.

If I were a psychiatrist, I’d keep asking my patients, ‘Why are you depressed?’ And after listening to their answers, I’d ask if these are legitimate reasons to be depressed? And I’d suggest that the patients have more reasons not to be depressed than to be depressed. One simply gets out of depression by altering one’s state of mind. At least that was thought to be the conventional way to deal with depression. Until discovery of anti-depressants. Now you are supposed to take a pill. And become more or less cured. I’m not sure that I buy into that premise. Instead, I’m an advocate of talk therapy. Mind over matter. I find it relatively easy to talk myself into a positive mood. Into an upbeat frame of mind. If for no other reason than that it feels good. I never did like feeling out of sorts. So, I simply refuse to feel depressed. I find a way out. By talking to myself. Counting my blessings. And then focusing on the blessings. I become my own psychiatrist. And I do it for free. Yes, I give myself a good deal. Gives me another reason not to fall into depression. –Jim Broede

I'll gladly live with my woes.

I’m not gonna solve other people’s problems. That’s beyond my control. Means I mustn’t feel guilty if my brother or sister or son or daughter have what seem like unsolvable problems. I just have to let ‘em be. And watch. To see if they can find a way to deal with life. Their life. The thing is, if I try to solve everybody’s problems, I most likely won’t have time to solve my own problems. And if I can’t solve my own problems, how can I be expected to solve the world’s problems? I’ve learned that sometimes problem-solving is merely a patchwork thing. A way to get by. Without a total solution. I’ve observed that some people solve their problems in a very radical way. By committing suicide. But that’s not for me. I’d rather be an alive and conscious being. Even if I have to live with unsolvable woes. –Jim Broede

Leave me be my imperfect self.

I don’t mind having been born into an imperfect world. Because maybe that’s even better than a perfect world. If the world were perfect, everything would go along smoothly. No ripples on the water. Seems to me that we humans weren’t designed for perfection. A sign that god really knew what he was doing. God wanted us to make mistakes. Because that’s the way we learn. Even god makes mistakes. This idea that god is perfect and all-knowing – well, that’s bull shit. God doesn’t always know what he’s doing. He’s just feeling his way. Just like the rest of us. Anyway, I don’t want a perfect god. Give me a mistake-prone god any day. He’s easier to accept. Seems to me that a so-called perfect god would be an arrogant bastard. Unforgiving. Because he’d want everybody else to be perfect. Just like him. I know people of that ilk. Perfectionists. They are always trying to change me. Rather than leave me be my imperfect self. –Jim Broede

I complain. But accept reality.

The American electorate is mostly stupid. Of course, that’s only my opinion. I could be wrong. I could be the stupid one. I defend my position by pointing out that the electorate often elects Republicans. And stupid Democrats, too. Maybe it’s that we have virtually no choice. With our two-party system. Seldom, if ever, does a third party get a foothold. Maybe we Americans are all stupid. For tolerating such a system. Our choices are so very limited. Usually, in the realm of politics, we choose between an idiot, an imbecile and a moron. Never a genius. If I were designing a political system from scratch, I’d require an intelligence test. To even qualify for the ballot. No idiots, imbeciles and morons allowed. Under any circumstances. I suppose that still wouldn’t be a foolproof system. Because the electorate would still consist mostly of idiots, imbeciles and morons. And they’d find a way to botch it. Anyway, life is strange. I’m even often called a positive thinker. Because I try to make the most of life. By more or less ignoring the things I can’t change. And just getting on with life. In a reasonably happy manner. That’s what I’m doing now. Complaining about our political system. While accepting it. –Jim Broede

For the sake of a deal.

Barack Obama is a complicated human being. I suppose the important thing is that he’s human. That’s more important than the complicated part. Maybe it’s that Obama is a creation of a mixed marriage. A white mother. A black father. A delicate balance of two cultures. Two ways of life. So maybe his willingness to compromise should come as no surprise. Even to liberals like me. Yes, that can be annoying at times. Very annoying. Seeing Obama give in to Republicans. To conservatives. To idiots. Just for the sake of compromise. For the sake of fairness. But the problem is that Obama is dealing with politicians that are grossly unfair. Obama would try to bring god and the devil together. To try to work something out. He wants black people and white people to get along. Even if that means being unfair to his black constituents and his liberal colleagues. Obama can be perceived by some as selling his soul. For the sake of a deal. –Jim Broede

I've seen it all today.

