I'm becoming Italianized.

I like to circulate with real Italians. In the Italian city where I live in autumn and winter, Italians are communists and socialists. Yes, leftists. How refreshing. And I tell them they should be ashamed of some Italian Americans. For having become corrupted by American politics. I cite Antonin Scalia, the associate justice on the U.S. Supreme Court. The most conservative of the nine justices. Seems to me he allows politics to enter into his judicial decisions. Republican-oriented politics. Funny thing, Scalia is becoming more and more Americanized. And I'm becoming more and more Italianized. --Jim Broede

Modernizing the Supreme Court.

I'll tell you what's wrong with the U.S. Supreme Court. Too many lawyers. Every single justice on the court, dating back to John Jay, has been a lawyer. Each one either attended law school, took law classes, was admitted to the bar, or practiced law. But there's no prerequisite that a lawyer must be appointed to the court. Laymen can be appointed. Guys like me. I'd make a better justice than Antonin Scalia. For one thing, I'd give the court more balance. A non-lawyer's point of view. I'd look for legal precedent/basis for my decisions. I'd listen to the lawyers. But I'd not necessarily buy into their legalese. I'd tell Scalia, to his face, to quit with the bull shit. He and I would clash. Wouldn't bother me if a majority of the nine justices were laymen. From all sorts of professions. Outside of law. That would make for some mighty fresh perspectives. And finally bring America into the modern age. --Jim Broede

To each his own.

I don't care what the framers of the U.S. Constitution meant. Because many of their thoughts are outdated. Their ideas may have been fine for the 18th century. For their times. But we're living in the 21st century. And times have changed. It's necessary to live by different rules and standards than did the framers of the constitution. So let's adapt. But the scary thing is that the longest serving justice on the Supreme Court, Antonin Scalia, wants us all to abide by what the framers meant and intended. No deviation. At least that's the message I heard from Scalia last night in an hour-long interview on C-Span. Scalia's critics, mostly liberals, have accused him of being a strict constructionist. Favoring absolutely no deviation from the original intent of the framers. Guess I'm a liberal. Because Scalia's position seems stifling. I want fresh ideas. Yes, a fresh approach to governing America. Maybe even a totally new constitution. So very many ultra conservatives sound like Scalia. They are nostalgic about the 'good old days.' When slavery was part of our economy. When women were denied equal rights. Yes, folks, think about life in the 18th century. Is that what we really want? Sure, we were allowed to carry weapons/firearms. But that was mostly muskets. I suppose I could accept that. Muskets. But not an AK-47. Not a machine gun capable of firing 100 rounds in a minute. That's almost as fast as the words that come out of Scalia's mouth. Which is all right. Because I'm for free speech. So I'm gonna speak freely. About the notion that it's time for Scalia to retire. So that he can go and live in an 18th century cocoon. To each his own. --Jim Broede

It's important to carry on.

An Alzheimer care-giver wonders if she should continue to take her mother to the dentist. For teeth cleaning. Maybe the assumption is that once the mind goes, it's no longer worth investing in physical maintenance. My response? I took my dear sweet Jeanne to the dentist regularly. I went with her. To relieve any anxiety. I held her hand. Gave her confidence. And every night, I helped her brush her teeth. I brushed them for her. Diligently. Carefully. I also used picks. It was a tedious maneuver. But it worked. I also gave her a shower. Every night. Because that's what she was used to before Alzheimer's. No reason to change the routine. Good hygiene is good hygiene. With or without Alzheimer's. One doesn't stop loving and caring just because of Alzheimer's. It's important to carry on. --Jim Broede

Live the magnificent life.

I know people -- some of 'em being my friends -- that have a nagging fear that something might go wrong in their lives. Maybe because they always try to get ahead of themselves. They project into a somewhat bleak future. I encourage them to stop it. To just live today. Happily. And not worry/fret about tomorrow. Instead, I remind them that they have dealt with life in a good manner so far. And there's no reason to doubt their future continuing to unfold nicely. Have confidence in the forthcoming twists and turns of life. Keep reminding themselves about what's going right. Enough of forebodings. Yes, things go wrong occasionally. But relatively minor things. They've been able to cope. Instead of magnifying the relatively little things that have gone wrong, put the emphasis and focus on the things going right. Try to be a romantic idealist. Magnify the magnificence of life. Remember, we are magnificent people. Live as such. --Jim Broede

The rabbits set a good example.

Complaining about life gets one only so far. At some point, one must stop complaining. And get on with life. In pursuit of happiness. Used to be that I complained endlessly about the unchangeable things. Such as weather and politics. Still do complain. But less and less. Instead, I keep searching for things which I love. And at the top of my list is life itself. So I've learned to savor something. Every day. Doesn't matter if something goes wrong. Because I can always find something that has gone right. And that's my focus. Often, it's little things. Such as a moment of pleasure. I've put peanuts out on my deck. And I'm watching a tiny red squirrel fetch 'em, one by one. He picks up the peanuts, rolls 'em over in his paws and then romps off. To bury the peanuts. To stash 'em away when times may be tough. Yes, his way of opening a savings account at the peanut bank. Meanwhile, I've tossed out some fresh carrots. Waiting for the next show. Rabbits coming on stage. Unlike the squirrels, they eat the carrots on the scene, right away. Too many to eat all at once. So they go home. And come back again when they are hungry. The rabbits have faith that the carrots won't go away in their absence. Knowing full well that the squirrels don't eat carrots. But even if the squirrels did, the rabbits wouldn't complain. They set a good example for me. To stop complaining. And just enjoy life. One day at a time. --Jim Broede

In search of a refreshing life.

Fellow Americans, we deserve better. A better politic. A better economy. A better social system. But we ain't gonna get it. Because we act as if we don't deserve better. Instead, we settle for idiot and corrupt politicians, greedy capitalism and a society divided into the elites and not-so-elites. But hey, I'm selfish. Like most Americans. But selfish in different ways than most of you. Because I flee the country every fall. For Italy, for the paradisical island of Sardinia in the Mediterranean Sea. To live with my Italian true love. For six months. I've decided not to limit my total allegiance to America any more. I'm a citizen of the world. Yes, I have an attitude. That I deserve something better. Better than America. And because it's impractical for me to change America, I'll go elsewhere for a while. In pursuit of my kind of love and happiness. I'm able to escape. To throw off the shackles of being an American by happenstance. I go to where I feel more free, more at ease, more happy. I'm still an American. But I'm a bit sad over what America has become. Especially in the political realm. Therefore, I need to take a break from America. In search of fresh air and fresh ways and fresh love. --Jim Broede

No hell for me.

No doubt, I'm held in low esteem by some Republicans and Christians. Because I'm not a Republican nor a Christian. Instead, I'm a political liberal who'd rather me a socialist or a communist than a Republican or Democrat. And though I was raised a Christian and graduated from a Christian college and served as a deacon in a Christian church, I've seen a new kind of light. As a free-thinker and freelance monotheist. I steer clear of organized religions. And I also try to ignore American politics. For the sake of my sanity. Because Republicans, in particular, happen to be corrupt and close-minded. For the most part, that is. There may be an open-minded Republican, but I suspect he/she has been drummed out of the party. Republicans march in lock-step. Like robots. Amazing how often they vote unanimously. In unison. Reminds me a little bit of the unswerving, unquestioning allegiance Nazis pledged to their leader. A very dangerous thing. Difficult for me to fathom. Anyway, some ultra conservative Christians and ultra conservative Republicans think of me as immoral and evil and headed straight to hell. But that doesn't faze me. Because I'm moral, a nice guy and headed to Paradise. No hell for me. --Jim Broede

Makes me sad and disappointed.

