Give me government. The good kind.

I want a decent life. Without having to be rich/wealthy. I suspect that many, many people share my desire. They’ll settle for the basics. And that’s one reason they like government. Especially the federal government. Because guaranteeing the basics for everyone is supposed to be the government mission. To provide ordinary, less-than-rich citizens, with health care and education and social security. Of course, Republicans would leave pursuit of the basics up to the individual rather than the government. But hey, I’d rather not have to make quick and big bucks. Better to work for the common good of society. Through good government. –Jim Broede

What is a soul?

I’m listening to loud music played loudly tonight. And I’m wondering how my cats, Loverboy and Chenuska, hear it. Are they aware of music?  I suppose not. And does music played loudly bother them? Does it hurt their ears? Cats are supposed to have good hearing.  What sort of sounds do cats appreciate?  Can certain sounds relax a cat?  It would be interesting getting into a cat’s mind. What is it like being a cat? Are cats even aware that they are cats? I suppose they don’t recognize themselves when they look into a mirror. I like to rub my forehead against Loverboy’s forehead. Imagining that’s a way to exchange thoughts. I wonder if animals have souls. I wonder, too, if the creator/god has a soul. Anyway, that raises another question. What is a soul? –Jim Broede

Give me underwhelmed ecstasy.

I refuse to feel overwhelmed.  Oh, I have many, many things to do. But most stuff will get done. Whenever. And maybe never. I recognize that I can’t do it all. Certainly, not today. Therefore, I set reasonable priorities. Doing what I want to do. Even if that means wasting time.  I like to waste time. Without qualms of conscience. Because that relaxes me.  Puts me at ease. Others in my life may put pressure on me to do this and that. But I’m the ultimate decider. I refuse to accept too many tasks.  I even reject too many pleasures. Because I don’t want to be spread thin. I’d rather savor a single pleasure  Rather than an overwhelming number. A true lover (of life and other things) has to take his time. Not be in a hurry. Some of my finest moments come in an underwhelmed state of ecstasy. –Jim Broede

Old age. The preferable option.

Pardon me, Alzheimer care-givers. I gotta say it. There are far worse ways to die than of old age. Or Alzheimer’s, for that matter. My dear friend Claudia died the other day. Of breast cancer. At age 45. Another good friend, Ron, has Alzheimer’s. He’s 85. Fortunately, he didn’t die of cancer in his middle years. Instead, he has had time to pursue a successful career as a scientist at 3M. A marriage of 62 years, too. And retirement years in a cabin on Lake Superior. Ron is in assisted living now.  A shadow of his former self. But still, he’s with it to a degree. Enjoying daily walks. And visits from his daughter and son-in-law and pet dog. Could be worse. That is, if Ron had missed out on the last 40 years. I suspect Claudia would have happily settled for living into her 80s. Even if the price was a slow and lingering death from Alzheimer’s. –Jim Broede

Alive. In my imagination.

I don’t like the process of dying. Especially if it’s long and lingering and painful. Such as it was for a dear friend, Claudia. Better to die suddenly, or in one’s sleep. It’s just as well that Claudia is no longer suffering. Of course, as a romantic idealist, I imagine that she’s in another dimension.  Where time has stopped. And now she has the opportunity to truly live. I would encourage her husband, Vittorio, to look at it that way. If death is as I want to imagine it – well, then it’s a blessing. That’s the way I’d design creation. If only I were the creator. And in a sense I am. In my imagination. Which means that Claudia lives. At this very moment. In my imagination. If nowhere else. –Jim Broede

Nothing wrong with doing right.

Nothing wrong with the rich subsidizing the poor. By paying substantial taxes that go into social welfare programs.  Call it redistribution of wealth, or whatever one chooses. I’m all for it. Fair is fair. And spreading the wealth is fair. It’s all right to have a society that includes many rich people. But at the same time, society should be structured in ways to reduce the number of poor people. By giving some a helping hand. Maybe by finding jobs for the unemployed. And by offering public and private assistance that help guarantee basic necessities for the needy. –Jim Broede

Obama's true legacy.