I know ugly and beauty when I see it. And today I’ve seen both. Maybe the ugliest man in the world. Rupert Murdoch. The media tycoon. I can’t ever recall seeing an uglier man. Old. Decrepit. I’d cast him as Scrooge. Before Scrooge found his soul. A miser. A villain. A scoundrel. Of course, I’ve only seen Murdoch in photos and on television. But that’s enough. A man that ugly, I wouldn’t want to see in the flesh. Maybe it’s that I perceive Murdoch as more or less soulless. That adds to his ugliness. Murdoch contrasts with my Italian true love. She’s the most beautiful woman in the world. A combination of inner beauty and outer beauty. The total package. She has a beautiful soul. A magnificent presence. Beautiful. Beautiful. Beautiful. In every which way. Yes, I’ve seen it all today. Sheer ugliness. Sheer beauty. –Jim Broede

My own world, so to speak.

I’d take all the money we spend on national defense, and pour it into something better. Maybe education. Or the creation of jobs. Things that put people back to work. Or make them more versatile. Better educated. Of course, some people, especially Republicans, will tell me that’s too risky. We need to defend ourselves against enemies. But I suspect we are our own worst enemy. By spending money on the wrong things. The wrong priorities. We Americans could be so much better off if we hadn’t spent a fortune and wasted lives on obscene wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. But we never learn. Maybe it’s a case of national insanity. America resembles a lunatic asylum. Especially in Washington. In Congress. Guess I accept it. Because I don’t have a choice. Really. Life is what it is. I can’t change the lunacy. It’ll always be with us. Meanwhile, I try to carve out my own life. Let things happen around me. The things over which I have virtually no control. And make the best of life. My own life. I don’t allow the insanity to drag me down. Instead, I create my own reality. My own world, so to speak. –Jim Broede

Thank you, Canada.

Summer in Minnesota can be mean. Downright mean for a few days. When the almost inevitable tropical heat wave hits. We’re in one now. In the Twin Cities area. Daily temperatures in the mid-90s. But worse yet, the humidity is ungawdly high. Dew points in the mid-70s. Maybe even 80. And there’s no relief in sight for at least 5 days. Oh, I can’t complain. Because I have air-conditioning. But still, I get a little shaky when I look out the moisture-laden windows. Moisture dripping. Like in a sauna bath. Fortunately, the drips are on the outside. And I’m inside. But that won’t stop me from soon venturing out. For my daily exercise. On a bicycle. Fortunately, I can jump into a lake. Or come indoors. To air-conditioned comfort. And live like an Athenian. Sure beats being a Spartan. And living without the cooling effect. I also thank god for Canada. Sooner or later, cool Canadian air will drift down. And bless us Minnesotans. Thank you, Canada. –Jim Broede

If not suicidal.

I never cease to be amazed by people who don’t look for solutions to their problems. Instead, they just live with the problems. That especially goes for Alzheimer care-givers. They lament. Complain. Gripe. Vent. And keep on suffering. Flagellating themselves. Acting like martyrs. Maybe in hope of some day achieving sainthood. When really, they could find practical solutions. Such as putting their loved ones in nursing homes. And visiting on a daily basis. But still coming home daily for respite. Thereby taking care of themselves. And becoming better care-givers in the process. The point I wish to make is that an 8-10 hour a day care-giver is usually a better care-giver than a 24/7 care-giver. Because a full-time care-giver generally ends up exhausted. Mentally. Physically. Emotionally. Completely. I find it strange that some care-givers feel they have to go at it 24 hours a day. With no breaks. To me, that’s not dedication. It’s stupidity. An inability to recognize that such an unrelenting schedule is debilitating and self-defeating. If not suicidal. –Jim Broede

God's biggest guffaws.

I like to lighten up my true love. To convince her to not take life too seriously. Oh, it’s all right to be serious. But not all of the time. One needs breaks. Humorous moments. Laughs. If one doesn’t see the funny side of life, one is doomed. It’s all right to be funny. Because god is funny. He sets the example. My guess is that god’s real professional occupation is that of comedian. A stand-up comic in a comedy club. God created the human race for comic relief. For the laughs. And god’s biggest guffaws come when he sees his creatures taking life so very seriously. –Jim Broede

Compared to god, I'm normal.

