My definition of scumbag.

I have no respect for certain Republicans. Mostly, their leaders. But many of their followers, too. I don’t hesitate calling them racist scumbags. They hate Obama. Merely because he’s black. Of course, they won’t openly admit to being racist. Another thing. They won’t listen to reason. They demand, demand, demand. No give and take. And they’re selfish. Advocating political and economic policies that benefit the rich. They have no respect for the middle class and for poor people.  They never work for the common good. They are mean-spirited and cruel and despicable.  And scumbags, to boot  --Jim Broede

The lowest of the low-life element.

When it comes to politicians, I’d rather deal with Syria’s Assad and Italy’s Berlusconi than American Republicans. Because these foreign leaders – though they may be roundly and justly criticized as tyrants – are still a little bit better than many Republicans. Of course, it doesn’t take much to outclass such Republicans as Senator Ted Cruz and Reps. Paul Ryan and Michele Bachmann  They are the lowest of the low-life element in the world’s political realm. Totally cruel. Totally heartless. Totally mean-spirited. I don’t like ‘em. Not even one iota. But if pressed hard, I could find one iota of niceness about Assad or Berlusconi. –Jim Broede

On whiteness, we draw a line.

The kitchen cupboards are chocolate brown. Been that way forever. No, maybe 30 years. But they will soon take on new life. And become white as driven snow. My Italian true love is encouraging me to lighten up. The kitchen. The whole house, in fact.  She’s discovered chalk paint. Good for covering furniture. Kitchen cupboards, too. She’s got so very many good ideas. About the house. She'd make a superb interior decorator. Just one of her many talents. Anyway, I’m vowing to get the painting job done.  Before the end of October. So many things to do. I’ve painted the garage interior. White. The adjoining storage room, too. White.  And all my books and CDs. They’ve been dusted. Individually. And the living room has a fresh coat of paint. White. White. White. And being in Minnesota, it’s only a matter of time. Before the landscape turns white. Snow. Snow. And more snow. But we draw a line. Our Christmas won’t be white. We’ll celebrate. Together. In sunny Arizona. –Jim Broede

Thankful...our paths crossed.

Teaching isn’t a bad way to make a living. Especially for an Italian to be teaching English. Takes some talent. I can’t imagine me teaching a foreign language. Impossible. Because I don’t even have the ability to learn another language. Makes me wonder how I ever learned English. Anyway, I’m talking about my Italian true love. She has a unique ability. A unique desire. Her quest to learn another language. She speaks English fluently. With a delightful accent. She even thinks in English. Wow! What a skill. An art. A craft. Thank gawd. She’s mastered English. Otherwise, we would not have met…and cultivated a loving relationship. The relationship is built largely on her mastery of the English language. I’m able to write and speak to her. In English. And she comprehends. And she even grasps and understands Shakespeare and English poets better than I do. Anyway, I’m suggesting that she fall fully in love. With teaching. Teaching English. It’s a wonderful way for a wonderful true love to make a living. And makes me thankful (blessed) that our paths crossed. –Jim Broede

My finest pleasure.

Friends caution me not to ‘overwork.’ To take it easy. But they really don’t have to worry about me overworking. Because my work is pleasure. That includes housekeeping chores. Virtually everything. I’m having a good time. Enjoying myself, With smug satisfaction. The same goes for my biking and hiking. Pure pleasure. If I weren’t doing these activities, I’d be doing other things. I was born to do things. With pleasure. Rather than as work and drudgery. I write with pleasure. l love with pleasure. I sleep with pleasure. I do everything with pleasure. By the way, my Italian true love is my finest pleasure. --Jim

My imaginative thought.

Is there a non-physical consciousness? I’m intrigued by that question. Because I want there to be. Existence without the physical. That would be my ideal life. Then I could live outside of time. In essence. Forever. Time is the big bugaboo. A handicap. If I lived outside of time in non-physical way, it presumably would be in the same domain as the creator. Wonderful. I’d be able to converse with the creator. Can’t ask for much more than that. I like the idea of existing thought. Nothing more. Nothing less. No physicality. Of course, I would have the opportunity to imagine that I am physical. That I am me. Alive and conscious. When really, all I am is a thought. My imaginative thought in a timeless, non-physical dimension. –Jim Broede

The way life was meant to be.

Finally. Finally. Finally. My friend Julie finally put her father Ron into assisted living. Yesterday. He’s 85. And has Alzheimer’s. For over five years, dad has lived with Julie and Rick. They are my neighbors. So I see them almost every day. I take Ron and his dog Sasha for walks. I’ve encouraged Julie to place Ron. It’s a 20-minute drive away. In the countryside. On 183 acres. Makes it convenient for visits. By Julie. By Rick. By me. By everyone. It’s a better way to live. For everyone. Not perfect. But better. Ron’s the kind of guy that will adjust. He’s sociable. Mixes well with others. If there’s such a thing as good Alzheimer’s and bad Alzheimer’s, Ron has the good.  Now it’s up to Julie to adjust. She’s burdened by guilt. But I suspect the guilt will fade away. Recognizing that she’s always cared. That’s her nature.  Loving. But love also comes with stress. That’s the way she has lived. With daily stress. For a long, long time. Stress seems normal.  Part of the daily routine.  Julie and Rick are about to experience a new normal. Dad will still be in their lives. In significant and meaningful ways. But now they will have more time for each other. More time to truly live.  To the fullest. More time to savor it all. The way life was meant to be. –Jim Broede  

Insanity and stupidity abounds.