Maybe I'm being too judgmental. But hey, I gotta be honest about it. I think Mitt Romney is an indecent human being. A liar. A cheat. A hypocrite. I don't trust the guy. Especially if he's in a position of power. Such as president of the United States. I trust Barack Obama. Because he's a decent human being. Shows that I also can be judgmental in a nice and positive way. But for now, I'm convinced that Romney is a scoundrel. He's constantly changing his positions on political, economic and social issues. Taking whatever position best suits his audience of the moment. He takes liberal positions if he's running for governor in liberal Massachusetts. And he takes ultra conservative positions when he's seeking the Republican nomination for president. His fellow Republicans even see through Romney. They know what he is. Indecent as indecent can be. But they still tolerate him. Because they'd rather have an indecent lying president than a decent honest president. Republicans are generally opposed to human decency. Yes, opposed to political compromise. That's supposed to be the nature/essence of politics. Compromise. Accommodation. For the sake of decency and fairness. So that both sides get something. For a long time, that was the American way. That made America great and decent. But now America has become weak and indecent. Because of the likes of indecent politicians/human beings such as Romney. Makes me sad and disappointed. --Jim Broede

I'm also an artist. A painter.

I'm an artist. A painter. That's how I glamorize what I'm doing. Painting the house. Makes me feel a little bit like an artist. Because I occasionally step back, and observe what I'm doing. And it looks beautiful. Magnificent. And I'm getting a bonus. Good exercise. Especially with my arms and upper body. Which helps keep me in shape. Usually, my true aerobic exercise is limited to 30 miles of biking in a day, or 10 miles of walking/jogging. But now I've learned to enjoy my artistic venture. The house needed painting. It was a dull brown. Something called russet. Now there's a slight reddish tinge to the brown. The color is called majolica twig. I kid you not. I bought a 5-gallon bucket of the paint. It's a good quality paint. Or so the salesman told me. Their best. Think it cost $165. Might be enough to coat the entire house. I'm about 60 percent done. And looks to me like 40 percent of the paint remains. I bought a paint sprayer. But decided to use brushes instead. Two of 'em. A 3-incher and a 4-incher. Good quality brushes. I'm told that such brushes help to make a good artist. Anyway, I confess that I hired someone to prepare the house for painting. To scrape the old paint. Because the place hasn't been painted in at least five years. The place was looking weathered. When I started, thought my pursuit would be work. But really, it's turned out to be pure pleasure. Now I think of myself as more than a romantic idealist, a free-thinker on spiritual matters, a political liberal, a lover and a dreamer. I'm also an artist. A painter. --Jim Broede

My poor taste neighbors.

I don't have to work hard to determine who not to vote for in local, state and national elections. My neighbors tell me. Without even talking to me. Instead, I notice their lawn signs. And that gives more than a clue. The candidates my neighbors support are not my kind of politicians/people. Turns out my neighbors are mostly ultra conservatives. Good-for-nothing Republicans. They back ridiculous candidates. One's I can't stomach. Signs are going up now for state legislative races. For candidates I've never heard of before. But I automatically know they are the bad ones. Because they have the endorsements of my poor taste neighbors. --Jim Broede

A scary possibility.

Mitt Romney says Barack Obama is to blame for the sour economy. For the high unemployment rate. For the budget deficit. For just about everything that's wrong with the USA. But I personally tend to spread the blame. Republicans are as much to blame as Democrats. The economy started going bad under a Republican administration. Yes, during eight years of George Bush. And when it comes to solutions, the Republican-controlled Congress could take charge and initiate solutions. Instead, Republicans merely sit on their hands and fat asses and block virtually anything that Obama proposes. When it comes to solving problems, a do-nothing Republican Congress ain't doing the job. But I take solace. The economy is getting a little bit better. Despite the Republicans. Because Obama's administration is moving us in the right direction. Fixing what Republicans broke. But it's gonna take more than four years. Took a lot longer to get us into this Republican-induced debacle. With costly wars and deregulation of the financial sector and irresponsible greedy capitalism. And then there's the irony of it all. Mitt Romney wants a return to the same policies that got us into this horrid mess. But there's something even more scary. The possibility that Romney wins and America loses. --Jim Broede

Something even worse than death.

I had to turn off the TV the other night. Because I was getting sick. Upset, really. Horrified by what I was learning. About some American soldiers. That survived wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. Thousands of 'em. They had lost limbs. Some of 'em multiple limbs. Even four soldiers that had lost both arms and both legs. All they had left were their torsos and heads. Makes me think they'd be better off dead. I shudder at the thought. But that's the wonder of modern medicine and modern surgery. One can be kept alive from the gravest of wounds. Some of the soldiers have returned home. To young wives that they married just before their departure to war zones. My guess is that many of the marriages won't last. Because the wives are becoming care-givers. With extraordinary responsibilities. Yes, love is being put to ultimate tests. Meanwhile, I hear about the casualties of war. The deaths. But seems to me, there's something even worse than death. --Jim Broede

Getting on equal footing with god.

I wonder how true believers define god. I suspect they can't. Because god is undefinable. My guess is that god ain't physical. Maybe not even a spirit. Not a he or a she. And beyond human comprehension. That makes it relatively easy believing in god. Because one doesn't really have a concrete idea about what god is. Believing in god is believing in an abstract beyond human comprehension. Of course, I believe in abstracts. That's part of my nature. My essence. My being. For instance, I have no doubt that there's teeming life elsewhere in the cosmos. In other dimensions. Yes, beyond my comprehension as a human. I wanna believe, too, in no limit to human evolution. Some day, humans may even evolve into an intelligent form of life. Yes, I know that some humans already believe that we are intelligent. But that's an illusion. It ain't so. We're a pretty stupid lot. Until we get on equal footing with god. And believe me, that's gonna take forever. --Jim Broede

Even unmitigated crap.

Barack Obama is a killer. A calculated, vicious killer. In that he has authorized the killing of certain people. By drones. So-called enemies of America. They are blown out of existence. By explosives. Launched from drones. Think about it. Someday, our enemies will have drones. They will have the ability to blast away. At the president of the United States. Or almost anyone they choose. Amazing, isn't it? The new, sophisticated weaponry. One can easily kill. From a distance. From thousands of miles away. By remote control. Chances are that a drone will be able to carry an atomic bomb some day. And wipe out an entire city. No limits to human technology. No need to create a vast army anymore. When a drone or two can do the job. Imagine the power that comes with access to a single drone. Makes Obama the most powerful man in the universe. Maybe even more powerful than gawd himself. At least gawd doesn't interfer. Just lets things happen. Naturally. Even unmitigated crap. --Jim Broede

Racism is racism is racism.

Maybe one needs to be black to fully understand being the target of racism. I'm white. Living in a racist society. But so much of my early life was isolated from the impacts of racial discrimination. Growing up in southeast Wisconsin. Only one black family in town. An oddity. At college, only two black students. From Ghana, in Africa. So unusual. Remember their names to this day. Noah Dzoba and Christian Agbola. As a teen-ager, I spent parts of summer with relatives. In Chicago. That was really my first direct exposure to racial discrimination. My relatives didn't like blacks. Or Jews, for that matter. And my uncle Carl didn't like Italians. Which is a bit ironic and amusing. Because my true love is Italian. And I now live in Italy half-time. I love the place. Maybe more than America. Another thing. I like black people. More than some white folks. And I find Jews generally open-minded and politically and socially liberal. Like me. I'm far more at odds with conservative Christians than I am with Jews. Anyway, when I was in the Army in the late 1950s, I enjoyed the camaraderie. Because the military was fully integrated. Unlike the rest of society. I liked my black comrades. Certainly more than white racists/rednecks. Of which there were plenty. Wasn't until I was discharged and became a civilian again that I saw racism at its worst. In Floridsa. Heart of the Jim Crow south. Where I wrote for newspapers in the early 1960s. Before civil rights legislation. In Vero Beach. Nary a black family in town. Instead, blacks lived in a ghetto. Called Gifford. Segregation. Apartheid. Blacks bused past white schools. To under-financed, inferior black schools. Separate drinking fountains. Separate beaches. Separate everything. All this 20 years after World War II. When holier-than-thou Americans catigated Nazis for war crimes, for the Holocaust. While at the same time lynching black people in America. And denying black people basic human and civil rights. Even to this day, blacks are denied equal status. Albeit, in more subtle ways. But still, discrimination is discrimination. Unfairness is still unfairness. Racism is racism is racism. --Jim Broede

Love is the only way.