I tell my true love that I am a man of moderation. Half-kiddingly. Because I really like to go off the deep end. To test the limits. But don’t get me wrong. I also can be moderate. Nicely balanced. I can be insane. Crazy. But in nice ways. Which makes me seem sane. And kind. And understanding. I think that’s the nature of a romantic idealist and a spiritual free thinker and a liberal and a lover. Seems to me that makes me balanced. But to people who ain’t all of these things, I can seem like I’ve gone off the deep end of life. When I really haven’t. Instead, I’ve gone to where god wants me to go. Into crazy, crazy land. Which could be another name for Paradise. I’m allowed to be crazy. Because god himself is crazy. There’s nobody more crazy than god. Which means that craziness is relative. Compared to god, I’m downright normal. A very sane being. –Jim Broede

I'm just letting Jack be.

People keep popping in and out of my life. Such as my son, Jack. He’s really my step-son. Didn’t see him for 10 years. Received only a word now and then. Then he shows up. On my doorstep. Unannounced. I don’t know what to make of it. Of course, it’s an opportunity to become reacquainted. I don’t know where I stand on family. Whether to make a big deal of family. Or not. Customarily, families are supposed to be close. Or so I’m told. But I never had a real tight closeness with my brother or my sister. We went our own ways. Independent beings. In different parts of the country. My father died when I was 13. I really never knew him. He was gone most of the time. As a traveling salesman. I was close to my mother. Throughout the years. She died at 88. Anyway, I have a step daughter, too. I’ve maintained cordial ties with her over the years. We are finely tuned to each other. But Jack has been more distant. He’s been out of touch with his sister. Even now. So maybe it’s a compliment that he’s looked me up. Nice that he initiated contact. That’s what I tell him he needs do. Be an initiator. To initiate contact with his sister, too. And with his children. But Jack tends to be distant. Independent. Goes his own way. Without much family contact. That’s his nature. I think it’s difficult for Jack to handle a whole lot of human relationships. He can only handle a limited amount. With a hand-picked few. Maybe because people want to change Jack. Shape him up. Make him something that he isn’t. That won’t work. One has to let Jack be Jack. And for family members, that ain’t easy. I tried to steer Jack in certain directions when he was growing up. But I wouldn’t do that today. Instead, I accept Jack as he is. Maybe he knows that. Maybe that’s why he’s come by. And has decided to stay for a while. How long, I don’t know. Maybe as long as I don’t try to change him. So I’m just letting Jack be. –Jim Broede

Doesn't scare me one bit.

I think I scare people. To some extent. Not totally. But enough so that they don’t approach me. Don’t dare to even talk to me. Or to write to me. Because they’re scared. Maybe a shy scared. Afraid to be bold. Even reasonably bold. Maybe I used to be that way. Even when I was curious, I didn’t delve. As if I had no right to delve. No right to satisfy my curiosity. But I’ve learned. A whole lot. That I have a right. Actually, many rights. And all I need do is exercise my rights. Otherwise, I may end up wasting my life. I have a right to be a romantic idealist. A free-thinker in spiritual matters. A political liberal. And not least, a lover extraordinaire. Doesn’t scare me one bit. –Jim Broede

I have a magical life.

No doubt about it, life has its bad moments. Sad moments. Such as the death of a loved one. And ultimately one’s own death. But still, that should stop nobody from living this very moment. And making the most of it. Guess that’s how I see life. I’m here now. Always have been. Since the day I was born. The main difference is that I’ve become more conscious of my existence. More aware that I’m alive. And more capable of savoring today. Here I am. Sitting down. Writing a few random thoughts. And you know what? It’s not wasted time? Because I’m thinking. Far better than keeping my mind blank. Or grieving about everything that has gone wrong over the past 75 years. Instead, I’m focused on now. Because that’s all there is. Now. And I don’t want to waste now. Funny thing. I’ve been trying to keep track of many, many of my ‘nows.’ Right here in this blog. And when I review these many, many past nows, they suddenly become now nows. Like magic. Guess it means that I have a magical life. –Jim Broede

Beyond heartbreak. To exotic.

My Chicago Cubs keep finding new and exotic ways to lose baseball games. I used to call many of the losses heartbreaking. But now I think more positively. They’re really exotic. Novel. Creative. Like last night, the Cubs had a nifty 2-0 lead in the 9th inning. And they could just as easily left their successful starting pitcher in the game. To finish the job. But instead, the Cubs opt for a shaky closer to nail down the final three outs. Instead, he walks the first three batters on 13 pitches. And then gives up a bases clearing double. And lo and behold, the Cubs are behind, 3-2. Eventually losing by 6-3. Years ago, I would have considered that a heart-breaking loss. But now I expect it. I ask myself during each game, how are the Cubs gonna come up with a new way to lose? And sure enough, they don’t disappoint. They find a new way. They’ve gone beyond heartbreak. To positively exotic. –Jim Broede

I am to gorge myself on the fruit.

