An essential part of my life.

I can’t make people happy. Ultimately, they have to make themselves happy. I can coach them. And make suggestions. And set an example. But they also need  an innate desire to be happy. Some have it. Some don’t. I know people who absolutely refuse to be happy. Happiness could hit them over the head, and still they’d resist. Maybe it’s their cold, cold hearts. They can’t find warmth inside themselves. The happiness feeling. Doesn’t mean they’re suicidal. Or depressed. It’s just that their highs are geared in neutral. Not low. Not high. Could be that they are scared by the concept of happiness. That it’s too extreme. Too hard to achieve. And that if it’s ever attained, it’ll be devastating to some day lose it. Better to never have full and complete happiness. Of course, I find that strange. Because I almost always find ways to hold on to happiness. And if it eludes me, it’s not for long. I’m able to retrieve it all. Believe me, I’m not scared by happiness. It’s an essential part of my life.  –Jim Broede

I am exotically grateful, and more.

Gotta concede that exotic is in the eye of the beholder. And I have a keen eye for the exotic. Maybe keener than my Italian true love. I keep reminding her that she lives a very exotic existence. On an island in the Mediterranean Sea. As a citizen of Italy. As a teacher of English and English literature. Plus the fact that she’s exotically beautiful. And exotically intelligent, too. She also gets to live in Minnesota in the summertime. Now if that doesn’t add up to an exotic life, I don’t know what does. She’s gifted. She’s blessed. But still, she occasionally laments that maybe her life may not be fully exotic. That it sometimes alternates between humdrum and stressful. I’d call that a defeatist attitude. As for me, I’m enamored with my true love. And thoroughly convinced that I live a very, very exotic life. In large part, because of her daily presence.  I catch exotic vibes. And they seem to emanate from her. Outward. Hitting me smack in the mind, gut and heart. For which I am boundlessly happy and exotically grateful. –Jim Broede

On truly respecting each other.

I allow my Italian true love to veto some of my plans. Out of respect for her wishes. I may propose doing something which conflicts with her concept of the right thing. So I acquiesce. Don’t do it. Abandon a project. But other times, I may proceed any way. Regardless of her feelings. Because I have to. I am compelled. I presume that she does the same.  We have to sometimes recognize each other’s independence. That’s the nice thing about true love. We work things out. We compromise. We truly respect each other. Maybe that sets the example for the way we should deal with people generally. It certainly works when one is in a truly loving relationship.  –Jim Broede

This is me & where I can be found.

Wonder how many of us  merely mark time. Waiting for something to happen. Maybe nothing in particular. Seems that’s what I’ve done during periods of my life. For instance, after my dear sweet wife Jeanne died six years ago. I marked time. Just waited. To see what would happen next. Maybe that’s a good way to live. Letting destiny take over. Go with the flow. Rather than have a set plan or course.   Maybe when one takes life one day at a time – that’s marking time. Probably doesn’t matter, I suppose. One deals with life. As it comes. Used to think that ‘marking time’ was being negative. That one needed resolve. To do something. To plan ahead. For instance, to become a journalist. A writer. Guess what I’ve really done, though, is to better define myself. In order to know who or what I am. A romantic idealist. A spiritual free-thinker. A political liberal. A dreamer. A lover. So I proceed. I’m all those things. Because that’s the way I  live. In that sense, I’m not marking time. I am dedicated to living my self-defined roles. I’ve even decided to get business cards printed. Identifying these roles as my lifetime occupations or pastimes or pursuits. And that I can be easily accessed  at http://broedesbroodings.blogspot.com or jbbroede@hotmail.com or by my listed telephone number. When I meet a stranger, I can hand out a card. Declaring this is me. And where I can be found. –Jim Broede

The circus comes to town.

The Orfei circus is in town. And I know one thing. Wouldn’t want to be the guy in charge. Looks to me like it’s an overwhelming job. Setting it all up.  Hauling everything in. From mainland Italy. By ferry, I assume. And by truck. And then erecting the huge circus tents. Getting everybody ready to perform. Including the animals. For two nights now, I’ve seen circus animals grazing along the roadside. In the heavy-traffic heart of Carbonia. Elephants. Camels. A giraffe. Real traffic stoppers. I could have walked up and petted them. As some of the locals did. I stood back. And gawked. Wonder how many employees. And what possesses anyone to want to be part of a circus. As a performer. Or a laborer. Tending to the animals, for instance. That’s gotta be a mammoth task. Feeding ‘em. Cleaning up the poop. And transporting everything to the next city. Tearing everything down after a 5-day stay in Carbonia.   Orfei is the symbol of circus in Italy. Been operating since 1960. And shows up in Carbonia every winter. –Jim Broede

I'm a writer. And a teacher, too.

Bring me into an English class. At the high school or middle school level. As a lay teacher. A guest teacher.  An amateur.   And I’ll perform as well or better than most professional teachers.  I have confidence in my ability to teach writing. Because I’m a writer. I write virtually every day of my life. I made my living by writing. As a journalist. People like me should be recruited. To go into classrooms. To assist English teachers. I could do it here in Italy. Where I am living. Go into English classes. I’d love to do it. To see how it works. And without pay. All I need is a little bit of gratitude. If I could persuade one student to pursue a career in writing, I’d be thrilled. Believe me, I could do it. If given the chance. I’d talk up writing. Learning English. By writing short and uncomplicated sentences. That’s effective writing. Easily understood. Easily learned. As for a  career in writing. It can be glamorous. And fulfilling. Fun, too. Which makes it seem less like work. I want to motivate potential writers. Open them to the wonders of the written word. In their own language, Italian. But in English as well. I want them to fall in love. With words. With sentences. And paragraphs. And stories. Hey, I ain’t a professional teacher. But that doesn’t make me less of a teacher. I’m a writer. And I know how to teach. –Jim Broede

'You're wicked. Very wicked.'

I know people that don’t get enough sleep. Not nearly enough. But they don’t take naps. They don’t go to bed. Even when they are obviously tired. Instead, they just push, push, push. Like tired kids. They become ornery. And moody. And I tell them why. ‘You haven’t had nearly enough sleep.’ Maybe they think sleeping is a sin. Immoral. That god intended for everyone to stay awake. As long as possible. But I’m guessing otherwise. God intended for most of us to get about 8 hours of sleep. Daily. And that it’s a sin if we don’t. There’s an old saying, ‘No rest for the wicked.’ That’s what I tell people that stay awake after bedtime. ‘You’re wicked. Very wicked.’ –Jim Broede

No more excuses.

Don’t necessarily buy into tradition. Teaching, for instance. I talk to teachers who advocate teaching in traditional ways. That’s all right, to a degree. But I’m for experimenting. Trying new ways. New methods. Breaking with tradition. Guess I’m arguing against conservative approaches  to educating youngsters. Ways have to be found to turn on kids. Making them want to truly learn. Motivated. I’m told by some conservative teachers, that’s not the job of teachers. The students have to turn themselves on.  But I suggest it’s a team effort. The teacher and student working together. No excuses allowed. That’s the trouble with many educational systems. Excuses. Excuses. One excuse after another. I’d shake things up in the failing systems. Maybe I’d bring more parents into the classrooms. And more guest teachers. People deemed unqualified to teach in many of the traditional systems. Yes, time to break away from tradition. Try something new. Find something that works. No more excuses. –Jim Broede

A more profound sort of love.