Ted Cruz. The guy is insane. A loony. That’s my judgment. As an amateur psychiatrist/psychologist.  Not only that. Ted also is stupid. But all sorts of people say he’s smart. Intelligent. After all, they say, he has degrees from Princeton and Harvard. But hey. Let’s face reality. Occasionally an Ivy League graduate goes bonkers. Insane. Loses his mind, his  intellectual way. But because he’s a U. S. senator from Texas, there’s an assumption that he must be sane and intelligent. The same goes for Paul Ryan, a congressman from Wisconsin. He’s the chairman of the House finance committee. Deemed by some Republican cohorts as superior intellect. Especially on matters of finance. But really, he’s insane, too. And stupid. Like Cruz, overcome by his conservative ideology. Both living inside their own worlds.  Their own realities. And we let ‘em be. Because we all have the right to be insane. To be stupid. That’s the nature of the world. Insanity and stupidity abounds. –Jim Broede

Better to stroll than go to war.

I have several friends that don’t know how to pick and choose their battles. They go to war far too often. Maybe the same could apply to me. But less frequently. I’ve learned. To be very selective. Some friends say they have to be totally honest. With practically everyone. My friend Julie did that at a recent family reunion. The result was disastrous. She alienated practically everyone. To no good purpose. She would have been better off just cooling it. And fighting the battle another day. If ever. Because she ain’t gonna win. It’s a simple truth. Some people can’t be reached. No sense in putting forth useless effort. Don’t get me wrong. I’m willing to fight a losing battle. Knowing full well that I’m gonna lose. But I still do it. For the hell of it. Maybe it’s that I get pleasure from taunting certain people. On the other hand, Julie comes away exhausted. Mentally. Physically. Emotionally.  She would have been far better off taking a stroll in the woods. Allowing family members to be their irritating selves. –Jim Broede

Lying. Without qualms of conscience.

My friend Julie. I want her to become an actress. She’s 61. But it’s not too late. I have in mind a role. For her to play. Connected with her real life. As a primary care-giver for her 85-year-old father. He’s got Alzheimer’s. And he’s living with Julie. For over five years now.  Julie is a darn good care-giver. But not the best. That’s why it’s necessary for Julie to become an actress. She’s got to learn to exude good vibes. Always. In the presence of dad. Even when she doesn’t feel like it. She can do that. If she learns the art/craft of acting. For the sake of dear dad. Julie tells me she doesn’t want to fake it. She wants to be her real self. Even if that means showing her negative side to dad. I tell her that’s not good for dad. That sometimes, you gotta fake it. To even tell white lies. I do it often. When visiting a sick friend. I may tell him/her that he/she doesn’t look all that bad. I exude good vibes. In an effort to lift spirits. I find something good to say. Even if I have to lie about it. Without qualms of conscience.  –Jim Broede

Presto. A truly happy being.

Chronically unhappy people. I know some. And it’s my recommendation that they become actors. Playing the role of happy beings. Yes, they’d have to pretend they are happy. And that’s a good start. Especially if they have a desire to be very good actors. The aim would be to immerse one’s self in the part. Perhaps someone who’s happy-go-lucky.  Getting lost  and exhilarated in the role. Discovering what it’s really like to be happy.  Maybe then there would no longer be a need to pretend or fake it. Presto. The emergence of a  truly happy being. –Jim Broede

Good enough. For the moment.

Always wanting more. Out of life. Don’t know if that’s good or bad. Maybe neither. There’s such a thing as appreciating what one has. Without asking for more. Instead, feeling blessed.  Of course, I want more. Tomorrow, for instance. And next week. Next month. Next year. Forever.  But I keep reminding myself. I have today. Now. That’s good enough. For the moment. –Jim Broede

Good health, that is.

Maybe the biggest blessing of life is good health. Just plain feeling good. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. Gives one reason to want to live forever. Makes every day worth living. Savoring. Savoring. Savoring it all. Oh, the world is full of tragedy. One can’t avoid it. The loss of loved ones. And the violence. The disappointment. But still, I find ways to feel good. Good health, that is. –Jim Broede

Especially when one's in love.

September and October. My two favorite months in Minnesota. Because of the wonderful change of seasons. Not too hot. Not too cold. Of course, autumn also signals the coming of winter. For people that get ahead of themselves. I don’t. No need to worry about winter. Really, winter ain’t all that bad. Even here in Minnesota. Though I have the option of fleeing. To my island paradise, Sardinia. Where I reside with my Italian true love.  But this winter, we’re thinking of a different scenario. Living in Arizona. For two weeks. Over the Christmas-New Year’s holiday. My true love has yet to experience the desert Southwest. I begin to wonder. If maybe the entire world is paradise. Especially when one's in love. –Jim Broede

I keep moving to stay alive.

Several friends tell me I work out too much. Such as biking 40 miles or walking 10 miles. Day in and day out. I seldom miss a day of fine aerobic activity. Doesn’t matter whether it rains or shines. I’m out there. Doing my thing. Friends remind me that I’m getting old. Just turned 78. But I persist. And counter. That maybe they are lazy. And  overweight. I exercise because of my desire to live. Forever. Don’t want to stop moving. That’s only for dead people. –Jim Broede

Because I'm a mere dreamer.