I keep exploring the concept of love. Because love fascinates me. It’s the moving force of life. At least, my life. Maybe not everyone’s life. When I was younger, I thought of love as hogwash. Some abstract thing. Without any real meaning. But now it’s meaningful. Very meaningful. I was born to love. To feel love. To give love. To receive love. And mostly in a spiritual way. More so than physical. I feel like I’m evolving. More and more into the spiritual realm. Maybe because I’m getting old. Relatively speaking. And it takes a while to reach maturity. To reach one’s inner depth. I’m beginning to think that I am far more than human. Physically human, that is. I’m becoming more spiritual and less physical. Reaching a new plateau. Maybe it’s that one’s physical being wears out. Or maybe it’s that one's spiritual being takes hold. And predominates. I have this yen to become more like god. Closer to god. And to do that, I need to learn how to be a spiritual being. I need to learn a spiritual language. If I don’t know the language of god, how can I possibly understand and communicate with god? I think god is telling me to eat from the tree of knowledge. Fully. To gorge myself on the fruit. To enter Paradise. Eden, so to speak. Nirvana. Heaven. Valhalla. –Jim Broede

Jeanne's spirit still alive & thriving.

When I put my dear Jeanne into a nursing home, I thought it was the worst decision of my life. But it turned out to be one of the best. For Jeanne. For me. Yes, for everyone. Initially, I felt a strong sense of guilt. Because I thought I was letting Jeanne down. And that if I really loved her, I’d continue as a 24/7 care-giver. But Jeanne had become unmanageable for me because of her worsening Alzheimer’s. She was belligerent. Incontinent. I couldn’t leave her alone even for a few minutes. It was far too risky. And I was becoming exhausted. Mentally. Emotionally. Physically. I was in danger of breaking down. I proposed that various relatives and friends form a team. To give me some occasional time off. To recuperate. But that proposal went nowhere. Nobody seemed willing to come to our aid. Yes, that’s a shame. But it’s reality. Anyway, I finally put Jeanne into a special 30-day behavioral modification program for dementia patients. In the hope that we could alter her behavior. To make the care-giving more manageable. But that didn’t work. And so I tearfully went the nursing home route. And it made me depressed. But I decided it was important that I be with Jeanne in this setting daily. To see that she got special care. Proper care. I’d become her advocate and protector. And so, in the 38 months and one day that Jeanne spent in the nursing home, I was there. Generally for 8 to 10 hours a day. Didn’t miss a single day. Even when I had a cold. I’d wear a mask. And help take care of Jeanne. And other patients, too. I developed a routine. Became part of the nursing home community. I saw to it that Jeanne got fresh air daily. Took her out in a custom-made wheelchair. Often for rides of 10 miles. All over town. And all the way home. A six-mile round-trip. So she could visit with her cats. And sit on the lake shore. She’d be out in the wheelchair even in the wintertime. Tucked inside a thermal sleeping bag. And I’d hoist her into the car. And take her into the countryside. And I’d hand-feed Jeanne her lunch and supper in the privacy of her room. Rather than in the turbulent, disruptive congregate dining area. The residents of a nursing home generally get only one shower a week. But I personally took Jeanne into the shower room every night. Just before bedtime. And gave her a shower and a soothing body massage. I’d personally put her to bed, to soft music. And then I’d go home. For my respite. I’d be back at the nursing home by mid-morning the next day. For my daily routine. Giving Jeanne my personal brand of good vibes therapy. Believe me, it worked wonders. Every resident of a nursing home needs and deserves such treatment. Jeanne was no longer belligerent. And we were able to wean her off most of her medications. She had a sense of being loved. She knew I would be with her. For the rest of her life. Jeanne died. On Jan. 18, 2007. I was with her when she took her last breath. I was devastated. I thought it was the end of the world. The end of life as I knew it. But it was only another beginning. A continuation of life. Wonderful life. I had 38 years with Jeanne. For which I am grateful. I have been blessed. Knowing full well that Jeanne’s loving spirit is still alive and thriving. Inside me. –Jim Broede

Living decently amidst indecency.