I’ve been living nearly three months in Sardinia. And it’s two months before I return to Minnesota. And I’m thinking, this sort of life was once beyond my imagination. And now it’s almost like an illusion. A dream. But oh, so real. Because I met my Italian true love. A little over five years ago.  It just happened. Everything falling into place. Maybe it was 50 years ago that I  read D.H. Lawrence’s book, ‘The Sea and Sardinia.’  About the endearing love he cultivated for Sardinia in his travels in the 1920s. And now here I am. Cultivating a similar love. In ways maybe more profound than Lawrence's. Certainly it is for me. Not only for the land. But for my very real and personal true love.  –Jim Broede

On a very thin dividing line.

Sometimes when at my computer, I become immersed. In the moment. In what I’m writing. Absorbed in the piece. And I momentarily wonder where I am. In Sardinia? Or at my desk in Minnesota? It’s a good feeling. Sort of an out-of-body experience. Maybe I’m in neither place. But in another world. Gives me a glimpse/inkling of what it must be like to be spirit. No longer a physical being.  Like living an illusion. But it’s very real. Existence is a complicated and splendid and profound thing. A perception. A reality. Both imagined. And lived. On a very thin dividing line. –Jim Broede

Is god a liberal or a conservative?

I’m a political and social liberal. Which makes me happy. And contented. And generally, I don’t allow political and social conservatives to bother me. I tolerate ‘em all. Usually, with good  and biting humor. Don’t mind if they take offense. But they don’t offend me. Because I see humor in their positions. I laugh. Especially at the one’s that take themselves seriously. Some people avoid discussing politics. And others have absolutely no interest in politics. Maybe they’re the smart people. The well-adjusted. They have far better things to do in life than become immersed in politics. Maybe the funniest people of all are the actual politicians. Usually driven by sizeable egos. Especially if they’ve been elected and re-elected. They think it’s an attribute to be shrewd and manipulative. They would make successful used car salesmen. They have mastered the art of duping everyone, including themselves. They think of politics as a laudable and decent pursuit. Lord knows, maybe it is. Maybe god, himself, is a politician. If so, that poses a question. Is he a liberal or a conservative? –Jim Broede

Being curious and caring.

People drop in and out of my life. Especially when we are at a distance.  We stop writing. Stop formal communication. Maybe for no particular reason. Or because we are busy. With other things. With life. Maybe because we don’t like each other anymore. Don’t always know. Maybe one of us is ill. Or has died. Makes me wonder. Sometimes, I renew acquaintances. Because I’m curious. And I care. That’s a good combination. Being curious and caring. –Jim Broede

Doing as I damn well please.

Don’t tell me I can’t do something. That is, if you truly don’t want me to do it. Because then I’m more likely to do it. Because I’m obstinate. Stubborn. I’ll forge ahead. And perhaps do it. To defy you. It’s a game I play. With you. With me. With the creator himself. I don’t mind breaking rules. Often in little ways. Jaywalking. Walking with an open metal handle umbrella in a thunderstorm. Or maybe walking without an umbrella, when I should be using one to keep dry. Donning unfashionable clothes. Going several days without shaving. Doing things my way, even though it annoys some of my friends. Talking incessantly when people want me to be quiet. Being quiet when people want me to talk. Being funny when I’m supposed to be serious. Being serious when I should be funny. Going out sleeveless on a cool day. Writing about subjects you don’t want me to write about.  Doing as I please. Despite howling protests. –Jim Broede

I'd teach for the mere pleasure.

Must be fascinating teaching English and English literature. To Italian teenagers. That’s how my Italian true love makes a living. Maybe I’m a bit jealous. I’d like to teach those teenagers something about  English. American English. I’d find ways to fascinate the hell out of ‘em. Turn them on. Enthrall ‘em. Maybe make them wish to come to America. To practice their English. Or at least make them want to travel to other English-speaking countries. Of course, no certainty that I’d be welcomed into Italian high schools.  Maybe I’m not qualified to teach. I’d like to be invited. As a guest teacher. For a day or two. Maybe a week. I’d give a guarantee. That I’d do a bang-up job of teaching. My way. Which is to make learning a language and literature rollicking good fun. Especially for Italian youngsters with a desire to become bilingual. I’m guessing that my Italian true love has some pretty bright and motivated students. Because they have opted to take English and English literature. Some of ‘em for five solid years. It’s gonna open many doors for these students. To universities. But also for travel and jobs abroad. Real opportunities. That’s important. Because Italy has a high unemployment rate. Even the well-educated have difficulty finding work. Maybe they can find jobs in America. Or Britain. They certainly have an edge if they speak English. And if they get to know people like me. I’d try to help them find jobs. Believe me, I’d buoy their spirits. If only I could enter their classrooms for a few days. Hey, maybe I’m a natural born teacher. Let me give it a try. I can write pretty good English. The question is, can I teach pretty good, too? I think so. If given a chance. Invite me in, dear Italians. You won’t be sorry. Another thing. I work for free. Good teachers thrive on the mere pleasure of teaching. –Jim Broede

On defining a wonderful life.

Suspect I see other people’s lives as far more glamorous than they do. That even includes my Italian true love. She has a wonderful, wonderful, wonderful life. No doubt about it. But still, at times, she may think of life as less than wonderful. Like most people. That’s a pity. Meanwhile, I keep reminding her of the wonders of living in Paradise. Yes, on the wonderful Mediterranean Sea island of Sardinia. Where she is often mistaken for a beautiful mermaid. And she has a wonderful job. Teaching teen-agers English and English literature. She also looks wonderfully beautiful all the time and possesses a wonderful mind. And to top it off, she lives with  a romantic idealist who has no doubt whatsoever  – that he’s wonderfully in love. With her. If that ain’t a wonderful life, then tell me what is. –Jim Broede

In our trusty and reliable Fiat.

Travel to an isolated town called Siri is always thrilling. Because of the scenery. And the narrow, winding road that cuts through heavily wooded canyons. Maybe a 10-kilometer trip from our home on the Mediterranean island of Sardinia. My Italian true love and I went late yesterday afternoon. In our 1986 Fiat. Parked about halfway up. And decided to walk the rest of the way. We miscalculated. It was getting dark. So we retreated back to our car. With the intention of starting much earlier next time. It can be a scary drive. So maybe walking is the better option. The road is very narrow. Fortunately, paved. Meeting another vehicle poses a challenge. Squeezing by each other. Flirting with danger. Near a steep drop-off. Brushing close to guard rails. Thank gawd for the small Fiat. My Mercury Cougar back home wouldn’t make it. Far too big. Or so I think. But maybe it would. Because a bus made it. Maybe by pulling off onto occasional small paved waysides. Little wonder. More pedestrians. Than daredevil drivers. But I’m committed. To make it all the way to the top. And back down again. In our trusty and reliable Fiat. –Jim Broede

I ain't gonna change the world.