I’m gonna be mighty surprised if the Chicago Cubs don’t fire their manager. He’s a nice guy. But maybe too nice.  He tolerates losing. Every which way. Takes it a too matter of fact way.  And that attitude rubs off. On the players.  Some of the Cubs best young players have had bad seasons. They underperformed. No getting around it. Someone has to be blamed. The players, I suppose. But the manager should have done something about it. Should have instructed and inspired the team to be better. To exert themselves a little bit more.  To start to believe that they can win more often than losing. This Cubs team hasn’t done it. Therefore, the manager must go. I’m willing to take the job. For free.  But I won’t get it. Because I’m a mere dreamer. –Jim Broede

Love for each other.

Like me, my conservative Republican acquaintances/friends  create their own realities. Or what one might call political fantasies. Fictions that we choose to embrace. That’s all it is. Make-believe worlds that we start to believe in. One can learn to live lies. Positive lies. Negative lies. To each his own.  I think of my liberal world as the best world. Far better than the Republican conservative world.  But despite our differences, we sometimes set politics aside. And get on with the best reality of all. Love for each other. –Jim Broede

So many ways to savor life.

I do things differently. This winter will be different. Not the same as last winter. I’m planning. On a big change. A different approach. Two weeks with my Italian true love. In Arizona. Celebrating life. And Christmas. And the New Year. Quality time. Loving time. Splendid time.  So many ways. To savor life. –Jim Broede

Enough to keep me happy.

I am getting older. A day older than yesterday. A week older than last week. But I’m trying to not let that bother me. Instead, it fortifies my belief. That I’m a survivor. Having lasted for a relatively long time. Forever. My forever, at least. Yesterday. Today. Tomorrow.  Really. I can’t ask for more than that. It’s enough to keep me happy. –Jim Broede

In love. With life.

Getting uneasy with life. That happens. Occasionally. When one gets too far ahead of one’s self. One starts thinking about tomorrow and next week and next month and next year. That’s not so  good. Because one  really should be focused on today. On now.  Making the most of the moment. Not a good sign when one forgets to do that. Some people spend their lives living in the past or the future. Reminiscing. Or wishing for a better life. Rather than savoring one’s immediate blessing. Being. Alive and fully conscious. In love. With life.  –Jim Broede

Finding the right balance.

I like to think about things. Period. Better than not thinking. Though there are times when I’d rather not think. Because that’s a way to relax. To merely enjoy the moment. Without thinking. But even when I’m thinking, it’s easy to relax. By thinking a relaxing thought. Some people think too much. Because they think about worrisome stuff.  I’ve learned to turn thinking on and off. Depending on the situation. One can think too much. Or  too little. The best thinkers find the right balance. –Jim Broede

In my world, nothing is impossible.

I have no problem with creating my own reality. A reality that doesn’t have to be shared with others. That’s why I could become a writer of fiction. In essence, I’m capable of creating a make-believe world. But I do such a good job of it that I start to believe in make-believe. Because I want to.  The spirit world, for instance. Maybe that’s the way religions operate.  They create a make-believe vision. And then conclude that it’s true. That it ain’t make-believe any longer.  That they can live forever. And even perform remarkable feats. Such as walking on water. In my world, I can do everything and anything. Nothing is impossible. –Jim Broede

The deepest of hate.

Crazy political movements. They happen all the time. All over the world. And there’s nothing crazier than the lunatic fringe Republicans. The ones that hate Obama. Everything about Obama. But mostly because he’s black,  The craziest of the Republicans could become as crazy as Nazis. Indeed, that’s scary. But the good thing is they’re unlikely to gain enough power to put Nazi tactics into force. But one never knows for sure. This is a crazy, crazy world. Anything could happen.  The inmates could take over the asylum. These Republicans want to repeal Obamacare. And they seem willing to be spiteful in order to get it done. Maybe even by destroying America. The economy.  The Republicans even seem willing to commit political suicide in the process.  I’ve never seen hate run so deep.  Not even in Nazi Germany. –Jim Broede

Finding good in bad.

I don’t fight life. Instead, I go with the flow.  Letting things happen. Naturally. Some of my friends don’t do that. They are in a constant fight with life. They choose to swim upstream. Against the flow. To not let things happen naturally and easily. I suppose that’s all right, too. To each his/her own. Of course, I have no objection to change. To trying to effect outcomes.  When that’s possible. But when it isn’t, I’ve learned acceptance. And to even make the best of bad situations. Funny thing. I often find good in events that others perceive as bad. –Jim Broede

Options to war.

The most evil of men can be bribed, I suspect. To be less evil. Hitler, for instance. Let’s assume that with the right kind of bribe, Hitler could have been persuaded to hand over the Jews to other countries. A far more humane option than sending the Jews to concentration camps. Where they perished. Of course, that would have required the rest of the world to intervene. In an effective way. With such an offer. Maybe even paying Hitler with a cash stipend. For the sake of saving lives. Such a measure might have prevented World War II. In the meantime, maybe Germans would have eventually come to their senses and overthrown Hitler. Think about it. The many potential benefits from averting a war. With bribes to despots. Millions of lives could be saved. And maybe even Hitler would gain a modest degree of respect. By accepting a somewhat less evil/less brutal option to the Holocaust. Makes sense, doesn’t it? To test slightly more civilized alternatives to war. –Jim Broede

Kind spirits: There to be found.