I’m in love with life. Right here on Mother Earth. But I’m not in love with some of the ways in which we live. Politically. Economically. Socially. I’d make lots of changes in our systems. But I’m in no position to do that. I’m not god. Or king. Or a potentate. Instead, I’m only one human being. And maybe that’s the reason I’m in love with life. I’m able to savor the fact that I’m alive and breathing and aware of my existence. Conscious. Able to think. Able to be reasonably free. I don’t have to obey all of the dictates that society tries to impose on me. I can create my own cocoon. At least to some extent. And best of all, I’m free to fall in love. And to shape my day, my moment. This very instant. For instance, I’m expressing myself. I’m creating words. Thoughts. I’m connected to the life force. I have been blessed. With life. With time. To find meaning. That’s what I have been trying to do. All of my life. Sure, I’ll never know it all. Because there are so many mysteries to unravel. But I’m able to grasp keener insight. Bit by bit. I don’t have to like everything that’s happening in the world. But I’m able to pick and choose. To find ways to live. Decently. Yes, I’m able to live decently even amidst the indecency. Truly amazing. --Jim Broede

With America leading the parade.

I probably would not qualify as a loyal American. At least not by Republican standards. Because I would not put my country above all else. There are many, many things more important than my country. Such as human decency. Sometimes, my country does not act very decently. Far too often. Just look at our politicians. Can’t find a more indecent bunch than that. Sure, there are some decent ones mixed in. But on the whole, the state of our politics is horrid. And tell me what’s been decent about the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan? And what was decent about the George Bush presidency? And tell me, what’s decent about the American capitalist system? I’d much rather have a socialist system. Including socialized medicine. That would be decent. Because it’d serve the common good. Fact of the matter is that I’m not all that supportive of American ways. Or for that matter, of many worldly ways. In some respects, I think the world has gone to hell. With America leading the parade. –Jim Broede

We need the courage to start over.

I want a more perfect America. Let’s dissolve what we’ve got. And start anew. From scratch. Yes, it’s time to build a modern nation. America was crafted by 18th century thinkers in the 18th century. That was good for the times. But we’re in the 21st century. We need a new political system. A new constitution. A new spirit. I hold no particular reverence for any of our nation’s founders. They couldn’t foresee three centuries ahead. Any more than we can. Yes, I know we’ve amended our constitution. And our ways. But still, it’s not like starting over. From scratch. With a clean slate. With new founders. New ideas. We can do so much better. I know there will be resistance. Especially from Republicans. They’re still enamored with the 18th century. Sometimes, it seems like Republicans would like to turn back the clock to the Middle Ages, to feudal times. That’s the problem. We Americans are living too much in the past. We’re nostalgic about it. The so-called good old days. Well, I want to make today and each day the best day ever. With a new and fresh outlook. I’m sick and tired of being forced to live in the past. In the old political, social and economic systems. We can do better. Much better. If only we had the courage to start over. –Jim Broede

Just kidding, folks.

My next door neighbor Alice was out mowing the lawn today. And last week, she was shoveling sand into a wheelbarrow. Today, I strode over to give Alice a well-deserved compliment. ‘Nice to see,’ I said, ‘that you know the true and proper role of a woman. You are doing real woman’s work. Setting a fine example for the neighborhood.’ Alice’s sister, Michelle, living two doors up the road, routinely sets a bad example. She has her husband Bill doing all of the heavy woman’s work. ‘She’s a disgrace to the neighborhood,’ I declared. I suggested enrolling Michelle in my Pioneer Housewives’ School. So she could be taught the proper role for a woman. Just kidding, folks. –Jim Broede

Jack's search for meaning.

My son Jack and his girlfriend Melinda are modern-day hippies. Vagabonds. Living day to day. Trusting in faith and in themselves. Maybe they are the true believers in the spirit of the holy life. They don’t need the usual luxuries. Apparently, they can settle for each other. Some would call ‘em homeless. But Jack begs to differ. For him, home happens to be wherever he’s at. At the moment. Could be in his beat-up car, a street in Olympia in Washington or the yard at his step-father’s domicile. Doesn’t matter. It could be anywhere on god’s green and all-too-often cold and heartless Earth. Jack and Melinda will make do. Adequately. The best they can. Jack and Melinda met a year ago. In the state of Washington. In a campgrounds. They were camping alone. But soon they were camping together. And they’ve stayed together. Jack was born and raised in Minnesota. Melinda, in Kentucky. And some how, their paths crossed. They probably think it was fate. They have some things in common. For instance, they’re both alcoholics. Recovering alcoholics. Melinda more so than Jack. In that she’s more dedicated to the recovering option than Jack. Though Jack is, too. But together, they help each other. Genuinely help. That makes a difference. Many couples don’t help each other. Instead, they inflict harm. But not in this case. I’ve spent much of life not fully understanding Jack. And maybe I still don’t. But I think I’m coming closer to grasping the concept of what Jack is all about. He’s been searching for meaning. And that ain’t such a bad pursuit. –Jim Broede