I'm longing for a sense of community. And not finding it. At least, not here in America. Maybe there's more community spirit in Italy. And in Europe, generally. Makes me thankful to live in Italy for about half of the year. With my Italian true love. America worships individualism. To the detriment of community. Instead of the common good, it's an everybody-for-himself mentality. An ever-widening gap between the rich and the poor. Survival of the richest. Uncaring about the other fella. The indivdual self comes first and foremost. The ruling class/the rich elite abhor socialism. Instead, America's sacred credo is capitalism. Greed. Get monetarily rich. At the expense of others. Exploitation, a virtue. Sharing of wealth, abhorrent. Maybe I should fight it. Work for change. Perhaps a revolution. But all that takes time. And wasted effort. It can't be accomplished in a lifetime. Meanwhile, I must find happiness. Not tomorrow. But now. Love is the only way. --Jim Broede

There's no stopping me.

I don't wait for a leader to turn me on. Because that would mean waiting forever. Anyway, I abhor the game of follow-the-leader. No thank you. I'll lead my own parade. Lead my own life. In a sense, I create my own world. My little niche. My cocoon. Doesn't matter who's in political power. Thing is, most politicians are odious people. Mitt Romney. George Bush. Michele Bachmann. Newt Gingrich. Almost any Republican. Instead, I surround myself with a select few friends. And my Italian true love. That's sufficient. Yes, it's recognition that I ain't gonna change the world. So I adapt. The best way I can. Refusing to be dragged down. By disappointment. By world events. By the rulers/leaders of the world. I try to isolate myself from the ravages. By falling in love. Which means, there's no stopping me. --Jim Broede

No time for the 'big things.'

A dear friend wants me to make a big difference. To find a way to effect significant change on the world stage. Yes, I'm supposed to think big. But I prefer thinking small. Because small things are my personal big things. I fully understand/comprehend that I have no control over commonly accepted big things. Such as political, economic and social matters/issues. These sorts of things just happen. Doesn't matter what I think and do. My vote at election time, for instance, never counts. It wouldn't make any difference whether or not I went to the polls. My influence is limited to my little niche on planet Earth. At most, I influence a handful of friends and acquaintances. And my Italian true love. That's about it. I focus mostly on being a good lover. That's my prime mission in life. It isn't to be a politician or a revolutionary or a big player. I settle for being a romantic idealist, a political liberal, a free-thinker on spiritual matters and a dreamer. Those small roles suit me. But first and foremost, I'm a lover. Of life. And of my true love, of course. That keeps me delightfully occupied. Gives me no time for the so-called 'big things.' --Jim Broede

So much better to be a lover.

Dear friends. I want every letter I write to be a love letter. An expression of my love. Of life. Even when I gripe and complain about politics. And about the crimes of capitalism. About all the injustices in the world. Still, I'm telling all of you that I'm in love. With life. I don't wanna trade life for anything. I savor life. Daily. Without miss. Love is what makes life worthwhile. I can't live without love. I even love the things that might be construed as the things I despise or reject. Gives me a sense of freedom. I'm free to make choices. I'm not compelled to live as a robot. Oh, so much better to be a lover. --Jim Broede

My specialty: The love letter.

I've cultivated human contacts. Significant ones. Even with people I've never formally met face to face. In person. Some of 'em are marvelous. Amazing. We've written to each other. Attracted by words. Could be that we will never meet any other way. Yet I know 'em better than people I see and encounter virtually every day. That's the power of written language. Seems to me that a letter is a form of literature. Especially an exchange of letters. I write and receive letters that pulsate with life. Words become alive and meaningful. I hardly go a day without writing a love letter. Oh, so much better than writing a novel or a short story or a poem. I'm a writer. And my specialty is the love letter. --Jim Broede

Am I a creator or the creator?

I'm different. In that I'm an individual. But then, I'm also the same. Because we're all individuals. This makes me both comfortable and uncomfortable. In some ways, I don't fit into this world that I find myself in. But I've also learned to adapt. To fit in. Because I'm in love. With life. With existence. With being very much alive and conscious. But still, I'm very much unaware of what's going on. I'm feeling my way. I'm significantly more conscious than I was at birth. Or even a few years ago. I'm guessing about what lies ahead. Something called death, for instance. I'm not sure what that means. Maybe that I no longer exist. Or is it that I enter another dimension? Another, more profound form of consciousness? Interesting, isn't it? That I'm able to think about the future. To imagine all sorts of scenarios. Maybe that's what I like most about life. The ability to imagine. Maybe that's the essence of life. An imaginative dream. No more. No less. That's my reality. The ultimate dream. Which allows me to be a creator. Or maybe the creator. --Jim Broede

How I became a good care-giver.

I encourage my friends to put themselves first. To give top priority to their own physical, mental and spiritual health. In other words, to learn how to be the world's best care-giver. By caring for themselves. Because over the period of a lifetime, that'll make 'em more caring of others in their lives. Especially loved ones. Maybe I learned all that when I was my dear sweet wife Jeanne's care-giver during her 13-year seige with Alzheimer's. Jeanne died in 2007. I didn't debut as a good care-giver. But I ended up as a very good care-giver. Because I gradually learned how to take good care of myself. By getting adequate respite. I was an inadequate care-giver when I went at it 24/7. That left me exhausted. Mentally. Physically. Spiritually. For the sake of my own survival, I had to get daily respite. I put Jeanne into a nursing home. For 38 months. And I showed up daily. Didn't miss a single day. And I was with Jeanne generally 8 to 10 hours a day. Care-giving. I supplmented the care of the professional care-givers at the nursing home. With highly personalized care. With zest, love and passion. I learned to enjoy care-giving. And I was doing it the right way. Because I was rested. I went home by 10 o'clock every night. And I didn't return until late morning the next day. Jeanne thrived under those conditions. And so did I. I was able to give Jeanne daily romps outdoors in a custom-made wheelchair. Able to hand-feed her lunch and supper in the peaceful privacy of her room. Able to give her nightly, bedtime showers. Yes, able to do what a care-giver really should be doing. With loving fervor. Because I care-fully tended to my own physical, mental and spiritual health. --Jim Broede

A pretty stupid bunch.

More tax cuts for the rich, more financial deregulation. Yes, that's all I hear from Republicans. From Mitt Romney. Exactly what we got for eight years under George Bush. Republicans and Romney haven't learned from past mistakes. Instead, they want more of the same. Over and over and over again. Imagine what these past four years would have been like if a Republican had been elected president instead of Barack Obama. Far worse than it is today. Obama has tried to make things better. Over the hateful and racist and immoral opposition of Republicans. He's made strides. But Republicans and Romney have been praying for Obama to fail. Because they think that Americans are stupid. That they have forgotten that it was Republicans that got America into this mess in the first place. And lord knows, maybe most Americans have forgotten. Which makes us a pretty stupid bunch. --Jim Broede

The parade of the souless.

Mitt Romney says he wants an apology from Barack Obama. For personal insults. That's amusing. And typical of politicians. They really owe each other apologies. For acting like scumbags. For playing dirty politics. For being liars. For being disrespectful of each other. But they never blame themselves. It's always the other guy. Maybe it's time that politicians recognized exactly what they are. Politicians. Yes, scoundrels. Dirty, rotten characters. Capable of selling their souls. At relatively low prices. I'm seeing all this unfold. On the American political scene. I rub my eyes. Wish it was in disbelief. But it's political reality. Souless politicians. Because they have sold their souls. In attempts to get ahead in politics. Yes, Mitt Romney. You are leading the parade. The parade of the souless. --Jim Broede

Escape, I tell my friends.