Living in a totalitarian and corrupt country may not be so bad. Because one can still find freedom. In solitude. In relative isolation. Maybe with a handful of friends. Kindred souls. That’s one of the nice things about life. The ability to adapt to hostile situations. Most likely, one has to become anonymous. Inconspicuous.  Ignored. Of course, one could choose to be a revolutionary. And actively work for change. But that could be dangerous. Risky. Depends on one’s inclination. To fight or not to fight the system. When I was younger, I wanted to change the world. Now I’m running out of time to accomplish the impossible. So I tend to retreat. To take a less active role. I write. I brood. Maybe that’s good enough. Because I know. I ain’t gonna change the world. –Jim Broede

A cocoon: One's saving grace.

Trying to imagine. Being a prisoner. In solitary confinement. I could do it. If I’m allowed to write. Give me a pen. And paper. And I’ll find a way to make it through. To survive. And still be relatively happy. Even fulfilled. Angry, of course. Over my incarceration. Especially in non-humane confinement. But I have to find a way to make the best of the situation. By writing. Every day. My thoughts. Maybe I would create a world. My own world. On paper. In words. I’d keep exercising my mind. Working out physically, too. Even in a tiny cell. By jogging in place. Calisthenics, too. Anyway, make-believe is a good thing. Living various scenarios. Without actually living ‘em. Gives me a better understanding of myself. How would one survive? And still live happily. If deprived of freedom. Maybe there are worst things. Such as being dead. Or being dreadfully and incurably ill. And in great physical pain. It’s all relative, isn’t it? What if one had a choice between several very undesirable alternatives? Can one still remain in love? With life? Maybe. If it’s solitary confinement. And one is still physically healthy. And able to write. And think. The ability to create.  A cocoon. That may be one’s saving grace. –Jim Broede

Choosing our own destiny.

People have the ability to be happy. If they consciously choose happiness. But too often, they have excuses. To not be happy. I see it happening. Often.  Seems so strange. I could take an unhappy individual at random. Analyze his/her circumstances. And write a novel.  Making a happy character. He/she could do it, too. But chooses not to. Maybe it’s scary. Living inside a fictional piece. And thereby making it real.   I suspect we all have such options. That’s a thrilling part of life. Choosing our own destiny. Such as a happy life. –Jim Broede

To living happily ever after.

Don’t feel old. Unless told that I’m old. By letting others define me. Usually, younger people. They see me as old, I guess. In physical appearance, I assume. Having gray hair. Thank gawd, it’s still a full head of hair. Seems to me that bald men look older. As for my looks, maybe wiser. Educated. Intelligent. That’s a plus. I’m fully capable of acting stupid. Though maybe it isn’t always an act. The real thing. Pure stupidity. Often reminded I’m older by the way people address me. Sometimes, with lack of respect. ‘Old man.’ Or ‘grandpa’ when I ain’t their grandpa.  But then there are the respectful. Mr. Broede. Sir. But I insist on being called Jim. By everyone. Old and young alike.  Rather not see differentiation in salutation because of age.  If I were a college professor or a doctor, I’d still insist on being addressed informally, as just plain Jim. Though I wouldn’t mind being called Giacomo in Italy or Vaclav in Slavic countries. Their names for James/Jim. I don’t go by James. Though that’s my real name. I’m even listed as Jim in the telephone directory. And whenever I write, my byline is Jim. My mother’s first instinct was to name me Bruce. She liked the alliteration. Bruce Broede. Instead, she opted naming the first born after my maternal grandfather. And my brother became Bruce. My middle name is Bruce. So I have the option to go with J. Bruce Broede. But hey, I’m used to Jim. I like it. And don’t want to be mistaken for my brother. Especially since he’s dead. Anyway, gotta confess. It’s nice surviving long enough to be considered old. Beats the alternative. Especially for a guy wanting to live happily ever after. –Jim Broede

The tentacles reach everywhere.

Italians don’t like to talk about the Mafia. Some of ‘em would like to pretend that it doesn’t exist. Because it’s a national disgrace. So why don’t the Italians get rid of the Mafia? Well, they tell me it’s impossible. That the Mafia is entrenched. That it’s all-powerful. With strong links everywhere. In high office. In business. In banks. In the entire social, economic and political structures. Throughout the world. Not only in Italy. Toy with the Mafia, and your life is at risk. The tentacles reach everywhere. But still, some Italians have had the courage to take on the Mafia. Many of ‘em are dead. Others have heavy security protection. Maybe the Mafia is more powerful than the Italian government. –Jim Broede

I reserve the right to define me.

When I write. I’m doing primarily one thing. Telling people why it’s so nice to be alive. And conscious.  A thinking being. Really, that’s what this blog is all about.  Counting the ways that make me feel good. Even when I’m critical. About things. About politics. About world events. It all adds up. To a declaration of love for life. I’m telling the creator. That this is an expression of my gratitude. I reject organized religions. Or anything or anyone that tries to define me. I reserve the right to define myself. –Jim Broede

A cast of characters in my life.

I like certain people because they know how to be themselves. Genuine. No fakery.  They aren’t perfect beings. Nobody is. They aren’t afraid to make mistakes. And admit to it. They are the kind of people that make good friends. They have an inherent honesty. They aren’t out to bamboozle anyone. I’m fortunate. To have had such a cast of characters in my life. I’ve fallen love with two of ‘em. –Jim Broede

The crime of greed & profiteering.

Biotech firms want to limit public access to generic drugs. I’m against that. Because it’s wrong to make huge profits on brand name drugs that help treat and cure diseases  They should be made available to everyone. At reasonable cost. Lower costs that come from the generics. It’s the humane and right thing to do. The serving of the common good. The profit-motive doesn’t have to be in everything. The idea is to be altruistic. To benefit mankind. Profit often becomes more than profit. Price-gouging. Obscene. I’m for giving the discoverer of beneficial drugs some pricing advantage. For a while. But not for long. Let’s make greed and exorbitant profiteering a crime.—Jim Broede

More of Italy's endless art forms.

Don’t pretend to have complete insight into the Italian mind. But suspect that to a significant degree, Italians consider ugly to be beautiful. For instance, graffiti is sprawled all over the place. Over virtually everything. On buildings. On stone walls. On lampposts. I can’t walk a block without sighting graffiti. Little is done to erase. To clean it up. I suppose, in part, because it’ll only reappear again. Maybe in a more gross way. I’m certain that some Italians consider graffiti extraordinarily beautiful. An art form. That especially goes for adolescents and teenagers. With artistic flair. And really, some of it ain’t half bad. But 90 percent of it – well, I’d not call it art. But hey, I’m willing to give the benefit of doubt. Especially when it comes to the Italians’ love and embrace of the ramshackle. Buildings that look old and cruddy and in an advanced state of disrepair. Places deemed quaint. Even the old historic buildings containing graffiti. I have yet to be to Florence. Generally considered the art capitol of Italy. And I’m wondering if the art in Florence includes graffiti. I expect so. Because the people of Florence are Italian, too. Maybe even garbage has become an expression of art. Garbage dumped along roadways. Heaps of bulging black plastic bags. Arranged in undulating piles. With a foul aroma. To my nose. But maybe perfume for others. Where does all the garbage and litter come from? Must be Italian-made. Another of Italy’s endless art forms. –Jim Broede

Something nice about Carbonia.