I'm an Athenian. Jack is a Spartan.

I missed a day of posting in my blog. Which is unusual. But it happens. Sometimes because of unwanted excitement in my life. Wasn’t a tornado. But strong, strong straight line winds. During a thunderstorm. For just a minute or two. On Sunday night. Felled three trees in my yard. One narrowly missing the house. So Monday was spent in clean-up. In the lumberjack mode. With the bulk of the hard work being done by my son Jack. Who happened to be visiting. For the first time in 10 years. That’ll teach him for showing up. Being put to hard labor. I went out and bought a new chainsaw. Used to rent ‘em. Because I had only little jobs. This was a big one. We’re still working at it. Jack has built a burning pit. So that we can get rid of a mountain of branches. Without having to haul them away. Anyway, Jack and his girlfriend like this sort of life. They were sleeping out in their tent when the storm hit. Suddenly. Blew the tent down. They didn’t have sense enough to come in. Or maybe it was they didn’t have the time. Or the desire. Jack liked the experience. He expected the rain to feel cold. But it was warm. And felt good, he said. He hauled his stuff into the garage and set up life in a storage room just off the garage. Jack doesn’t sweat the small stuff. Such as an unexpected storm and the demolishing of his tent. It really wasn’t demolished. Just had to be resurrected the next day. Jack doesn’t like living indoors. He and his girlfriend prefer the outdoors. Pioneer-style life. Living more or less hand-to-mouth. Often out of their car. They’re modern-day hippies. Even though Jack is about 50. He’s never fully grown up. Which really is a compliment. He’s his own man. Capable of surviving. By taking life one day at a time. Without the usual securities and luxuries. In a way, I gotta admire that. Jack is a true Spartan. I’m more an Athenian. I like a little more security than Jack. I have a house. I don’t wanna live in a tent. I want electricity. Lights. A nice bed. Air-conditioning in the summertime. Ready access to a computer. So I can write conveniently. Jack and his girlfriend cook their meals on a campfire. Out in the yard. Beats coming in and using the stove. Give me the stove. And an imported dinner from the deli. I love to go for walks in the woods and along a lake shore or on a mountain path. But I want to be able to spend the night in the grandeur of a lodge. Relatively safe and secure. Just in case there’s a thunderstorm and high winds in the night. Thing is, even if the weather is decent, I don’t want to have to cope with the damn mosquitoes. Once again, it’s obvious. I’m an Athenian. Jack is a Spartan. –Jim Broede

The serving of the common good.

I think it’s all right not to covet money. To just want the basics in life. Good health. Good education. A job that gets one by. Especially, if one enjoys his work. Thinks of it as a pleasure. Or a hobby. I want a society in which all of this is possible. One doesn’t have to be monetarily rich. To afford the basics of life. Maybe because the government provides socialized medicine. Good public schools. Social security to tide one over in retirement. Maybe even subsidized housing. Where one pays what one can afford. To me, that’s a form of the good life. One doesn’t have to live monetarily rich to be happy. One just needs the basics. With a little extra insurance. In the form of entitlement programs for the less fortunate. Paid for by a collective society as a whole. Really, it’s a way to distribute the wealth in a humane and kindly and effective way. The serving of the common good. –Jim Broede

I'm a gutless wonder.