Escape the noise and turmoil. That's what I tell some of my friends. Settle for a relatively cheap vacation. A few days away. In a remote corner. Yes, indulge yourself. Save your sanity. Trust that everything will work out. Don't allow yourself to be inconvenienced by the negatives in your life. Your money/resources are better spent on a vacation than on other material things. Tell people that you have to get away. That you are dying -- dying to get away. And that you are leaving civilization for a month. And that you cannot be reached. And that you are in no hurry to return. That you have other commitments. Higher priorities. That you come first. And that others in your life come second. That you have to take care of yourself. That you have to learn to live. The right way. Life is too short to do it any other way. --Jim Broede

Sure beats the harsh vitriolic.

I'm disenchanted. With the political situation in America. Disenchanted mostly with Republicans. Though I'm not always enamored with the Democrats. Anyway, not much I can do to change the political climate. Another reason for me to spend more time in Italy. My adopted country in the autumn and winter. Politics are bad in Italy, too. Though there's some improvement. With the departure of prime minister Silvio Berlusconi. At least Berlusconi was a little bit entertaining. A buffoon. I don't find any Republican entertaining. Because they are mostly scumbags. Or at best, robots. Marching in lock-step. Or maybe it's the goosestep perfected by Nazi soldiers. Anyway, I have adapted to political reality. It stinks. But I hold my nose and get on with the rest of life. The pursuit of happiness. And a loving relationship. Yes, I have many reasons to love life. Therefore, that's my focus. And much of each day, I shove thoughts of politics aside. No TV. No radio. I prefer silence. Or the sounds of nature. Chirping birds. A howling lone wolf. My purring cat. Sure beats the harsh vitriolic of politicians. --Jim Broede

Yes, I gotta admit. I'm happy.

I'm happy. Basically happy. Because I have good health. And love in my life. Helps, too, that I have social security and a pension. To help tide me over in retirement. I'm 76. And I retired at age 62. Seems like a long time ago. And I live in Italy (Sardinia) almost half of the year. With my Italian true love. The other half in Minnesota. On a lake. Only an hour's drive from the core of St. Paul and Minneapolis. Not a bad life. Considering everything. Suppose the bottom will drop out some day. I'll lose my good health. Or I'll drop dead first. Meanwhile, I'm trying to make the most/best of the time that's left. Pretty much taking life one day at a time. Trying to savor something. Daily. I've had ups and downs in life. My dear sweet wife Jeanne died in 2007. After a 13-year bout with Alzheimer's. We were married for 38 years. But I've gotten on with life. With another love. And I continue to write. Every day. In my blog. After spending much of my life as a journalist. Writing for newspapers. And I've evolved. Into a romantic idealist, a spiritual free-thinker, a political liberal, a lover, a dreamer. Not bad pursuits. Yes, I gotta admit. I'm happy. --Jim Broede

I'm a true patriot. Off to war.

The upcoming national election is about warfare. And rightly, it should be. About class warfare. The rich against the rest of us. It's time to recognize that the rich have long been in control of politics in America. We Americans live in a plutocracy. Not a democracy. Therefore, the rich keep getting richer, and the poor keep getting poorer. The middle class is rapidly vanishing. If the present trend continues, one will either end up rich or poor. No middle ground any more. Mitt Romney is an advocate for the rich. The elite. The money-grubbers. Big business. The millionaires and the billionaires. Barack Obama is an advocate for the poor and the middle class. It's that simple, folks. A vote for Romney is for continuing down the path of an ever-widening gap between the rich and the poor. I know where my vote is going. For a narrowing of the dreadful, obscene income gap. For Barack Obama. Yes, I've chosen up sides. It's war. Class warfare. I've enlisted. I'm a true patriot. Off to war. Trying to save America. --Jim Broede

'How wonderful!'

Amazing. I discover something amazing every day. Merely by looking. By keeping my eyes and mind and heart open. Fully open. Every day I see a horizon. A new horizon. Not quite like the one I saw yesterday. So I go exploring. I head for the horizon. Just so I can see what's beyond. Just over the horizon. And always, there's something new to discover. To behold. I don't know when I saw my first horizon. It was long ago. Wasn't sure what it was. But I learned. That the horizon led me to the great beyond. Some horizons even go beyond the cosmos. Beyond creation. Into a timeless dimension. Into eternity. And I'm left to exclaim, 'How wonderful!' --Jim Broede

I ain't a politician.

I'd never succeed as a politician. Because I'd speak my mind. And I'd displease my constituents. Without regret. Without apology. I'd work for the common good. That would make me unpopular. I'd be called a socialist and a communist. And not mind it. Better that than being called a capitalist. And even worse, a Republican. I'd not stand a chance in my congressional district. Because my representative is Michele Bachmann. Imagine catering to the crowd of ultra conservatives that elected her. I'd find that impossible. Overall, Minnesota is supposed to be a fairly liberal state. Minnesota once elected liberal Paul Wellstone to the U.S. Senate. And the latest to be elected is comedian Al Franken. But I live in what may be Minnesota's most conservative district. Full of rich Republicans. And poor and ordinary people stupid enough to vote for Republicans. That's another reason why I'd be an unsuccessful politician. I'd alienate all the stupid people. By calling 'em downright stupid. Can't tell a lie. Little wonder I ain't a politician. --Jim Broede

The sorrow turned to joy.

I've discovered a new piece of music. Made my day. It's Henryk Gorecki's Symphony #3. Called the symphony of Sorrowful Songs. But I felt joy. Unrestrained joy. In the tranquility of it. In the soothing expression of sorrow. It was so beautiful. The sorrow turned to joy. I was mesmerized. By the slow, methodical beauty. Slow. Slow. Slow. That is my kind of beauty. It comes on slowly. Gives me time to savor. Every little bit. As if time is coming to a halt. That allows me to capture beauty. As I listened. I gasped. I proclaimed, 'My gawd, how beautiful.' Maybe it's just me. Gorecki reaches me. More than Beethoven. More than Mozart. The symphony lasts for an hour and 20 minutes. A lifetime. See if you agree with me. Listen. Experience it. On youtube. Here's how to get to it: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SV2P35Rj61A&feature=related

I'm scared.

I sense a mean-spirtedness about certain people. Not all people. There are kind-hearted people, too. Maybe even more kindly souls and spirits than mean ones. I suspect the vast majority are more or less indifferent. Blase. In the middle. Not kind. Not mean. Neutral. Mean-spirited people scare me. Disappoint me, too. Make me sad. Because they try to make others miserable. One way or another. They persecute. Become grossly unfair. Unjust. Mean just for the sake of being mean. Seemingly intelligent and respectable people sometimes become mean. Swept up in social/political movements. Happened in Nazi Germany. Normally good people turned bad. The good thing is that some of 'em turned good again. Recognized their mistakes. Their drift to the dark side. Probably goes on everywhere. Even here in America. I'm seeing it in the political realm. America could easily go over the edge. Into the abyss. Where the mean-spirited prevail. For the moment. That's all it takes. A moment in time. Like it did in Nazi Germany. With cataclysmic results. I don't want that to happen in America. I dread the thought. Yes, the mean-spirited really do scare me. --Jim Broede

A good detective finds out.

A bouquet of flowers was left at my back door yesterday. Immersed in a pail of water. And now I have the flowers -- yellow gladiolas -- in a blue vase on my desk. So nice. I don't know for sure who left the flowers. Though I have a hunch. Anyway, it's the kind of gesture one expects from true friends. Which means I have at least one. The flowers led to another bonus. Prompted me to connect with my Italian true love, on Skype (audio/video hook-up), in Sardinia. I showed her the flowers. But more important, I saw her beautiful countenance. In other words, I had myself an extra vision of loveliness. That's what she is. Now my true love wonders if I have a secret admirer. Because there was no note left with the flowers. But I'm a good detective. I'll find out. --Jim Broede

No secrets.