I know mean-spirited people. Plenty of ‘em. Mean-spirited acquaintances. And strangers, too. I encounter them. If not daily, often enough. The world is full of mean spirits. Fortunately, there are kind spirits, too. Maybe more than the mean ones. Mean spirits like to cause harm. Sometimes, just for the hell of it. I wonder why so mean? And the answer is simple. They have mean spirits. Doesn’t necessarily mean that they have to live with their mean spirits forever. I’ve seen some mean spirits change. Maybe miraculously. Maybe because deep down, they had a kind spirit hidden way. There to be found. –Jim Broede

The savoring of rare moments.

I thrive on other people’s heartbreaks. Take the happening on Sunday, for instance. Fans of the Minnesota Vikings football team are in misery. Because their team lost to the Chicago Bears, 31-30, on a touchdown in the last 10 seconds. I came away elated. Because I’m a Bears fan. When I hear Vikings fans lament, it sort of makes me happy. After all, it’s a pleasant reminder that the outcome went my way. Of course, I lament often enough. The Bears lose heart-breakers, too. As do my Chicago Cubs baseball team. But hey, I still have opportunities to savor rare moments. That’s all I need. –Jim Broede

Give me a secular devil.

Assad could become a relatively good guy.  With proper tutoring. With innovative coaching. He’s decided already to give up his chemical weapons. That makes him less bad. More good. And in Syria, where he’s president, that’s a giant step in the right direction. Because all factions in Syria are bad, bad, bad. That includes the rebels. And the Assad regime. Therefore, it’s a matter of finding the less corrupt element. That could be Assad. Because he tends to take a secular approach to life. Better than being a religious fanatic, like most of Assad’s enemies. It’s better to have a secular devil as head of state than a religious devil. –Jim Broede

My goal: Making serious folks laugh.

I  have a desire.  A goal. To become a stand-up comic. At a comedy club. I could pull it off. By getting on stage. Without a script. And merely  talking. For an hour. Non-stop. With funny stuff. Whatever comes to mind. Spontaneously. I’d prefer an audience of serious, humorless people. People that seldom laugh. Because they really are the funniest people in the world. They would inspire me. To be funny. To poke fun. At serious people. That’s my kind of humor. It comes so naturally. I’d not want an audience of fellow comedians. That would be no challenge. Because they understand humor. I want an audience of people that don’t understand. They make me laugh.  And believe me, I’d find clever ways to make them laugh. At themselves. –Jim Broede

My favorite dream.

All I had to do was hitch a ride. On the Voyager I spacecraft. Launched in 1977. And I’d be out of our solar system. Into another world.  Yes, an incredible nearly 12 billion miles from Earth. Took 36 years to get that far. Drifting at a speed of about 37,000 miles an hour. The scientists at NASA tell us that Voyager left the solar system on Aug. 25, 2012. Maybe Voyager will drift forever in interstellar space. Voyager’s next significant encounter is expected to be with a faraway dwarf star. In 40,000 years. Voyager keeps sending back signals. Takes 17 hours for the signals to reach Earth.  But I’m thinking, thinking, thinking. That when I become spirit, I can catapult myself past Voyager and to any place in the cosmos. In an instant. Because spirits live outside of time. With the creator. That’s my favorite dream. –Jim Broede

Not a single thought any more.

By writing about life, I create life. My life. My impressions. Of what’s important. To me. All this may be meaningless to others. But it has meaning for me. Because I am defining myself. As a romantic idealist, a spiritual free-thinker, a political liberal, a lover, a dreamer. In essence, I am creating myself. With words. With language. With actions, too. With the way I choose to live. And the way that I interpret. Life. My life. In that sense, I’m living what I write.  I’m feeling the pulse beat. With thoughts. Put into words. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be a thought.  For a thought to be a full-fledged thought, I have to capture it. By putting it into words. My words. Before the thought becomes elusive. And perhaps disappears. Forever.  Maybe that’s all I am. A collection of thoughts. Makes me wonder. If when I die, all my thoughts disappear. As if I never existed. There’ll be no proof that I ever was. Or for that matter, that anyone ever was.  Not a single thought any more. –Jim Broede

Let's find ways to get along.

I’m for improving American-Russian relations. Because the two countries, working together, cooperatively, can bring great and positive changes to the world. Unfortunately, Russia was bad-mouthed in America for a long, long time. For generations. Because Russia was a communist country most of the 20th century. Americans were given a steady propaganda diet – that communism is bad, bad, bad. When really, it ain’t all that bad. There’s good in communism/socialism. Good in capitalism, too. Really, a blend of good and bad stuff in both ideologies. Let’s take the best of each. And prosper. I like the spiritual nature of communism/socialism. Which advocates the common good. Capitalism tends to encourage individuals. Rather than society as a whole. In that sense, capitalism tends to be a more selfish approach to life. Allowing for too much economic exploitation. Anyway, I’m an optimist. Thinking that people on both sides of the political/economic spectrum can work out their differences. –Jim Broede

America ain't exceptional. But I am.