If I had any guts, I’d be outdoors now. In the tropical heat. Temperature in the mid-90s. And the dew point at 70. Instead, I’m indoors. With the air-conditioner turned on. To a comfortable 67 degrees. The early settlers didn’t have air-conditioning. They had to put up with the climactic conditions. No matter what. Of course, in Minnesota, heat waves generally don’t last for more than a few days. We’ll get a relatively cool air blast from Canada. Maybe all the way from Hudson Bay. I find it hard to fathom the life of the early pioneers in places such as Arizona. Where it could easily hit 118 degrees. And that was long before air-conditioning. Must have been like living in hell. But then, there was a trade-off. Pleasant temperatures in the wintertime. While we folks in Minnesota endure 30 degrees below zero and blinding blizzards. Anyway, I’m prepared to venture out into the heat. Only a little bit later in the day. Knowing that eventually I can retreat again to air-conditioned comfort. Or wait for a thunderstorm that brings welcome relief. –Jim Broede

Acceptance. A true sign of love.

Sometimes, I feel like I’d like to remake my son Jack. Into something that he isn’t. But in the end, I always think better of it. And I just let Jack be Jack. And more or less accept it. I also remind myself that there are people who would like to remake me. Into something I’m not. Therefore, it would be wrong for me to try to do the same thing that I abhor. When done by others. Jack ain’t perfect. But then, neither am I. I think Jack could manage his life better. Far better. But then again, so could I. Because there is no such thing as perfection. We’re all imperfect. And always will be. But that’s precisely what makes us unique individuals. Coping with our imperfections. And still finding a reasonable degree of happiness. Actually, the one being that I love most dearly, I wouldn’t want to change. I just want her to be herself. Her ever-evolving self. I think that’s the nature of love. Acceptance. In sort of an unconditional manner. If I wanna change somebody, I probably don’t love ‘em. –Jim Broede

I'm an incurable double addict.

I know I’m losing significant weight. When people notice. When they comment. That’s happening. With increasing frequency. I’ve never been obscenely overweight. But much of my life I could have afforded to lose 10 pounds. I’ve weighed as much as 180 pounds on my six-foot frame. Now I’m down to a svelte 165 pounds. And I attribute the weight loss more to my exercise regimen than to a diet. I’ve pedaled my bicycle for over 3,300 miles since April 1. I hardly ever put on less than 30 miles in a day. And I’ve exceeded 50 miles some days. I haven’t missed a single day of biking. And that’s done the trick. A half-pound at a time. Because, in a sense, I’m biking across the country. Or all the way into South America. From Minnesota. Just depends on the direction I choose to take. And I do it all within a 10-mile radius of home. I have my little routes. Including some one- and two-mile circular routes. Of course, I’d have difficulty if I were still living in Minnesota in the wintertime. But my plan is to move to Sardinia for the winter. By Nov. 1. And not returning until April or May. This bicycling craze started when I had a sore foot. Made it difficult to walk. The foot is fully healed. But now I’m more addicted to bicycling than to walking or jogging. I have two addictions. Exercise. And to my Italian true love. Yes, I’m living the way life was meant to be. As an incurable addict. –Jim Broede

How to feel spiritually rich.

I want the very, very rich to bail us out. Yes, to do what’s best for the nation. For the common good. If anybody can afford a hefty tax increase, it’s the very, very rich. Millionaires. And billionaires. Better for the ‘haves’ to save our nation’s economy. Rather than the ‘have-nots.’ There shouldn’t be any question, any hesitation about that. Because even if the millionaires and billionaires bail us out, they’ll still be millionaires and billionaires. It isn’t like we’re asking for the supreme sacrifice. Their very lives. Or even all of their money. Just a fraction of it. Think about it. They thrived in the United States of America. They’ve made fortunes. Under the American capitalist system. Now they owe it to the nation. To give something back. I just don’t fully understand why so many rich people feel they have to be so miserly. They should be more appreciative of the opportunities they’ve had in this blessed nation. To become obscenely rich. Monetarily speaking. Of course, if they give some of the money back to narrow the gap between the rich and the poor, they’ll also feel spiritually rich. Better able to find reward in the Kingdom of Heaven. Or so I’m told by that fella that many of ‘em profess to worship. –Jim Broede

I'm playing with life. Having fun.

I gotta admit, I have an underlying urge to alienate people. Maybe it’s the devil in me. I like doing it. Because that draws some people out. They let loose with their feelings. That maybe I’m being unfair. Or arrogant. But that’s the nature of life. A high degree of unfairness. And we have to learn to deal with it. So, when I alienate people, I help them practice. Coping. With the unfairness. Because I’m being somewhat unfair. Playing the role of the devil’s advocate. But one thing about me. I still try to be a good-natured devil. Often filling the role in a humorous manner. Because ultimately my goal is to make people laugh. At me. And at themselves. To take life less seriously. I prod them to do this. And initially they sometimes don’t see that. They think I’m being mean. Or being contrary just for the sake of being contrary. And sometimes that’s true. Guess I see no harm in that. I’m playing with life. Having fun. –Jim Broede

We can do better in Alzheimer care.