My tendency is to let things hang out. Moreso than most people. Which means I'm not very secretive. Maybe that's because I made a living as a journalist. As a writer for newspapers. I tackled politicians. Mostly on the local level. Mayors and city council members. At the grassroots level of government. Some of the more astute and ambitious local yokels made their way up the political ladder. To higher office. To the county and state and beyond. I even got into the game of local politics. Actively. For a short while. By getting elected to a three-year term on the local school board. Indeed, it was a worthwhile learning experience. Taught me to observe politics from inside. But decided I'd rather be on the sidelines. Rather than be immersed as an active, corrupted player. Better to be the spectator. The observer. One thing I discovered. Most people that get into politics have egos. In many instances, gigantic egos. That, more than anything, motivates 'em. The bigger the ego, the more likely that one will become a career politician. A true blue political manipulator. Many politicians could pursue alternate careers. As actors. They learn how to play many roles. So much so that sometimes it's hard to tell who they really are. Little wonder that a B-grade professional actor made it all the way to the White House. By becoming A-grade. I suspect that many, many of the world's political leaders, with a bit of professional training, could become first-class Shakespearean actors. No doubt about it, one needs acting abilities to fully succeed in the political realm. I'm fully capable of acting. But I don't particularly like doing it. Because I have the ultimate urge to be my self. My true self. It's all right to fake it. For a little while. For amusement sake. But hey, I want my friends to see the real me. No secrets. --Jim Broede

A friend is a friend.

I have two very particular friends. R. in Missouri. And C. in North Carolina. Both are very nice human beings. That I've known for almost a decade. I consider 'em both true friends. Even though only R. may think of me as a true friend. Because she comes close to accepting me unconditionally. C. tends to attach conditions. Which is all right. I still consider her a true friend. Because I'm able to accept her unconditionally. She doesn't have to reciprocate. Seems to me that's the nature of true friendship. It doesn't have to be a two-way street. For me, a friend is a friend. No matter what. I always try to be there for my friend in time of need. But the friend doesn't have to be there for me. --Jim Broede

Only one best friend.

Once upon a time, thought I had very few friends. Maybe only one or two or three. That everybody else was an aquaintance. Or a stranger. But I've been giving the friendship matter more thought. I really have many, many friends. So many that I can't give proper attention to 'em all. I'd be spreading myself far too thin. So I end up ignoring some friends. Because I can't get around to all of 'em. That's kind of sad, isn't it? Maybe it's easier pretending that I have only a handful of true friends. That gives me an illusion that I ain't ignoring anybody. Anyway, I'm still of the mind that I have only one true love. Can't handle more than one. Because true love requires my complete devotion. Oh, maybe I'm supposed to love all of humanity. But that's preposterous. Can't do it, no matter how hard I try. But I can love one other. Much easier to focus on one than on many. Same goes with friends. I have only one best friend. My true love. --Jim Broede

Impossible to keep a secret.

Come to think of it, maybe the typical human being lives a very limited life. Rarely seeing much beyond one's nose. Oh, he/she tunes in a newscast on TV or radio. Or glances at a newspaper. Maybe takes to the Internet. But for the most part one lives in a tiny, relatively remote part of the world. One doesn't get around. One seldom, if ever, travels abroad. Never directly acquaints one's self with other cultures. Instead, one is too busy just going about one's routine humdrum. If questioned at the end of the day, one can't recall even one significant thing. One hasn't savored a single moment. Maybe I'm all wrong about this. And I'm very typical. Because I love life. I have something to savor every day. Because I'm in love. With someone or something. Maybe everybody falls in love. But I see many, many people around me. Unhappy people. People in the doldrums. And they just don't seem happy. Maybe deep down and underneath, they are joyful and jubilant. And just hiding it all. So that they don't let other people know that they are in love with life. They're keeping it secret. But that seems so strange. I find it almost impossible to keep a secret. --Jim Broede

Romney's heart and soul.

Mitt Romney told the National Association of Colored People the other day that blacks would support him. If only they knew what was in his heart. That leaves me puzzled. Why doesn't Romney tell 'em what's in his heart? He could easily have taken the time to speak his heart in an address to the NAACP. But he didn't. And I suspect that's because he's a liar. He knows full well that if he spoke his heart, he'd be branded a racist. Probably because he is a racist. After all, Romney is a Mormon. And Mormons have been long associated with racism. Maybe not as much today as yesterday. But still, Mormons have been known for their racist ways. Something about Romney. I doubt that he ever speaks from his heart. About his true beliefs. Because he's a politician. He wants to be elected president. And in the process, he finds it necessasry to cater to his conservative, racist base. Romney is willing to write-off black votes if in the process he can win more white votes. Romney favors white people and monetarily rich people. He really ain't for the middle class and minorities. Because in his heart and soul, he's for giving the rich a bigger and bigger advantage. At the expense/sacrifice of everybody else. --Jim Broede

The totally ignorant and clueless.

Give the American public a test. To determine what people really know about the Affordable Health Care Act, also known as Obamacare. And I'll bet that most Americans hardly have a clue. They're ignorant. They lack the vital details. Recent polls show that the American public is pretty much evenly divided over whether they like or dislike Obamacare. But opinions are based largely on sparse facts. More on sound bites. On propaganda from the two political parties. On misinformation. Thing is, we Americans don't believe all that much in education. In educating ourselves. Because it takes too much time and effort. So we form our opinions. Based very little on facts. But rather on what we're told by highly biased proponents and opponents. Yes, that's a sad state of affairs. Especially in a democracy. People are supposed to educate themselves. For a democracy to succeed. Makes me think that American democracy is failing. Badly. Badly. Badly. We've got a Republican Party that has voted 33 times in Congress to repeal and replace the Affordable Health Care Act. Unsuccessfully. Maybe because the Republicans have yet to devise an alternative. Nothing to compare. It's as if everyone is supposed to put faith in the GOP. That they'll come up with something better. But the saddest thing of all is that many opponents of Obamacare don't even know what's in it. They are totally ignorant. Clueless. --Jim Broede

We'd rather be entertained.

I've been a member of the news media most of my life. As a writer for newspapers. And I'm sort of ashamed of it. Not necessarily what it used to be. But rather what it's become. An entertainment industry. Full of inaccuracies. And bombast. For the sake of ratings. The idea is to sell a product. Something disguised as news. I was taught that journalists were supposed to be objective. To not choose up sides. To report the facts. And opinions. In fair and objective ways. But that's all changed. Now it's all right to be biased. To choose up sides. To disseminate lies. Yes, to allow politicians or anyone to speak untruths. Without calling the inaccuracies to public attention. Tune in a news program, and one has choices. One can pick one's own biases. Liberal slants. Conservative slants. Rarely do I stumble across an unbiased and objective and truthful approach to the news. Maybe that's because people no longer want fairness. They want what they want. Biased, subjective reporting. Anything that fortifies their their own distorted thinking. Maybe that's why in the political realm there's no room for compromise any more. No room for give and take. No room for objectivity. Objectivity doesn't sell. Yes, that's what we've become. A society that the news media polls. To decide what the dumb-downed public wants. And that's what we get. A dumbed-down, biased version of reality. We'd rather be entertained than truly, objectively informed. --Jim Broede

The age of misinformation.

In America, if one has excess money/moola/cash, one has freedom to spend it. Almost any way one wants. Millionaires and billionaires and maybe even a trilionaire or two can spend a cool bundle on political campaigns. On brainwashing the public/the throngs. And that's exactly what's happening. Virtually no limit on political propaganda. On stretching the truth. One can tell lies. Total distortions. On sound bites calculated to sway the multitudes. Money reigns supreme. Issues are often decided in large part by paid-for slogans. By paid-for pulsating chants. Politicians are being sold. Like products on the shelves at supermarkets. Hear a name often enough, and many of us will buy into it. Automatically. We're trained. Duped. Swayed. By advertising. By constant repetition. By drumbeats. We Americans have become experimental rats in a cage. Doing what we were trained to do. To buy into almost anything. Oh, some Americans think for themselves. But they are the minority. Maybe a very small minority. Capable of resisting the manipulators. But it's damn hard for many Americans to separate fact from fiction. Americans accept the bull shit. In unquestioning fashion. Tell a lie often enough, and it's believed. Look at the polls. And the vast number of Americans that believe Obama was foreign born. That he doesn't have a legitimate birth certificate. Preposterous, yes. But told often enough, Americans will believe that the moon landing back in 1969 was faked. A total ruse. Think of all the conspiracy theories Americans are fed. Daily. And believed. As if it's all the gospel truth. Yes, folks, we are in the information age. No, let's be more accurate. And call it the age of misinformation. The age of bull shit, bull shit and more bull shit. --Jim Broede

I'm gonna savor everything.