My Italian true love likes to play it safe. And not risk theft out of our 1986 Fiat. So when we purchased a new plug-in electric oven last night and left it in the backseat of the parked car for two hours, I was assigned to keep watch. While my Italian true love attended a meeting. I paced back and forth along a long block. Never supposed to lose complete sight of the Fiat. Though I did. Because it was dark. Fortunately, there was no theft. And I didn’t expect there would be any. I think of Carbonia as relatively crime-free. Lots of honest and trustworthy Sardinians. No signs of the Mafia around Carbonia, a city of 30,000 inhabitants.  Which makes me think that my true love is overly concerned. I would have risked keeping the car parked there overnight. With the package still safe and sound. But I acquiesced. Since she’s the native. It’s her hometown.  She should know. ‘The economy is bad and people are out of work,’ she said. ‘Some of ‘em are desperate.’ But I’m inclined to believe not desperate enough to steal. I asked if she ever had any direct experience of a crime. No, she hadn't. Guess she wants to take protection against a first experience. Anyway, this tells me something nice about Carbonia. Very nice. –Jim Broede

On finding true comfort.

Maybe I annoy people. Because I get at the truth. My truth. And they perceive that I’m trying to foist my truth on them. When I really ain’t. Instead, I’m merely telling ‘em, this is my truth. What’s your truth? And they don’t know. They often have no idea of their personal truth. For all they know, they may be living a lie. Having never bothered to seek the truth. To truly know thyself. They wish I’d shut up. Of course, that’s a sign of annoyance. They say I’m too brash. Yes, I am. I like to rob people of their comfort. So they can find true comfort. –Jim Broede

Those are grimaces. Not smiles.

Maybe many of us don’t know what we are doing. That we may be wrecking our lives. By living too fast. And under stress. Because we’ve become used to such a way of life. Fast and stressful. It seems natural. The way life is supposed to be. Thing is, we have options. We can choose to go slower. And to reduce the stress. To actually fall in love with tranquil living. To live in peace and harmony. Maybe that makes me sound a little like a Buddhist. Which I ain’t. Because I refuse to link with any organized religion. Another of my many personal choices. Tailored specifically for me. Yes, going with the flow. Of course, I could be wrong about the people that seem to be wrecking their lives. By fast and furious living. Maybe that is their natural flow. I shouldn’t be the one to judge. But fact is, I do judge. They seem so unhappy. Tense. Sleepless. Out of breath. I swear, those are grimaces. Not smiles. –Jim Broede

Please god, don't let it be.

Please god, don’t let it be. Silvio Berlusconi becoming Italy’s prime minister for the fourth time. It’s looking more like a possibility every day. With the Italian parliamentary election less than a month away.  Berlusconi was ousted a couple years ago. And it looked like his political career was over. But now he’s trying for a comeback. And he’s picking up increasing amounts of support. Though it’s no sure thing that he can pull it off. Italian politics are in a volatile state of disarray.    Anything is possible. Even the election of the secretary of the communist party as the next prime minister. That’s my choice. Though I’m not an Italian. And therefore have no say. On the world stage, Berlusconi is seen as a clown. A buffoon. Some would say he’s been popular for that very reason. He’s high entertainment. And money ain’t a problem in his political campaigns. He’s a billionaire several times over.  And he also owns much of the Italian news media. TV and newspapers. He’s quite a character. Maybe that’s why he has support with Italians. Especially conservatives. Italians like characters. Don’t mind that he’s a laughing stock all over the world. He brings attention to Italy. And he cavorts with beautiful women. Even teen-agers. Doesn’t act his age. He’s 75. Probably has had plastic surgery. And his grease-downed black hair may be a toupee, or hair transplants. Maybe all this will keep Berlusconi fashionable until he’s 100. Don’t count it out. Berlusconi has his share of detractors. Including me, of course. And my true love. But even I have to admire his resiliency. He keeps going and going and going. Maybe there’s another comeback in the making. All I can say again and again, please god, don’t let it be. –Jim Broede

Was the world made in China?

Shopping for a small plug-in electric oven. Our old one went kaput about a year ago. And my Italian true love hasn’t replaced it yet. An inconvenience. Because we are inclined to rarely use our big gas oven. She thinks it’s unsafe. That we might have a gas explosion. Therefore, I’m on a mission. To purchase a small plug-in electric oven. But that’s a difficult assignment. Because everything we’ve looked at is made in China. That doesn’t suit my true love. She thinks of Chinese products as inferior. That may  well be. I really don’t know. But if made in China is the only product available in Italy, maybe we’ll have to go Chinese. My true love says keep looking. The other day, I yelled, ‘Eureka, I have found it!’  Yes, a Telefunken electric oven. With that name, I automatically assumed it’s a German-made oven. Manufactured by superior German craftsmen. But upon close examination, my true love discovered that Telefunken products are now made in China. That disqualifies Telefunken products as proper appliances for out Italian kitchen. I found another oven. This one with the brand name Johnson. That certainly sounds American, or maybe Scandinavian. But lo and behold, Johnson comes from China. Makes me wonder if the entire world was made in China. –Jim Broede

Does fairness matter?

I’m analyzing people around me. All the time. Maybe that’s being unfair. But hey, I analyze myself, too. About being unfair. But then, not certain that life was ever meant to be fair. Sometimes the bad usurps the good. Maybe there’s no clear-cut fairness doctrine.  Things happen. Fairly. Unfairly. The roll of dice.  Chance. Wish I knew how to be fair. To everyone. But that’s impossible. And don’t know if I really want to be fair. Especially when I’m dealing with unfair people. But unfairness is my perception. I may be right. I may be wrong. Does it matter? –Jim Broede

They know their (work) mission.

Making work. Yes, I know people who specialize in making work. Everything is a work project. No time for pleasure. It’s all work. Often, they think of themselves as disciplined. Disciplined to work. Always. They can’t ever fully relax. Can’t take time off from work. It’s truly work. Not pleasure in the least bit. Even if they go for a walk. It’s not time off. But work. They clean the house. They clean themselves. In a workmanlike way. They even eat their meals, as if it’s work. Fast and furious. To get it done. So they can go on to another job. They make lists. Of things to get done. Today and tomorrow and next week. They know their mission. They were put on Mother Earth for a reason. To work.  Until the day they die. Only then will they truly rest. –Jim Broede

Hearing only what I want to hear.

I know people in search of peace and quiet. Claiming they can’t find it. Nonsense. I find tranquility all the time. In public parks. In public libraries. Along pleasant walkways. Maybe I have to listen to chirping birds. Or a musical adagio. But that counts as peace and quiet, too.  Amazes me when people complain about noise. My advice. Find ways to escape. Libraries and parks are two of my favorite places.  Often havens for solitude. Time to reflect. To close one’s ears. Maybe the inside of an empty church, too. A cathedral. A basilica. Easy to find where I am living. In Italy. Other times, I turn off the noise around me. Pay it no heed. By delving deep into my being. And I hear only what I want to hear. Silence. –Jim Broede

Give me the European system.

American doctors don’t order any more procedures than those in European countries. So why does the cost of American medical care keep running rampant? Costing twice as much as in Europe? Simple. American doctors charge twice as much per procedure. Because they can get away with it. Profit. Profit. Profit. Going to the doctors and the insurance companies. In Europe, doctors are mostly paid through single payer systems. Government run. Therefore, government negotiates lower prices. For just about everything. For medical procedures. For prescription drugs. For hospital stays. The profiteering middle men are removed from the system. Another argument in favor of socialized medicine. Europe has efficiency and good health. America may have good health brought about inefficiently. And expensively. Give me the European system. –Jim Broede

Good news for America.