It’s too easy to write-off people with Alzheimer’s. The idea being that they can’t be reached at a certain point. And so we dismiss them. Relegate them to isolation. More or less. To minimal care. Maybe tucked away in a nursing home. Without any meaningful stimulation. Mentally. Physically. We class them as zombies. Unreachable. I get that impression from some care-givers. They’ve given up. Maybe because they’re exhausted. And frustrated. They accept that their patient/loved one can’t be helped any more. I strongly disagree. I think that virtually every Alzheimer patient can be reached. Right up to the end. But they need to be placed in stimulating environments. Immersed in good vibes. Morning. Noon. And night. Some care-givers tell me that’s wasted effort. That the brain has been irreparably damaged. Beyond any hope of help. And that if I don’t see it, I’m blind. I’ll acknowledge it takes far more effort than the average care-giver is willing to give. Or even qualified to give. But that shouldn’t stop us as a society from doing something about it. Maybe by establishing Alzheimer care units. With personnel specially trained to handle Alzheimer patients. Knowing full well that everyone of them can be helped. With proper care. –Jim Broede

I can settle for a Sardinian beach.

When I travel, I don’t need the historic grandeur of Prague or Budapest or Rome. Although those cities would be nice. Instead, I can just as easily settle for a desolate Sardinian beach on the Mediterranean Sea. Even in the wintertime. Which really isn’t a bona fide winter. Because I’m from Minnesota. I like nice and quiet places. Away from the hustle and bustle. Away from the crowds. Away from the tourists. I could just as easily settle for the middle of a primeval forest. Or an isolated mountain top. Those are my kinds of places. Maybe where one doesn’t see any sign of civilization. I can take these places alone. Or in the company of my Italian true love. Preferably, the latter. And when I go to a place, I like to stay for a relatively long time. Not merely a few days. Better that it be for a few months. Or maybe a year or two. I don’t have to hop-scotch all over creation. And I wouldn’t mind having the sense of being lost. Where nobody could find me. But don’t get me wrong. I want to go to Prague and Budapest and Rome. And so many other cities. All I’m saying is that I can settle for a Sardinian beach. That’s my Paradise. –Jim Broede

Easy to put on a brave front.

I had a toothache for two weeks. Maybe three. I lost track of time. It was not pleasant. The pain/discomfort would come and go with too much regularity. My dentist sent me to an endodonist, a specialist in root canals. But he wasn’t sure which tooth was the culprit. Because dental pain can be sort of elusive. The tooth that seems to be hurting may not really be hurting. Because of intricate dental nerve system miscommunication to the brain. That’s new knowledge for me. Anyway, the endodonist played it conservatively. To see what else might happen. So we can be sure we have the right tooth. Better than making a mistake. And doing an unnecessary root canal. So I went on an antibiotic. While we played the waiting game. I had a pain pill prescription. If needed. For the most part, I put up with the pain. Stoically. And I let my friends and acquaintances know it. That I’m a brave guy. No sissy me. But to tell the truth, I wanted relief. Pronto. Yesterday. Or better yet, last week. But finally, at 8 this morning. I went in for the root canal. On tooth number 3. Dentists have an intricate numbering system. Other dentists will know what tooth that is. Anyway, I’m feeling better. But they’ve given me a bottle of pain pills. Just in case. But so far, so very good. It's easy to put on a brave front. When the pain is pretty much gone. –Jim Broede

For the Cubs, an historic feat.

It was an historic night for my Chicago Cubs, according to the Elias Sports Bureau, which noted they were 0-567 on the road in franchise history when trailing by eight or more runs in the sixth inning or later. Now they are 1-567. The Cubs have yet to win three games in a row this season. But last night, after trailing the Washington Nationals 8-0 in the 6th inning, the Cubs rallied and won the game 10-9. Which may be an achievement about as rare as a major league baseball team being unable to win three straight games during a 162-game season. So many chances. So much futility. Anyway, a Cubs fan savors whatever he can get. Especially a rare, unbelievable win after trailing 8-0 in the 6th inning. Yes, one never knows when history is gonna be made. At least, when we are dealing with the Chicago Cubs. A team that hasn’t won a World Series since 1908. –Jim Broede