I'm trying to think simply. Very simply. Maybe life ain't as complex as it seems. On one hand, life is fantastic. Unbelievable. But then, I am what I am. Might as well accept it. And proceed. Instinctively. From moment to moment. Feeling my way. Doing whatever comes naturally. No sense in being frightened or bewildered by it all. Instead, I'm gonna savor life. Everything. --Jim Broede

The whole gamut.

I wanna travel. Through the cosmos. Thousands of light years away. Into other worlds. Beyond my imagination. I make journeys now. To Italy. To other places on Mother Earth. But that's far too restrictive. Too limiting. Some how. There must be a way. Maybe I need to become spirit. Able to propel myself. In an instant. To virtually any place in creation. Gawd/god/creator can do it. I wanna be one with it all. Equal to gawd/god/creator. I wanna taste and feel what it would be like to be gawd/god/creator. Maybe that's the nature of life. To be able to experience anything and everything. The whole gamut. --Jim Broede

Drifting through space and time.

I like being me. Alive. Conscious. Healthy. In love. With someone. With life. If I had my choice, I'd live like this. Forever. One day at a time. Moment to moment. Savoring it all. I'm 76, and counting. Maybe I shouldn't be counting. Maybe I should become less aware of time. I'd like to live outside of time. Where time doesn't exist. I suspect there's such a place. Where gawd/god lives. Come to think of it, I dislike the term gawd/god. Turns me off. I prefer creator. Or the force that brought me into existence. Anyway, I'm not sure what life is all about. Could be that I don't even have a clue. Though I'm thinking that I do. Which means I could be fooling me. The thing is, I'll need forever to figure it out. And maybe even then, I won't. Because, if I do, I'll be gawd/god/creator. And that's blasphemy, isn't it? Maybe I'm not supposed to make sense of anything. So I'll continue to drift. Through space and time. --Jim Broede

If I were a black man.

Occasionally, I imagine that I was born black. With everything else being essentially the same. The same human being in every other way. Same parents. Same birth place. Same environment. Same genes. Same everything. Except for my skin color. Because of some freakish circumstance, I was black. And then I wonder what difference would it have made in my life. Especially when I ventured out on my own. Away from my family. The differences would have been dramatic, I suspect. In America, and maybe much of the rest of the world, skin color makes a difference. A big difference. Often in negative ways. When really, it shouldn't. But that's the nature of racism. Skin color makes a difference. At least in some locales. I went to Florida. And worked for three years in the 1960s. Writing for newspapers. No way would I have gotten those jobs if I had been black. Even with everything else being the same. And I probably would have gotten an inferior education. Because of my blackness. I would have been forced to live in black ghettos. And I would have been denied rooms in hotels and motels. I would not have been served in most restaurants. Even today, I wouldn't be treated the way I am treated now. As a white man. Blackness still makes a difference. I would be less accepted by some white folks. Many of 'em would see me in a significantly different way. If I were a black man. --Jim Broede

In slightly different ways.

I have a devout Catholic neighbor. And she's trying to convert me. Which I find amusing. No reason for me to take offense. She's also a Republican. Very conservative. Ultra-conservative. She's a fan of our congresswoman, the mentally-disturbed Michelle Bachmann. I don't like Bachmann. But I like my neighbor. She's charming. Even though she thinks I'm going to hell. Because I'm a free-thinker. I have renounced any allegiance to organized religion. I used to be a Christian. But I've seen the light. My neighbor tells me I'm seeing the darkness. Personally, it's good that my neighbor is Catholic. And a true believer. She gets solace and comfort from it all. That's what we have in common. We both get solace and comfort. But in slightly different ways. --Jim Broede

On turning off the caring.

I talked to a professional care-giver the other day. In my neighborhood. One that cautioned me against sticking my nose into a family situation. A marital break-up. I thought that maybe intervention would be the right and caring thing. To inquire. To see if one can be of any help. To just ask, 'How are you holding up? Is there anything I can do?' Anyway, the care-giver advised steering clear of the matter. But that seems so uncaring. But hey, maybe a professional care-giver knows more than I. But I followed my instincts. Because I care in my own particular, non-professional way. Not because I'm nosey. But because I care. And I found out a few things. That I was gonna share with the professional care-giver. But she didn't wanna hear about it. She'd rather not know. Makes me think that professional care-givers can handle only so much. At some point, some of 'em have to turn off the caring. I understand. --Jim Broede

Life: A supposed adventure.

My neighbor, Julie. Haven't seen her in quite a while. She usually walks a dog. Maybe she's out when I'm in. But I doubt it. She's probably too busy. Caring for her elderly parents. They live with her. Both have dementia. Maybe she's saddled with an excessive amount of care-giving. I really should inquire. See if I can be of any help. But we humans are a strange lot. Thinking that people are entitled to privacy. We don't stick our nose in. Unless invited. But that's the lazy, uncaring way out. We really should be more concerned. More curious. More intervening. Especially when our friends and acquaintances are going through troubled times. Maybe we don't wanna know. We ignore the goings-on. Instead, we live in relative isolation. In our own little cocoons. And never venture out any more. Makes me wonder. If Julie has stopped venturing. I gotta find out. After all, life is supposed to be an adventure. Isn't it? --Jim Broede

Life: Remarkable & unpredictable.

I have a neighbor -- oops, no, I had a neighbor. He was found dead over the weekend. Floating face down in Forest Lake. Probably drowned. The autopsy will tell. He was 51. Went out routinely. Alone. On his pontoon boat. For a swim. Maybe he had a heart attack. Or a stroke. His dog was found swimming in the middle of the lake. Exhausted. But safely rescued. I didn't know the guy. Never formally met him. Built a plush new home on the lake three years ago. He lived six doors up the road. Left a wife. And two children. A son and a daughter. The son is 22. Confined to a wheelchair. With cerebral palsy. Learned from the obituary that the guy was a sports enthusiast. A fan. People coming to the funeral have been encouraged to wear the jerseys of their favorite sports teams. I'd wear a Chicago Cubs shirt. But I won't go. Don't feel like it. Anyway, I seldom go to funerals. Even funerals of friends. I don't wanna a funeral. When my dear sweet Jeanne died, there was no funeral. I pay homage in other ways. Through solitary thought. Anyway, my neighbor was originally from Bismarck. In North Dakota. My sister used to live in Bismarck. I'll have to ask her if she knew the guy. That would be quite a coincidence. If she did. But one thing I know. The world is a small place. So very many coincidences. And unusal and unexpected happenings. One can be here on Mother Earth one day. And gone the next. Just by accident. One goes out for a swim. And drowns. It even happens to good swimmers. Fate, I guess. Puts a family into mourning. But the survivors. Well, they get on with life. I've learned that. Yes, life is remarkable. And unpredictable. --Jim Broede

Get rid of Republicans. Not Obama.