I’m exceptional. In a unique sense. Not because I’m an American. But because I’m me. Jim Broede. There’s only one of me. As for Americans, there are all kinds. Too many maybe. They come cheap. A nickel for a half dozen. They are all over the world.  Russian President Putin recently cautioned Americans, especially politicians, not to think of America as an ‘exceptional’ country. I agree. America ain’t exceptional. But I am. Because I’m an individual. There’s nobody quite like me. No twin. No clone.  No duplicate. I’m an American citizen. But that doesn’t make me exceptional. And I never think of my America as exceptional. Sometimes, America acts like a bully. There are lots of bullies in the world. I don’t like bullies. So when America acts like a bully, I don’t like America. But I do like me. Because I’m not a bully. And I’m very likable. And exceptional and unique. In so many, many ways. –Jim Broede

Hell on Earth.

I  don’t think of my country, the United States of America, as exceptional. It’s merely an ordinary country. Run by politicians. A country no more exceptional than Italy or Iceland or Scotland or Russia. I live in Italy. In fall and winter. With my Italian true love. Now there’s someone that’s exceptional. My true love. Maybe it’s that I’m not in love with my country. Don’t get me wrong It’s a nice country. Especially where I live. In Minnesota. But there are several places in the U.S. where I wouldn’t want to live. Texas, for instance. I think of Texas as hell. Mostly because of the political climate. Some of America’s worst politicians come from Texas.-- Jim Broede

To make for that better world.

 I keep being more and more impressed by Russian President Putin. Wow! He has a good mind. And a good grasp of world affairs. Sounds like a very decent fellow. I trust the guy. Something about his demeanor that I like. All this after reading an op-ed piece he wrote in today’s New York Times. I’d like to think of Russia as an American ally. And America as a Russian ally. Working together to make the world a better place. I have great respect for the Russian people. They have a rich history. And a great sense of decency. Could be that the Russian soul is even more decent than the American soul. But mostly, we can benefit from each other. By blending our national souls. And our efforts. To make for that better world. –Jim Broede

Maybe they'd prefer being dead.

I have acquaintances that don’t put their lives in perspective. They seldom, if ever, remind themselves that they are conscious, thinking beings. They don’t rejoice in the wonderfulness of it all. Instead, they focus on trivialities. Insignificant stuff that often makes them annoyed and upset. They don’t take the time to reflect that they are alive and healthy. Full of the kind of life that should be appreciated. But isn’t. Because they are going through the motions of living. Rather than embracing and savoring it all. Instead, they gripe and complain about life. Makes one wonder if they’d prefer being dead. –Jim Broede

With my pal Putin.

Putin isn’t such a bad guy. I like him. And most Russians, too. They’re pretty decent people. That’s my impression. I want to go to Russia some day. Soon. Preferably to St. Petersburg. But Moscow, too. And maybe a train journey all the way to Vladivostok.  I’m not enamored with all people and all countries. I’d steer clear of the Middle East. Especially Syria. Lots of bad guys and religious fanatics running around that horrid place. Don’t trust any of ‘em.  Putin seems willing to bail out Obama from a political bind. By swaying Assad to surrender his chemical weapons.  It’s not a ploy. It’s a genuine effort to bring a diplomatic solution to an ugly and insane political mess. Sure beats more violence.  I also like it that Russia/Putin gave political asylum to American whistle-blower Edward Snowden.  Hey, I might feel comfortable living in liberal-minded Russia. With my pal Putin. –Jim Broede  

Give me honest friends.

Telling friends exactly what’s on my mind. Maybe that’s my biggest fault. Because not all friends want to hear what I have to say. It alienates some. Makes for a strain on some relationships. Maybe that’s why I have only a handful of true friends. Ones that stick by me. No matter what. On the other hand, I’m more likely to stick by a friend. Unconditionally. Friends really don’t alienate me. Ever. No matter what they do. I’m the one that alienates. A friend is able to say anything to me. Even critical and nasty stuff. I can take it. And even feel good about it. Because the friend dared to speak to me honestly. I take that as a friendly compliment. –Jim Broede

Asking the devil for more heat.

Teachers voted today in my Italian true love’s school to start the school year three days early. My true love dissented. To no avail, of course. She’s for postponing the start as late as possible. Hoping that as summer wanes, the weather will make for better classroom conditions. There’s no air-conditioning. And it’s hot and humid in Italy. Anyway, in Italy the individual schools have flexibility.  Teachers can choose when to start. Within certain parameters. For instance, they can choose to start earlier than usual, thereby allowing for longer vacation periods. At Christmas or Easter. Anyway, I’d hate to teach in a hot and muggy classroom. With no air-conditioning.  My true love has adjusted. She’s cultivated an amazing tolerance to uncomfortable temperatures. She doesn’t mind sweating. And fanning herself by hand. On the hottest nights, she doesn’t even want to sleep with air-conditioning or a ceiling fan. Actually, she has a built-in intolerance to air-conditioning. Claiming that it causes throat congestion and body aches. She’d have an easy time surviving in hell. Wouldn’t surprise me if she asked the devil to turn up the thermostat. –Jim Broede

No side glances.