Republicans are being recognized more and more for what they really are: Advocates for the monetarily rich. They want the rich to keep their toys. And to be able to get more toys. Easily. With the help of government policies. By taking from the poor and the middle class, and giving it to millionaires and billionaires. In the past, reverse Robinhood has worked. Because Republicans were clever at duping the masses.  Fact of the matter is that people have been stupid. Blind to the obvious. But they are waking up. Becoming educated. Knowledgeable. And that’s bad news for Republicans. Evidenced in the last election. And now Republicans are duly worried that they may lose their majority in Congress in 2014. No doubt, Republicans will look for new ways to dupe the public. But thank gawd, the public is wising up. Good news for America. –Jim Broede

Life being lived.

I’m constantly defining. Things going on around me. And the people I encounter. Defining. Defining. Defining. That’s how I give meaning to life. I’m living in a world. That I create. With my interpretations. Yes, these could be illusions. But they’re my illusions. The ones I pick and choose. I’m allowed to make reality of fantasy. Maybe that’s how love starts. As a fantasy. A dream. And then it becomes true. Something actually being lived. I’m not only creating a novel. But real life. Life being lived. –Jim Broede

A blend. A balancing act.

One by one, I’m getting to know my true love’s friends. Which, of course, helps me to get to know my true love. She’s Italian. And so are most of her friends and acquaintances. She doesn’t have many, many friends. A trait that I like. Makes her selective. In some ways, she could be called a loner. That’s me, too. We are perfectly capable of doing things alone. Independently. But we also  find fulfillment and pleasure in doing things together. Amazing. How we’ve come together. The two of us. We’ve become One in many ways. A blend. A balancing act. –Jim Broede

A Big Whisper. Not a Big Bang.

Always. Always. Always have something to say and write about. In a sense, I never shut up. Never shut down my mind. If I wake and nothing happens to be on my mind, I immediately become aware that nothing is on my mind. And that automatically becomes something. Yes, I’ve learned to make something of nothing. Maybe that’s how the world came into being. The creator got bored with nothingness. This idea that there had to be a Big Bang – well, maybe that’s nonsense. It could have been a mere quiet thought that sprang from absolutely nothing. No louder than a whisper. Here’s my theory. Life and love and  all of creation started from a Big Whisper. –Jim Broede

I'm already in another world.

I’m not mechanical. Don’t like to be mechanical. The last thing I wanna be is a mechanic. Maybe it’s because I have no mechanical ability/aptitude. Or it could be the absence of desire to learn things mechanically. Have no idea how a car engine works. Don’t want to. Abhor buying products that come packaged and need to be put together. Yet, I’m curious. About philosophy. And abstract spiritual matters. That stuff fascinates me no end. Think of myself as a romantic idealist. Capable of forming and practicing romantic thoughts and way of life. Writing a love letter. Or a love poem. That’s my thing. Going for a walk. Along a seashore. Or in a primeval forest. I’d rather climb a mountain than become a mechanic. Yes, I’m aware that the mechanics design the spacecraft that take us to another world. But I’m already there. –Jim Broede

My soul ain't for sale.

I am inspired. Almost every day. By someone. Or something. That’s my nature. I’m looking. Searching. For inspiration. Always. Some days fall flat. But that’s a rarity. It’s easiest being inspired when in love. And I am. With life. Wouldn’t want to trade love for anything else. Not for money. Not for fame. Love is my most precious and sacred possession. It comes gift-wrapped. Inside my being. To surrender love, I would need to sell my soul. Can’t do it. –Jim Broede

I know two kinds of intimacies.

I notice. Many things. That I don’t write about. Because they are too sacred. Too personal. Too intimate. But that doesn’t stop me from writing about the sacred, the personal and the intimate. Within reason. I have boundaries. Limits. Some people think I don’t. That I am too open. Too naked. And all I’m saying is, ain’t so. I am compelled to write about sacred and personal and intimate stuff that bothers some. I dare go to the edge. Further than some people would like. Even my dearest friends. I draw different lines than they. I’m less conservative. More liberal. I write in my own way. I choose the subject matter. And how to treat it. I know two kinds of intimacies.  Those that I write about. And those that I don’t.  –Jim Broede

Guess it's a tie, after all.

Marj is my second most favorite cousin. Just told her that today. I’m sure she’ll take the news all right. Because Marj has a sense of humor. One of the many things I like about Marj. Haven’t seen Marj in a long time. But we stay in touch. On the phone. And by email. Marj is beautiful. And she has a maiden surname to prove it. Nadherny. The Czech word for beautiful. In the grand and exquisite sense. That’s Marj all right. I’m sure. Even though she’s into her 80s. She’s probably aged well. Introspectively. She’s learned to handle life. The ups and downs. Her husband was a microbiologist. Died a few years ago. Marj wouldn’t mind meeting someone. And falling in love again.  Much like me. I’m on my second true love. Living with her in Italy. Marj and her husband used to spend summers in Switzerland. Marj is from Chicago. Where she lives now.  Maybe this summer my Italian true love and I will go visit Marj. Take her out for dinner. And to a Chicago Cubs game. As a teenager, I often spent several weeks of summer with Marj’s parents, Fred and Martha. In a Chicago suburb, Berwyn. I’d go to Cubs games virtually every day. Sat in the bleachers. Tickets in those days cost only 60 cents. Yes, many fond memories with the Nadhernys. Come to think of it, maybe I have to rethink my cousin rankings. And make Marj my favorite. In the thread below this, I picked my German cousin Fritz Broede as No. 1. Yes, I’ve just reconsidered/reevaluated. Fritz and Marj. They’re tied for the most favorite. –Jim Broede

The nicest cousin I've ever had.

Shortly after retiring in 1998, I wrote letters to the about 200 people with surnames ‘Broede’ in the German telephone directories. In search of my  German roots. My paternal grandfather sneaked into America from Germany around 1900. Yes, he was an illegal immigrant. I knew very little about my grandfather. He died in 1945, when I was 9. Anyway, I got replies from about 30 German Broedes. Thought initially that my grandfather came from Hamburg, the big North German seaport. Turned out that he was from near Homburg, a much smaller city in the south of Germany. His hometown was tiny Kashofen, a farming community. Where several Broedes live now. I’m not related to any of ‘em. But I discovered a dear and now close cousin, Fritz Broede, in Homburg. We’ve visited often, in America and Germany. We stay in close touch. Fritz has also introduced me to other cousins. And he’s taken me to other German towns to visit non-related German Broedes with whom I correspond. Such as Gerhard Broede in Rostock on the Baltic Sea. Gerhard and I were born in the same year, 1935. It’s been a pleasure comparing our life experiences. Fritz and I do much the same. He’s five years younger than me.  We shared the same grandfather five generations ago. In the early 1800s.  Fritz has traced our ancestry back to the 1600s. In Switzerland. And he’s taken me to the same locale where they came from. One of the finest spiritual experiences of my life. And several years ago, when I was to meet my Italian true love face to face for the first time, Fritz drove me to Switzerland and personally put me on the train to Venice. Gotta tell you. Fritz is the nicest cousin I’ve ever had. –Jim Broede

The best thing I ever did.