I'm for a shorter work week. Maybe 32 hours. Instead of 40. Yes, give workers three days off every week. To make up for it, maybe some businesses will decide to hire more workers. That would help solve the problem of high unemployment. Maybe that means individual workers will have to learn to live on less. But there'll be more employed workers. A reasonable trade-off. It's sad that workers that wanna work can't find jobs. Ain't good for the working class. Ain't good for the economy. But the shorter work week inevitably benefits the common good. In America. And all over the world. I also want private sector businesses to consider settling for less profit, and paying workers higher wages. Again, serving the common good. Republicans proclaim that Obama's policies are doing little to change the bad economy for the good. That the policies ain't lowering the unemployment rate fast enough, if at all. Fact of the matter is that Obama has proposed all sorts of ways to create more jobs. Including federal aid to the states so they can hire more teachers and police officers and public employees, period. But the Republicans in Congress balk at virtually everything Obama proposes. For nasty and devious political reasons. The Republicans block Obama's policies, and then have the audacity to say that Obama is to blame. I suspect the policies would work. Effectively. If given a chance. Meanwhile, I have the ideal and humane solution to the nation's economic problems. Get rid of Republicans. Not Obama. --Jim Broede

All kinds of ways to get better.

My favorite baseball team, the Chicago Cubs, climbed out of last place the other day. For only a few hours. Because the next day, the Cubs lost and the Houston Astros broke a 9-game losing streak. I'm not sure that I relished the achievement/thought of the Cubs being temporarily elevated to the second worst team in baseball. It's still bad. And I suspect there's more distinction to being the worst. For which there's a practical benefit. The first pick in next year's players' draft. In fact, some sports teams have been accused of 'tanking' it in order to win the lottery and come away with the best player. Yes, all kinds of ways to get better. --Jim Broede

To be in no need of empathy.

Not sure what it means to show empathy. For instance, some people want pity. A full-fledged pity party. And I often refuse to organize one. Or even attend. I've been known to boycott pity parties. So little wonder I'm accused of lacking empathy. But it ain't true. Because not everybody should be pitied. On a mere whim. There are other ways of coping with bad times. Other than pleading for pity. Such as focusing on the love in one's life. Generally, life ain't all that bad. If I'm in love with someone or something, it's a nice diversion. A saving grace. Maybe I should pity someone who isn't in love with anything. Maybe that's at the core of depression. A complete absence of love in one's life. An inability to fall in love. Maybe that's the equivalent of hell on Earth. Anyway, I'm of the notion that one isn't alive until falling in love. Love is an awakening. A stimulant. A cure for the doldrums. Most lives don't proceed on an even keel. There are ups and downs. During the down periods, one needs to fall back on something that makes life worth living. Worth savoring. In my case, it's love. And it doesn't necessarily have to be love of another. Rather, with something. Such as nature. Or literature. Even with what may turn out to be negatives. Yes, politics. Or money. That's better than nothing. Thing is, some love can be put to evil purposes. And maybe that doesn't make it love any more. But still, it's a diversion. A motivation. To get on with life. To experiment. To discover a new reason to be happy. To be in no need of empathy. Or pity. --Jim Broede

A progressive/liberal idea.

I'd like to see the U.S. follow an example being set by Brazil. Nobody stays in prison longer than 30 years. Regardless of the severity of the crime. Sounds like a humane approach. Because the ultimate aim is rehabilitation. Brazilians also have introduced a program that allows for reduced sentences for prisoners that read good litertature. For each book report, prisoners get a certain number of days knocked off their sentences. Sounds like a progressive/liberal idea --Jim Broede.

Obama is blessed.

Mitt Romney keeps saying he can do a better job than Obama. But he doesn't explain how he'd do it. A typical political ploy. I'm certainly not gonna accept Romney's claim on the basis of faith. I don't trust him. But I trust Obama. Because I see what he's done in the past 4 years after he inherited a terribly bad economy. There's been some improvement. I don't know if that's due in any significant way to Obama's policies. But I'll give him the benefit of the doubt. Because he's the president. In a position of power and influence. But he ain't god. And thank god, he ain't Romney. Which means Obama is blessed. --Jim Broede

A fascinating illusion.

I try to make sense out of life. And death, too, for that matter. Life and death. Ain't such a strange combination. Sometimes I wonder if ever-lasting life might be a bit scary. God, for instance, is supposed to have existed forever. Which makes me wonder if god occasionally gets weary of it all. And wishes that he were dead. Maybe that's why god created sleep. So that he could snooze for long periods of time. In order to rest. Unconsciously. Oblivious of everything. And become rejuvenated. But then I'm told that god lives outside of time. In a timeless dimension. Which makes it difficult to grasp the concept of forever. Which, in essence, must be limitless time. I'm really baffled by the mere notion of existence. I can hardly believe that I am. That I had a beginning. And presumably, I'll have an ending. Sooner or later. But I could be wrong about that. Maybe I'll move into a timeless dimension. With god. In which case I might qualify as being an equivalent of god. I ask myself, does that make sense? I don't know. But maybe I'll have the answer if I ever meet god. Because I'll see him face to face. An honor, indeed. But then, the sighting may be an illusion. And the same could go for my present existence. All an illusion. Fascinating stuff, isn't it? --Jim Broede

The advantage of being older.

I have more freedom and flexibility than most people. Because I'm not tied down to a job. I'm retired. Unemployed. On my own. Therefore, I understand that it's more difficult for many of my friends to make decisions about their lives. Than it is for me. That's one reason why I don't put demands or pressure on my friends. When I was younger, I was tied down. Locked in. Committed in so many ways. In that sense, I wasn't nearly as free as I am today. I like my freedom. But there's also an advantage to being younger and encumbered. Gives one more time. One still has the prospect of another 30 years or more of good living. In far less than 30 years, I'll be long gone. Doesn't really bother me. It's a fact of life and death. Which I accept. I'm happy being older. There are trade-offs. Not the least being the additional freedom that comes with being older. The experience of having lived 76 years also has been helpful. Taught me to live one day at a time. And to better understand the notion/concept of love. And to put it all to practical use. --Jim Broede

Until I am in love.

Many of my friends know what's on my mind. Because I write about it. Right here in my blog. And in emails sent directly to my friends. Or in face-to-face conversations. I not only talk/write to my friends, but to total strangers, too. No reason to hold back. Because I'm an opinionated guy. I focus on all sorts of subjects. Serious and nonsensical. Another thing. Many of my opinions are constantly evolving. Changing. From day to day. Maybe even hour to hour. Little wonder. Because I'm fascinated by thought. Still, another thing. I don't mind being wrong. About such things as my psychoanalysis of a friend. I don't guarantee accuracy. Because I like to take novel slants. I ask my friends to think about the way I see them. Often, I'm testing a theory on my friends. About what motivates them. What makes them tick. And believe me, I come up with some fascinating, provocative theories. No reason to hold back. That has alienated a friend or two. But I'm willing to risk it. To put a friendship to a test. In some ways, I think life is a test. A wonderful test. Of love. Seems to me that's the motivating force of life. Love. I'm never fully conscious. Until I'm in love. --Jim Broede

The American dumocracy.

Far too many Americans are stupid and ill-informed. Especially on key political matters. Such as the Affordable Health Care Act, also known as Obamacare. Sadly, many Americans form their opinions based on sound bites. And outright lies. Told by opponents of Obamacare. That's one of the sad side effects of democracy. Virtually everyone has a say at the polls. One doesn't have to be smart and well-informed to cast a vote. Oftentimes, ignorance prevails. Some stupid people tell me they don't have the time or the inclination to become educated. They prefer to remain dumb. And in most instances, they aren't even aware of their 'lack of knowledge.' to put it politely. I suppose that in an ideal society, one would have to pass a test to qualify to vote on key issues/matters. Best to know the whys and wherefores of the issue. To be reasonably informed about the facts. But that's not a requirement in America. Yes, America has a dumocracy. --Jim Broede

No sweat living in Paradise.

I'm sweating. But I'm not complaining. Despite a heat index of 110 degrees. It's supposed to feel like that today. A blend of the high temperature and high humidity. Here in Minnesota. Maybe a sign of global warming. I'll take it. Partly because I have no choice. So I try to make the best of it. Just walked for three miles. Back and forth in my lengthy driveway. Where it's shaded. And later in the day, I'm committed to a 30-mile bicycle ride. After which I can go for a cooling swim. In the lake. And if it's still hot and humid tonight, I'll turn on the air-conditioner. And dine in cooling comfort. Yes, life is good. Wouldn't matter if it was winter. And 30 degrees below zero. Because I like brisk, fresh air, too. Once again, I'll make the best of it. But half of the year (autumn and winter) I'm living in Italy (in Sardinia). With my true love. Where I have yet to see snow or a freezing temperature. Winters are mild. Not too cold. Not too hot. Yes, no sweat living in Paradise. --Jim Broede

Maybe it's my deerful obligation.