I’m very selective. About who and what I allow in and out of my life. That helps me keep my sanity. And to create the kind of life that I covet. Of course, I don’t have complete control. That’s impossible. But I’m able to steer a general direction.  Which makes for a happy life.  I see so many lives veering out of control. When they don’t have to. It’s a matter of learning how to take control. Becoming selective.  Making one’s own choices. That’s the ultimate freedom. To block out the bad stuff. The negatives. And to focus on the good things. The positives. Today, I have chosen to not answer the telephone.  Because I don’t want to be disturbed. Or diverted from my path. It’s as if I’m wearing blinders. Looking straight ahead. No side glances. –Jim Broede

I want to be very different.

Always, I have something to write about. Because I always have something on my mind. And I’m not afraid to speak my mind. To put any and everything into words. Don’t know if that’s good or bad. Negative or positive. But hey, that’s what defines me. Words fashioned into thoughts. I know people who hardly ever put thoughts into words.  Or if they do, they keep it all secret. They don’t share. I tend to blurt whatever comes to mind. Even if that makes me appear stupid. I consider myself  intelligent. And savvy. But I understand why I’m taken for an idiot. Because some people find me strange. Different. But then, that’s what I want to be. Very different. –Jim Broede

My brutal and ruthless side.

I think there’s a mouse in the house. A wasp, too. And I don’t want any of ‘em around. So I have chosen to kill. To execute. I have a lethal weapon. A fly swatter for the wasp. He’s as good as dead. It’s just a matter of time. Meanwhile, I have delegated my two cats, Loverboy and Chenuska, to mouse patrol.  They have been authorized to kill. Normally, I put the cats into a bedroom for the night. But for the moment, they have free rein of the house. Round-the-clock. For as long as it takes to rid the premises of a solitary mouse. Goes to show that I have a brutal and ruthless side. –Jim Broede

Trying to shut out the bad stuff.

I don’t like any of the participants in the Syrian civil war. They all seem like bad guys. Like Mafia thugs. One and all. Ruthless. Brutal. Hateful. Unable to find a diplomatic solution to strife. They’d rather kill each other. In any which way. It’s a war instigated by hate. Of each other. Goes for everyone. From President Assad’s regime. To all of the rebel factions.  They act more like thugs than disciplined soldiers. I suspect that the vast number of Syrians don’t want war. They want to live in peace and harmony. But an inhuman element has taken over the country. Zombies. The living dead. And decent people can’t do anything about it. They are caught in a quagmire. In a nightmare. So here I am. Sitting on the sidelines. Across the world. In America. Where President Obama has proposed intervening. By lobbing missiles into Syria. As if that’s gonna do some good. Maybe kill a few zombies in the process. But more likely, it’ll kill hordes of innocent people. Women. Children. Old people. Yes, the peace lovers. That would prefer living their lives happily. Without war. Without killing. Already, two million of the 22 million Syrians have fled the country. Refugees. Meanwhile, I keep asking myself, what can I do? What can the rest of the world do? I’d like to think of myself as sane.  Capable of coming up with a solution. There must be many more like me.  Wishing. Wishing. Wishing for effective diplomacy. For a plan that brings sanity to Syria. Knowing full well that wishing isn’t enough. So I try to get on with life. My life. Thankful that I am in love. With my Italian true love. That’s my focus today. As I try to shut out the rest of the world. –Jim Broede

I know my priorities.

I’m continuing to expand my daily routine. Beyond mere writing and physical exercise. I’ve added daily cleaning and organizing around the house. A sign that I’m allowing my Italian true love to have a profound influence on my approach to life. I recognize that to get anything done effectively and efficiently, one must pursue it every day. Rigorously. Vigorously.  That also goes for my loving relationship. I give it keen attention. Daily. Without miss. I know my priorities. --Jim

Anger. It ain't good.

Someone asked me the other day if I occasionally lose it?  Lose my temper. Lose control. Swear a blue streak. Shout. Curse. Guess I have. In the distant past. A long time ago.  Maybe I’ve learned to curb my anger. To accept life. As it is.  Change what I can. And don’t fret over what I can’t. I’ve learned to keep my cool. Oh, I become annoyed. But not downright angry. Because it does no good. Doesn’t suit me.  Better that others become angry. Rather than me. Makes me feel superior. In control.  Some may take my annoyance as anger. But it really isn’t. I know anger when I see it. When I feel it. And I haven’t felt anger for quite a while. Psychologists may tell me it’s good to become angry. But I know better. I’ve been angry before. And it ain’t good. –Jim Broede

Better than Julie.

My neighbor Julie asks, ‘How are you?’ I suspect she really wants to know. Therefore, I reply, ‘Better than you.’ Might as well be honest. Knowing that Julie isn’t feeling good. Because she’s an Alzheimer’s care-giver. For her father. For five years and counting. And she’s contemplating putting dad into assisted living. Has been. For a long time now. But she never gets around to making the ultimate decision. Puts off the inevitable. Another day. Another week. It adds up. Julie is full of guilt. She wakes with guilt. Goes to bed at night with guilt. She never gets rid of guilt. It’s with her all the time. I’d hate to live that way. So I don’t. Makes me feel better than Julie. And I don’t feel the least bit guilty about it. Used to be that I felt guilty. About this and that. Maybe the guilt motivated me to be a better care-giver. For my dear sweet wife Jeanne. Maybe that’s why for a long time I was a 24/7 care-giver. But then Jeanne went into a nursing home. For the last 38 months of her life. And instead of being 24/7, I was a devoted care-giver for 8 to 10 hours a day.  Didn’t miss a single day. With Jeanne. But I also didn’t miss my daily respite.  I became a much better care-giver. Truly loving. Truly competent. And guilt-free.–Jim Broede

I'm a cool cat.