More and more, I’m liking the idea of having two homes. In America. In Italy. Of course, maybe homes in three or four places would be better. But then again, maybe not. I like staying in one place for a while. Not always moving about. Gives me time to get a real feel for the place. But if I were compelled to move every three months, I’d add Scotland and New Zealand to my itinerary. Been to Scotland. But never to New Zealand. I’d like to go some day. Anyway, I’m lucky. Being able to live in two places. Because my true love is an Italian. Ah, the benefits of love. So very many. I highly recommend falling in love. The best thing I ever did. –Jim Broede

We help create each other.

I like being creative. But how does one be? Creative, that is. In my case, it means taking risks. Not afraid of becoming a fool. Making mistakes. Testing the limits. Of most everything. But especially writing. Doing it my way. Not the considered right way. The same way that I fall in love. Indeed, that’s risky business. But in the end, I’ve created something wonderful. With some help, of course. From my Italian true love. I’ve become more creative. Under her tutelage. That’s to be expected. After all, she’s a professional teacher. Looks like one, too. Maybe a college professor. Intelligent. Wise. And beautiful, too. Extraordinarily. I’m creatively dazzled. Just the way one should be. In love. Maybe she won’t like me saying all this. Because she’s modest. Shy, too. But I bring out the best in her. As she does with me. We help create each other.—Jim Broede

A love letter. Not a bad idea.

I’m up at 3 in the morning again. At the computer. Writing. My Italian true love turned on the lights a little while ago. Awakened me. And I like that. Gets me thinking. Because I’m conscious. Can’t help it. I think. Ideas. So I have a compulsion. To record. To write. My true love wants me to stay in bed. She pulls at my night shirt. Holds me back. ‘Stay with me,’ she pleads. That’s nice. It’s a possibility. But my instincts tell me, write. Get up for an hour or two. Think about life. And being in love. Maybe I can write a love letter. Not a bad idea. –Jim Broede

My way. The walking way.

I’m wearing out my shoes. Fast. One pair of walking shoes is already gone. Since arriving in Sardinia on Nov. 10. The last three days, I’ve walked a total 41 miles. Close to 50 kilometers. Sometimes, my Italian true love cautions me. To not walk too much. But I’m nowhere close to too much. I love to walk. And explore. Observe. The world is my domain. And I see people. Activity. Human endeavors. Animals, too. Dogs. Cats. Not many squirrels in Sardinia. I wonder why. Gotta check it out. Back home in Minnesota I see squirrels. Year-round. Even in the frigid wintertime. They don’t all hibernate. Anyway, I was talking about walking. It’s not too much. Because I break up my walks. Sometimes in two-mile segments. But occasionally 10-mile spurts. Depends. I listen to my body. My mind, too.  That’s quite a combination. I listen to other people, too. But generally, I do things my way. The walking way. –Jim Broede

Imagining: Universal education.

Education. I wanna make it available to everybody. Make education an entitlement program. So that anyone that wants to can go to school. Even to a college or university. Or  a technical school. To learn. Knowledge. A skill. And age wouldn’t matter. Even old  farts like me should be entitled to return to school. To earn a master’s degree. Or a Ph. D. Or for that matter, a skill as a bricklayer or a teacher. Maybe even a philosopher. All  for an affordable nominal fee. Maybe even free for poor people. Yes, let’s at least make education available based on ability to pay. Nobody should be denied ongoing education. Of course, I’m talking about an ideal world. And I’m a romantic idealist. Which means that I can imagine virtually anything. Even universal education. –Jim Broede

Better to live than ask ???

Why does there have to be a creator? Maybe life just happens. Without the presence of a creator per se. Maybe the cosmos always existed. And has no beginning and no end. I’ve been brainwashed into thinking that something or somebody created everything. Started this whole fantastic reality from nothing. Just bang. There it was. Not sure that I buy into that concept any more. Of course, it seems logical that everything has a beginning and end. But maybe logic is a grand illusion. Maybe there’s only one being in existence. Imagining all this. A fertile imagination. A dream. It’s fun. Asking questions. Like, where did I come from? Who am I? Am I real? Is there a creator? Does there have to be a beginning and end? And should I really care? Maybe it’s better to just go on and do my thing. One day at a time. Seeking pleasure and happiness. Without needing answers to abstract questions.  Should be enough for me to merely contemplate being in love. With life. Don’t need any more than that. I really don’t need answers to my questions. Better to live than to question everything. –Jim Broede

Something to think about.

Life has so many trade-offs. Take the fate of my father, for instance. He died young. Age 38. Of suicide. But it could just as well have been cancer, a heart attack, a stroke, a traffic accident. So many ways to die before one’s time, so to speak. But what if dad had lived into his 80s or 90s? And died after a 15-year struggle with Alzheimer’s?  Would that have been a price worth paying for a longer life? Many Alzheimer caregivers don’t think so. They abhor watching their parent die of demeaning dementia. They sometimes forget about the extra years of presence they got. From their dear father or mother. By reaching old age. And not dying young.  I encourage them to think about it. –Jim Broede

Please, an encore.

I wonder if consciousness was an afterthought. That the creator created beings just for the hell of it. Living, moving statues.  Of course, that would have been boring for the creator. In essence, watching zombies perform. In predictable ways. But then came the creator’s brilliant and thrilling idea. Giving creatures the ability to think. On their own.  Actual consciousness. Awareness. It’s gotta have been a stroke of genius. Now the creator can watch the theater. The drama of life. So unpredictable. Not even the creator can predict what will happen next. He’s in his seat. Watching. Watching. Watching. Trying to guess. The unfolding drama. And where it’s all gonna lead.  Maybe in a gigantic climax. Oh, I hope there’s overwhelming applause from the creator.  A shout of bravo!!!  A curtain call. Please,  an encore. –Jim Broede

Waiting for the perfect world.

Mostly, I’m an optimist. In that in the grand scheme of life, things tend to get better. Maybe it takes a while. Even a long, long time. But ultimately, Mother Earth and the cosmos  become better places in which to live. Therefore, one must practice patience. Wait. Wait. Wait. And the divine purpose will become apparent. Of course, a major concern is that it may take forever. And another reason for me to wish for everlasting life. So I’m around to see the perfect world. When it finally evolves. –Jim Broede

Thank gawd! I'm saying it 3 times.

‘The public is not behind us and that’s a real problem for our party.’ That’s a quote. From Justin Amash, a Republican congressman from Michigan. Shows that at least one GOPer recognizes the truth.  Of course, it’s all right if the rest of  ‘em don’t. Because it might spell the end of the Republican Party. Reason for Americans to celebrate. Republicans are out of step. Adrift. Thinking that old conservative values that were ripe in the 18^th century still hold sway in the 21^st century. Guess again, Republicans. Liberalism is now at the American center. Americans are clamoring for economic, social and political programs that serve the common good. Not necessarily the good of the few -- millionaires and billionaires and big corporations. Thank gawd! Thank gawd! Thank gawd! –Jim Broede

Feeling my way, nakedly.