I have mixed feelings over the loss of the bulky leaves on by hosta plants. They've been disappearing plant by plant by plant. I was too dumb to know why. So I brought in a horticulture expert friend. He closely examined the scene. Like a Sherlock Holmes. And pointed to the deer hoove prints around all the plants. Yes, it was that simple. The deer are invading my yard. To feast. On my hosta plants. I'm told I could stop the deer by using a spray that offends the deer's nostrils. Keeps 'em away. But I'm not sure I wanna do that. Maybe I owe it to the deer. To provide them with tasty treats. --Jim Broede

On knowing illustrious Ed.

My 90-year-old friend Ed Hinrichs was the grand marshal today in the annual July 4th parade in Forest Lake. Which means he rode in a convertible at the head of the parade. And waved to everybody. But not me. Because I wasn't there. I haven't been to the July 4th parade for at least 25 years. I'm not motivated by parades. Especially patriotic parades. But I was tempted to go. To catch a glimpse of Ed. In his star role. Which he richly deserves. Because he's a living World War II veteran. They are becoming few and far between. Some day, there won't be any of 'em left. I've lived long enough to have seen living Civil War and World War I veterans. They're all dead now. Fortunately, in order to see Ed, I don't need to attend a parade on a record hot day in Minnesota. Instead, I go directly to Ed's home. He's my neighbor. Imagine that. I know the illustrious Ed Hinrichs, World War II vet. --Jim Broede

A state of silent confusion.

I have a particular friend who gives me the silent treatment. Mostly, I suspect, because she's annoyed. With me. Maybe even angry. Chances are, she doesn't know for sure. She's in a state of limbo when it comes to friendship. Still trying to define the meaning of friendship. She lives in North Carolina. Actually, I call it the state of confusion. Wherever she lives, it would be the state of confusion. She could even live in Timbuktu. She'd still be confused. Eternally confused. I try to make her less confused. By getting her to think in a sensible manner. So she has clarity in life. But maybe she can't accept clarity. Maybe that's what makes her confused. She becomes scared by clarity. By reality. So she dumbs herself down. Into a state of silent confusion. --Jim Broede

Can you always tell?

Hey, I'm kidding. At least some of the time. Maybe a whole lot some days. Because it's difficult taking life too seriously. One needs a break. To see the funny side. To laugh. To poke fun. At one's self. And at others, too. Most days, I'm probably kidding half the time. Chances are that if I seem angry, I'm joking. Because I'm finding it almost impossible to be genuinely angry. It goes against my new-found nature/grain. Of being in love. With life. But still, I like to practice being angry. So I feign it. Fake it. I'm an actor on a stage. I'm fully capable of pretending anger. Just for the heck of it. Helps me understand people that are really angry. By playing the role. I've learned to poke fun at angry people. In an attempt to make 'em laugh. For them to see the futility of becoming angry. It's self-defeating. I demonstrate. By becoming a playful idiot. Consumed by anger. But I fully know that in doing all this, I'm really a genius. No, I'm not kidding. But then again, maybe I am pulling your leg. Can you always tell? --Jim Broede

I can walk on water.

My Italian true love is trying to teach me how to float on my back. It's a feat I have yet to master. I tend to sink. Like a rock. She thinks it's funny. And incredible. That I can't always master the most simple tasks. But I tell her I'd rather achieve the most difficult assignments. Such as walking on water. That, I can do. But she doesn't believe me. I don't do it in front of her. Because I'm trying to be humble. And not be a show off. Besides, she probably wouldn't believe her eyes. Because she's a Doubting Thomas. But every day, I walk on water. I practice. When people aren't looking. And I've succeeded. Walking clear across Forest lake, a distance of around a mile. Doing it under cover of darkness. Some people assume I'm joking. Kidding. But I'm telling the truth. With a straight face. Lunatic fringe Republicans do the same thing -- insist that they are telling the political truth. Daily. I accuse them of telling bold-faced lies. But they swear it's the truth. The gospel truth. The same goes for me. It's the truth. I can walk on water. --Jim Broede

More time to truly live.

Just thinking tonight, that I've been retired for 14 years. Since I was 62. My gawd. Retirement brought about a big change in my life. Less pressure. Maybe that's when I truly started taking life one day at a time. That's the nicest thing about retirement. Being better able to do what one really wants to do. Not being committed to showing up at work on a daily basis. A new kind of freedom. So very many people don't live long enough to retire. That's a shame. And others that retire, don't know what to do with their new-found time, their new-found freedom. Work can be rewarding and fulfilling. But it obligates one in a way that restricts freedom. I have to satisfy an employer. Do sort of what's expected of me. Now I'm my own boss. And I have more time to think in meaningful ways. Enjoyable ways. More time for love. More time to create myself. More time to cultivate a loving relationship. More time to truly live. --Jim

Gawd ain't fussy about grammer.

Really doesn't matter how one spells god. I like to vary the spelling. Depending on my mood. I'm a romantic idealist. And I have a vivid imagination. I'm able to imagine residing in Paradise. And Paradisians have an accent. Sort of a drawl. And they pronounce what sounds like gawd. So I often spell it phonetically. To sound like a true Paradisian. When I'm in Germany, I say gott and when I'm in Sweden I say gud and when I'm in France I say dieu and when I'm in Italy I say dio and when I converse with my Hindu friends I say khooda. And I've consulted directly with gawd. And he doesn't mind how his name is spelled or pronounced. And he doesn't object to a lower case 'g.' He ain't fussy. About grammer or spelling. By the way, gawd and I communicate mostly by spiritual thought rather than the spoken or written word. --Jim Broede

Let love percolate.

One should take love one day at a time. Savor it. Not by demanding or wishing for more. But by appreciating what one's got. Genuine love. If one feels love, that should be sufficient. Allow the love to evolve naturally. When one wishes for more, when one rushes it, one gets ahead of one's self. Yes, take it slowly. That's paramount. It's like having a feast. Don't gorge one's self. Eat slowly. An appetizer. A sip of wine. One can feast on a morsel. There's no hurry. Life and love were meant to proceed slowly. Make it all last. One has forever. Essentially, the rest of one's life. Love must be undemanding. Even when lovers aren't together, love can be savored. From a distance. Love is a state of mind. A relaxed and pleasant state of mind. A little bit of love is a whole lot of love. Don't be like a millionaire who can't settle for a million. Instead, he/she needs $2 million. And then $3 million. Never enough. If it's true love, a little bit is a fortune. Makes one feel blessed. When one is genuinely in love, even being apart can seem like being together. When lovers are in love, they are always together. In spirit. Physical love is wonderful. But spiritual love is even better. Let love percolate. --Jim Broede

About love.

Angry people aren't in love. Because if they were in love, they wouldn't have time to be angry. Their focus would be on love. Love of life. Or a loving relationship. Show me someone who's vehemently angry, and I'll show you someone out of love. For instance, the angry people on the steps of the Supreme Court in Washington the other day. Angry over the court's decision to uphold the constitutional legitmacy of Obamacare. Some of 'em were furious. Pissed. Vowing to make trouble for Chief Justice John Roberts. Calling him a traitor. Because he doesn't see life and law the same way as they. Yes, they are a hateful bunch. Unable to see life much beyond their own noses. So very limited. They have no time for love. Sad. Sad. Sad. That's the nature of American polictic these days. No room for compromise. Only for hate. And anger. All because politic ain't going their way. If they were truly in love, they'd be at the seaside. Or walking in the primeval forest. Enjoying nature. And friendship. Maybe reading or writing a poem. About love. --Jim Broede