It’s delightfully cool in the house tonight. Because the air-conditioner is going. When I go to bed, it’ll feel good. Crawling beneath the light blanket. I like temperatures in the 60s Fahrenheit.  The 70s are a little too warm for me.  I’m uncomfortable when it’s 80, and humid. Not everyone agrees with me. Some like it hot. But I’m a cool cat. –Jim Broede

Not too late to fix things.

I have a neighbor who’s stressed. Almost to the breaking point. Because she tries to be all things to all people. But especially to extended family of sister, uncles, aunts and cousins. Instead, I tell her, focus on the most important handful of people. Maybe her husband. He should be her genuine true love. But she’s been too focused on others. For five years now. She’s neglected her husband. Spreading herself thin. Paying too much attention to relatively minor actors/characters in her life. They don’t deserve much attention or consideration. They should be treated as lesser lights. Seems to me that in a marriage/loving relationship, one’s lover should be one’s primary focus. Even more important than one’s career. But too often it isn’t. Little wonder that many marriages/relationships break up. They aren’t cultivated and renewed on a daily basis. Not given top priority. Fortunately, in this case it’s not too late to fix things. –Jim Broede

Everything but farmers.

Had my heart set on visiting a farmers market. In big city Chicago, of all places. But got sidetracked. My Italian true love and I decided first to visit the Lincoln Park Zoo.  Then go to the farmers market. Just south of the zoo. An unwise decision. Got there, and someone was loading a van with empty crates. “Where’s the farmers market?’ I asked. Turns out, we  arrived an hour too late. Missed it all.  That’s what I miss most when in Chicago.  Farmers.  Chicago would be a better place if it had more farmers. More country hicks. Chicago is getting too cosmopolitan for me.  Instead of bean stalks, I’m seeing skyscrapers. And gorillas, monkeys, tigers, giraffes, camels. Everything but farmers. Because I bungled an opportunity. –Jim Broede

I detest wars. Of any kind.

I have less and less desire to change the world. Instead, I merely let the world be. And accept things. Without being particularly bothered. By events in Syria, for instance. I don’t know what the conflagration is all about. And I don’t care. Because I can’t have any influence. Even if I did care. Guess it’s a civil war. And all of the factions seem to be crazy. If they want to kill each other, fine. It’d be better if everybody could get along. And just be happy. Heard that 108,000 have been killed so far. And the Syrian president is alleged to have his troops use poison gas to kill 1,429 Syrians. But in a war, maybe it doesn’t matter which way people die. Poison gas. A bullet. A bomb. Don’t know why people go to war. Never could figure that out. At least, I’ve never had to fight in a war. Makes me blessed. I  detest wars. Of any kind. Especially wars perpetrated by America. But I put up with wars. And worse. Because I can’t change things. Better that I don’t even pay attention. –Jim Broede

Wishing.

It’s heartbreaking. Watching a dedicated Alzheimer’s care-giver. My neighbor Julie, for instance. She’s been tending to her dad for five years, and counting. In her own home. And there’s disappointment. Almost daily. Because Julie wishes her dad was like what he used to be. A keen mind. That enabled him to work productively. As a scientist. At 3M Co. Instead, dad withers away. There’s a consolation. Dad continues to maintain a positive and amiable disposition. Most of the time. He isn’t belligerent. He knows how to feign being a little bit with it. He still laughs. He acts happy. But dad knows he isn’t himself any more. And he’s incontinent. Has ‘accidents’ often. Used to be embarrassing. For him. For others. Now everybody learns to live with it. In a way, Julie is caring for a child. One that she desperately wants to see succeed. Instead, he fails. Repeatedly. And Julie has to learn to accept that. The disappointment. The wishing that all were well once again. –Jim Broede

Putting love of war first & foremost.

Barack Obama ain’t stupid. If he wants to go to war, he simply recruits Republicans to the cause. After all, most Republicans are natural born war mongers.  They not only like war, they love war. They live for war. For violence. For brutality. Because that’s the patriotic American way.  To show the world that we are righteous people. Out to save the planet. From the bad guys. In this case, the Syrians. Republicans have opposed Obama on practically everything. Just for the sake of pure racist hatred of Obama. But there’ll be one exception. When Obama proposes a military strike against Syria, the Republicans hop aboard. They encourage Obama to go to war.  They can’t resist. Yes, because they are devoted war mongers. Maybe Obama is, too. But deep down, I suspect he’s merely testing Republicans. To show that their love of war ranks higher than their hatred of Obama. –Jim Broede

Loving Chicago despite the bad stuff.