Keep telling myself that I’ve been blessed. For having lived well into my retirement years. Because it’s allowed me to pursue life the way it should be lived. Being myself. In rather unencumbered ways. Yes, to get it right. After my dear wife Jeanne died, I still had time for a second true love. An Italian. Here in Sardinia. And I’m writing. Exactly what I want to write. Unimpeded. This blog. Sort of daily newspaper columns. The kind I’d loved to have written when gainfully  employed as a journalist. Writing for newspapers. These broodings. It’s my grand experiment. And it’s working. To my satisfaction. Readership doesn’t matter.  I merely want to do it my way.  I had an inkling of what I wanted to do when younger. More of what I genuinely feel. Emotionally. Romantically. Soulfully. Best of all, I’m able to make a fool of myself. Without fear. Without being embarrassed. Feeling my way, nakedly. --Jim Broede            

On remaining good caregivers.

Thinking about my neighbors. Back in Minnesota. Rick and Julie. A couple. In their 60s. And they’ve taken on an immense task. Or maybe I should call it an act of love. And caring. Yes, caring for Julie’s elderly parents. Day in and day out. In their own home. Both parents have dementia. Maybe Alzheimer’s. For over four years now.  Rick and Julie also are running a marketing consulting business. How they find time for everything, I don’t fully know.    No doubt, they are stressed. But still, they manage. The parents could go into assisted living. But Rick and Julie have resisted that. Maybe partly out of a sense of guilt. Especially so for Julie. In my role as a friend, I try to give Rick and Julie an assist. When I’m back in Minnesota. Which I won’t be until April. Nevertheless, I think of ‘em. And wish them the best. But still, that doesn’t stop me from encouraging them to put the folks into assisted living. Maybe even a nursing home. Maybe that makes me cold and callous. But it’s the sensible thing to do. Because the stress is taking a toll. On both of ‘em.  Good caregivers have to take good care of themselves. That is, if they want to remain good caregivers.  –Jim Broede

Making the best of two worlds.

Used to be that January was my least favorite month. Because it was so very cold. But that was when I spent winters living in Minnesota. Now I’m wintering on the island of Sardinia in the Mediterranean Sea. And I like the climate. Therefore, I no longer have a least favorite month. I like ‘em all. Though  my Italian true love speculates that maybe I wouldn’t like August in Sardinia. It’s awfully hot and humid. But I’ve solved that problem by spending summer in Minnesota. With my true love. I’ve learned to make the best of two worlds. –Jim Broede

Give us another million years.

It’ll be a great breakthrough when  intelligent life is found throughout the cosmos. On other earth-like planets. Imagine that. Life abounding. All over. Limitless life. Even life that goes beyond mere human dimensions. Our Mother Earth. Harboring only one of millions, maybe even billions of civilizations. Wow! We aren’t alone. I like the thought. The concept.  Makes me wonder how that will change our thinking. About where we earthlings fit into the grand scheme. Certainly, it’s gonna change our approach to religion. To the spiritual. I’m beginning to think about it. The wonder of it all. Will we still be thinking of a single creator? A so-called god? And those other civilizations? Do they have their acts together better than us?  And will we ever be able to travel great light year distances? Back and forth. And will we live in peace and harmony? Or will there be planetary wars?  One planet trying to dominate another.   Could be, it’s all happening now. Without our knowledge. Because we are still living in the galactic Dark Ages. We are ignored. Left out.  Earthlings. Still in our primitive stage. Wait. Give us another million years. To catch up to the more advanced civilizations. –Jim Broede

On achieving the common good.

One thing. Living in Italy has taught me. That we are all in this world together. Italians. Americans. Everyone. Italians are just as important as Americans. And Americans just as important as Italians. The entire world has to start thinking of itself as one. We’re a collective. We have to work and pull together. Helping each other. Making for a better world. Not just for a better Italy.  Or a better America. A better planet Earth, too. Global warming. It’s a world issue. Unemployment. The wide gap between the rich and the poor. Crime. Education. Health care. Pollution. Maybe 100 issues with a worldwide scope. We’ve gotta deal with ‘em all. Together. No one nation can go it alone. Maybe we need a unifying world government. Certainly, we need cooperation.  In order to achieve the common good.  –Jim Broede

A litany of my superior traits.

I’m superior. Like to tell people that. Don’t necessarily believe it. But it gets reaction. And that’s what I’m looking for.  To determine whether people take me seriously. When I make outlandish statements. Of course, I do believe some of my outlandish quips. A  grocery clerk asks me, ‘How are you?’ I say, ‘I’m superior. Better than you.’   That throws some clerks for a loop. They’re startled. Don’t know what to say. If I’m in a silly mood, maybe I extend the greeting. With a litany of my superior traits. –Jim Broede

Makes me a lucky fella.

I may not be good for people in depression. Because maybe I drive them deeper into despair. By trying to find ways to make them happy. When really they are in no mood for happy talk. They probably think that I don’t understand. Which may be true. Some tell me that it’s necessary to experience depression to truly understand it. Could be I’ve never been in depression. Real depression. Certainly, I’ve never been clinically depressed. Maybe I’ve had down moods. But I gather that ain’t valid depression. When my dear wife Jeanne died six years ago, I grieved. I wonder if that could be construed as depression. Anyway, let’s assume I’ve never been depressed. Makes me a lucky fella, doesn’t it? –Jim Broede

The natrual flow. With no regrets.

Occasionally, I lose contact with people. They just disappear. Don’t know where they go. Maybe they die. Or just fade away.   Maybe it doesn’t matter. Because they aren’t close friends. More like acquaintances. People who could have become friends, I suppose. But I don’t avidly pursue their whereabouts. Maybe that’s a sign that it doesn’t matter. Still, I’m the curious sort. So I may launch a search. Sooner or later. I have let many, many acquaintances drift away. Into oblivion. Never to be heard of again. Whereas, if I had kept contact, they may have become friends. With immense impact on my life. One will never know.   But I have a keen sense of destiny. Knowing when it’s important to keep contact with another living soul. I go with the flow. The natural flow. With no regrets. –Jim Broede                                                        

In Paradise. And grateful for it.

I make it a point to not become spoiled. Would be too easy to do. Because  I’m living in Paradise. Sardinia. An island in the Mediterranean Sea. Part of Italy. Sometimes, Sardinians complain. Because of the weather. Maybe 40 degrees Fahrenheit in the wintertime. You won’t find me complaining. Because winter temperatures also  climb into the 60s. Maybe 70. That’s my definition of Paradise. Guess I’m easy to please. After spending winters in Minnesota. No doubt, some Sardinians are spoiled. Because of a lifetime in Paradise. They’re used to having it relatively good virtually all the time. So maybe if things ain’t perfect, they gripe. That’s called being spoiled. Won’t happen to me. I know better.   Being well aware that I’m in Paradise.    And grateful for it. –Jim Broede

How to end a boring life.

I live an interesting life. Or so I think. Therefore, it really must be interesting. At least to me. And that’s what counts. If my life bores other people, that’s all right. Because I’m not bored. As for other people’s lives. I’m interested. Even in the boring ones.  Because I like to study boredom. Gives me something to do. I’m curious. About why people get bored. I suspect they don’t have to be. Maybe they lack initiative. To arouse themselves. Out of a stupor. Maybe I can do something about it. By stirring their imaginations. By lighting a fire. Doesn’t hurt to try. I had some boring teachers. But they taught me stuff. Without even trying. Because I found ways to imagine the teachers’ potential. If he/she merely fell in love. With life. With anything. That’s all it takes to end a life of boredom. Love. Love. And more love. I’m in love. Like I say, I live an interesting life. –Jim Broede

Especially curious strangers.