I love Chicago. Despite not liking Chicago. Thing is, I‘d rather be in other places. But once in Chicago, I make the best of it. And find ways to enjoy my stay. Despite the aggravations. Such as traffic snarls. Crowds. Expensive living.  Generally, I’m leery of big cities. Doesn’t matter whether it’s Rome or Chicago. I’m most comfortable in the rural countryside.  In a primeval forest. On a mountain top. At the seaside. I can live without  skyscrapers. Having no desire to ascend to the top. I’m more of a ground-and-tree hugger. Fortunately, I can still hug in Chicago. Especially when I’m there with my Italian true love. As I was last week. I hugged her a whole lot. In order to keep my sanity. Helped to know that I wasn’t staying permanently in Chicago. Only visiting. And observing. The fancies of my true love. We were running out of time.  Didn’t get to see and experience everything. Such as a ride on the elevated trains. I’ve been on the trains before. Many times. In my younger days. But my true love has yet to ride the elevated. Only seeing and hearing the rumble from below the tracks. So many things to do in Chicago. Can’t get to it all. But that leaves many reasons to return.  I had to make sacrifices, too. Merely driving by Wrigley Field. Rather than entering the sacred shrine. Home of the Chicago Cubs. Maybe I was fortunate. Because the Cubs were out of town. Not having to subject myself to more loveable losing. Meanwhile, I tell my true love she must enter Wrigley Field. After arriving on an elevated train. Once inside, I’ll pay proper homage. Kissing the ground and the ivy on the outfield walls. Making my visit to Chicago  worthwhile. Despite the aggravations. –Jim Broede

I prefer words. And thoughts.

I’ve more or less retired my camera. When traveling. Rarely take pictures any more. Instead, I focus on my surroundings. And on people. By riveting it all in my mind. And in writing, too. My own words. My own descriptions. My impressions. No need to take photos. I’d rather feel my experiences. Deep down. Inside me. I don’t need photographs to remind me of anything. I don’t particularly like pictures. I prefer words. And thoughts. –Jim Broede

Chicago, a haven of nice people.

I was chastised. For getting off the bus too soon. On Michigan Avenue. In Chicago. Because I wanted to walk. To take in the scenery. At my own pace. Slower than the bus driver would have me proceed. My Italian true love preferred riding. But she followed me. Dutifully.  Suggesting, however, that I had made a mistake. And didn’t want to admit to it. But the truth be told, I wanted exercise. The aerobic kind. And fresh air. Furthermore, one must learn to walk. Especially in Chicago. And not only that. But to get lost. That’s one of the best ways to discover Chicago.  The real charm of the city. And to seek the help of strangers. The natives. They are very accommodating of visitors. They overhear our conversation. And know that we are lost.  And offer help. Chicago is full of nice people. –Jim Broede 

My 'Revolucionary' experience.

I normally wouldn’t eat at a Mexican restaurant. I’d choose Italian or German, or even French, before Mexican. Especially in Chicago. Where I was last week. Thing is, I was with my Italian true love. And I trust her implicitly. In the choice of dining places. She chose the Revolucion.  And now I’m hooked. On Mexican fare. Revolucion was so good that we returned the next night. I had the same dish both times. Salmon. Prepared the Mexican way. With chopped veggies. Marinated with mild balsamic vinegar. Wow! A new and splendid taste for me. An appetizer of tortilla chips, too. Complemented by three kinds of salsa. Spicy to mild. And Mexican beer. Plus the endearing company of my beautiful and intelligent and culinary discriminating true love.  Can’t ask for more than that. Though maybe a little bit more light would have helped. It was so dark, we had trouble reading the menu. Even by light from a flimsy candle. Fortunately, the amiable and helpful waitress came by. With a fancy compact flashlight. The next night, we ate outdoors. On the patio. That gave us a little more light. From the stars, a neon sign or two from across the street, and a trusty Chicago street light. We ambled to Revolucion from our hotel, the Majestic, located a half block off Lake Shore Drive, in the heart of a swanky section of Chicago. Took a right turn, then a left, then another right, and one more left. To 3443 N. Broadway. And across the road from a Treasure Island grocery. Which we steered into just before closing. For a caramel apple cake and a carton of skim milk. A superb dessert. Over which I lingered. In our hotel room.  I fell asleep. Knowing that I had experienced a fantastic  Mexican Revolucion. –Jim Broede

Mona -- the gifted and blessed one.

I’m intrigued by Mona. The desk clerk/manager at the Majestic Hotel. In Chicago. Where I stayed several nights. Last week. With my Italian true love. We engaged Mona in good conversation. For 90 minutes. That’s the way life should be. Meeting strangers. And getting to know significant things. About each other. Right off the bat. Mona is 44. Has a son. Age 20. Mona is Mona. Very much alive. And thriving. Because her parents-to-be met at UCLA. Father from India. Mother from Spain. Dad is an intellectual, of sorts. Ruled largely by his mind. Mom has a Spanish temperament. Ruled mostly by her emotions. Mona is an interesting blend of her parents.  Intelligent. Emotional. A romantic. A good conversationalist. Because she’s interested in people. In travelers. In strangers. Anyone.  Isn’t afraid to talk about personal stuff. My kind of human being. Decent. Inquisitive. Curious. Dad was in an accident. Fifteen years ago. He’s paralyzed. Which means he has to live/thrive by using his mind. And he does. With the help of a devoted wife. I like their story. About life. Because Mona is in it. She tells the story well. And makes friends. Of strangers. Oh, so easily. That makes her gifted. And blessed. –Jim Broede