I’m looking for Italians that speak English. And also willing to talk to me. In English, of course. If you are out there, don’t hesitate to write to me. I’ll guarantee an interesting exchange. I’m trying to learn more about Italians and Italy.   From many perspectives.  You can help me do that. In part, because of your knowledge of English. You are a special kind of Italian. By the mere but significant fact that you speak English.   That even increases the possibility that you aren’t currently living in Italy. Either way, I still want to talk to you. At least in writing. And if you aren’t Italian, but know an English-speaking Italian, by all means encourage him/her to write to me. I’m an interesting fella. A romantic idealist, a spiritual free thinker, a political liberal, a lover, a dreamer. I’m from Minnesota. But I’m living with my Italian true love. In Sardinia. She teaches English and English literature. Obviously, that’s a plus. For me. She’ll vouch that we have interesting conversations. My email address is jbbroede@hotmail.com. Also, you don’t have to be an Italian to write. I’m open to all comers. Especially curious strangers.  –Jim Broede

Once a stranger, now my true love

Wish I could approach any Italian I see on the streets, and start a conversation. Unfortunately, I can’t. Unless he/she speaks English.    That’s my major shortcoming. The inability to speak Italian. I’d have to master the language fluently to carry on a decent exchange. And that probably won’t ever happen. But I’m trying to not lament about it. Still learning much about Italy and Italians. By just being here. Furthermore, the Italian experience dictates/influences how I act at home. In America. With my fellow Americans. I’m much more likely to stop a stranger on the street. Talk to him. And learn something significant about him. I’m more outgoing. Maybe it’s the way Italians are. Outgoing. Personable. And I’ve caught the Italian drift.  More than ever, I’ve cultivated a yearning to talk to people. Especially strangers. Funny thing. Conservative parents caution their kids about talking to strangers. Certainly, the same rule shouldn’t apply to adults.   Talking to strangers can be a good thing.   Especially foreigners. I began talking to my Italian true love. Five years ago. When she was a stranger. Yes, now she’s my true love. –Jim Broede

Listen. For my sigh of relief.

I breathe a sigh of relief for the reelection of Barack Obama. Because he’ll appoint for the next four years the justices that fill vacancies on the Supreme  Court. Thank gawd it ain’t Mitt Romney or any Republican making the appointments.    That would be disaster for America. A further swing of the court to the far, far right. Now there’s hope for a swing to the middle or maybe even left of center.  Where it belongs in this modern age. Alito, Scalia. Thomas, Roberts. They all scare me. But what would scare me more is to have justices that even go to the right of today’s right-wingers. Indeed, that would have been a possibility and probably a likelihood if a Republican occupied the White House. Imagine the horror movie  such a script would make. But to make it reality, that would be a living nightmare. Listen. Can you hear my sigh of relief? –Jim Broede

We ain't living in democracies.

Democracies really aren’t democracies. Because they’ve been hijacked. By the oligarchs. By the monetarily wealthy individuals and corporations. The vast majority of ordinary people, the poor and the middle class, have little to say. Instead, actual power is in the hands of the rich. They are the ruling elite. Oh, sure ’we the people’ are fooled into thinking that we elect our representatives. And in a sense, we do. We get exactly what we deserve. Puppets. With strings attached and pulled by millionaires and billionaires. Money is power in our democracies. Almost anything can be bought.    The founders of democracies may have been well-intentioned idealists. Thinking that ‘we the people’ would grab the reins. Actual power. And work for the common good. Instead, ‘we the people’ have been manipulated. By the crafty and evil ruling elite. They are the monarchs. Acting as if by divine right. Like gods. And ‘we the people’ are stupid. For letting them get away with it. ‘We the people’ are political illiterates. Dunces. And that’s the way the ruling elite want to keep the people. As long as they can keep the masses from waking up, they’ll have their way. Believe me, they are clever. Even when 'we the people'  think that change is coming, it ain’t. It’s all a sham. A masquerade. A ruse. Meant to fool everyone. That 'we the people'  are living in democarcies, when we ain’t. –Jim Broede

My true love is back to sleep.

An early morning thunderstorm. In Sardinia. I’m up writing. When the storm blows in. And I think, how wonderful. A continuous rumble. Slowly. Softly. Building. Building. Building. To a crescendo. A piece of music. My Italian true love calls from bed. ‘Jim. Jim. Jim.’ I ignore the calls. Though I wonder if she’s scared.  Shouldn’t be. So very often, I’ve walked in thunderstorms. We’re inside. It’s safe. And Sardinia never has tornadoes.  We’re sheltered.  Almost as good as being in a cave. The storm subsides. After 10 minutes. All is quiet. My true love is back to sleep. –Jim Broede

Turning a lie into the living truth.

Don’t mind getting up in the middle of the night.  Because it’s a good time to write. To think. Usually, I’m in a very relaxed frame of mind. Upon waking. And thoughts flow easier that way. Of course, I’m generally relaxed during the day, too. But it’s different. When one has just come out of sleep. And any dream is still fresh.  I’m more likely to remember the details. Not necessarily the significance. That takes time.  To percolate. Tonight’s dream was about honesty. And how easily it is to get trapped in a lie. A subject I wrote about a day or two ago. Facing up to the truth. That there’s a tendency for many of us to avoid the truth. To alter reality. To lie to ourselves. And that maybe that’s the worst kind of lie. Lying to one’s self. Makes me wonder if lies can be good, too. In getting one through life. Maybe a lie is a wish. A fervent wish for something. And that’s how some wishes come true. In one’s own mind. Maybe happiness is that way. It’s a state of mind. One has to find a way to genuinely believe in happiness.   Even in difficult situations. Maybe that is achieved with a lie, of sorts. Self-deception. That could be a good lie. Because the lie becomes the living truth. Becomes one’s reality.  A way to come out of depression. –Jim Broede

Time for a revolution.

Street peddlers in Sardinia where I’m living tend to be black. And many of ‘em speak English. Because they are from places such as Nigeria and Ghana, where English is the predominant language. Unfortunately, the peddlers hardly make a living. Everything is pretty much hand to mouth. They ask for money.     And I never turn anyone down. Usually giving ‘em all my pocket change. Maybe I should give more. Anyway, I never buy any of the stuff they’re selling.   Don’t need it. Instead, I generally strike up conversations. To learn more about their lives. And then I might reach  in for more than pocket change.   The peddlers are looking for a better life in Italy. And not finding it.  That’s sad. They are mostly young people. In their 20s. I know Italians, too. Willing to leave Italy. If they can find decent employment elsewhere. Ain’t easy. Even many of the well-educated are unemployed. I’m for creating societies worldwide in which everyone is provided a job. At government expense, if necessary. Which probably means a vast redistribution of wealth. Siphoning money from the ‘haves’ in order to help the ‘have-nots.’  Meanwhile, many governments in Europe are adopting austerity programs. Just the opposite of what’s needed. More government spending. To put people back to work. That’ll bolster the economies. Because workers waste no time spending their money. On the essentials. Thereby, stimulating business. Now people can’t afford to buy. They can barely get by. And some don’t. That’s a sacrilege. An abomination. A shame on our way of life. Time for something meaningful to be done about it.  Maybe a revolution. An uprising of ‘we the people.’ –Jim Broede