The opponents of Obamacare  remind me of the foes of civil rights in the 1960s. Hateful people. Many of whom made their way into the Republican Party. Now their descendants attack Obamacare. They despise/hate Obama solely because he’s black. They would like to deny him his civil rights. Including  the presidency. They claim he wasn’t born in the U.S. They want him ‘sent back’ to Kenya. They say he’s Muslim. It’s self-deceptive racist thinking. They are livid. Full of deep-rooted hate. They can’t stand that the American people elected Obama. Not once. But twice. They want Obama and everything he stands for to fail. Simply because he’s black.  Fortunately, they are a minority in America. Unfortunately, they hold significant sway in the GOP. But hey, give everything time. For evolution. I’m an optimist. Americans learned to reject slavery. Learned to accept civil rights. Albeit, grudgingly at times.  And now Americans are learning to accept Obamacare. In 50 years, Obamacare will have evolved into a single-payer health care system. For everyone. True socialized medicine.  That will be Obama’s true legacy. Good reason to revere and celebrate our first black president. –Jim Broede

Even better than forever.

Acceptance.  That’s what I have learned as I age. I can’t have everything. But then, on second thought, maybe I can. If I think of life as everything. In that I’m offered opportunity. So very, very many opportunities.  Choices. Of course, I’d prefer to have forever. To explore the wonders of life. But then, maybe I do.  Because I can imagine having forever. And that could be good enough. Just the thought of it. Plus the ability to fall in love. With life. Maybe there’s nothing more wonderful than that. Even better than forever. –Jim Broede

Savoring life. No matter what.

I’m a being of action. And inaction, too. Because I’m constantly deciding. What to do. And not do. Like now. I’ve decided to think about what I am. And what I’m not. I have freedom. To choose the course of my life. To an extent, that is. Some events around me just happen.  No stopping occurrences. Such as the weather. But I’m able to adapt. I can stay indoors. Or go outdoors. And even embrace adverse elements. The cold. The wind. Yes, making the most out of the situation. Savoring life. No matter what. –Jim Broede

A better lover and dreamer.

On second thought, and after a night’s sleep, I’ve decided to accept the notion/fact of evolution. That I’m evolving. Into an older being. That I am in a constant state of change. Mentally. Emotionally. Physically, too. But it’s easier accepting what I’ve become mindfully. Than it is embracing my new physical state. The important thing: I’m evolving/growing in spiritual ways. I’m becoming far more spiritual and far less religious. That’s a good thing. Helps me become a better lover and dreamer. –Jim Broede

Better than a dead Methuselah.

Don’t particularly like the  fact that I keep looking older and older. Yes, looking more and more like my actual age. An old man. Not that far from 80. It’s a blow to my vanity. To my delicate ego.  Guess that’s the peril of living long enough to age. Physically.  I’d like to look young and vibrant. I wonder what Methuselah looked like at age 78. He still had almost 900 years to go. He must have looked like a kid when he turned 100. Of course, maybe there wasn’t a real Methuselah. Only a mythical one. If so, I shouldn’t complain. Because I’m real. Not a mere myth. And very much alive. That’s better than being a dead Methuselah. --Jim Broede

A solitary I.

Billions and billions of years passed before I consciously arrived on Earth. Or so I’m told. By astronomers and other ‘experts.’ All that time. And I wasn’t here to witness it all. Or was I? Without remembering. Maybe I’ve had billions of lives. Different lives. Different forms. So very many. Without memories. Because now I am I. The one and only I. A solitary I. –Jim Broede

Time. With or without me.

Maybe time is an illusion. Because time seems to go much faster as I get older. When I was a kid, it took a long, long time for a week to pass. A long, long time to get through a school day. Now it seems like a week passes in the blink of an eye. Oh, I’d settle. If time slowed down again. And lasted forever. Maybe it does. With or without me. --Jim Broede

I grasp. And savor.

I like listening to songs. In other languages. Languages that I don’t speak. But still, I am able to understand. By the sound. By the tonal quality. I can still sense the emotion. In the voice.  I’m doing that today. Listening to songs. Sung by an Asian woman. In her own language. And I grasp. And savor. Without knowing the words.  –Jim Broede

On being truly human.

I like being imperfect. Because that gives me something to do. Going on searches. For perfection. Knowing that I’ll never find it. Or achieve it. Partly because I’ll never know how to define perfection. It’s too elusive. A good thing, perhaps. Makes me wonder. That to be perfect, one must become other/less than human. That’s the secret. We humans must learn to accept our imperfections.  Because that’s what makes us truly human. –Jim Broede

In love...despite the frailties.

I want a society in which everyone is guaranteed a decent standard of life. That’s why I’m a political/social/economic liberal. A socialist sympathizer, too.  And no friend of the Republican Party. To achieve my dream, it’s necessary to have equality of opportunity. Which amounts to access to resources such as shelter, medical care and education. Of course, the perfect society will never be achieved. At least, not in the physical world. Here on Planet Earth. More likely in the spiritual realm. If there is such a place. But still, that shouldn’t stop us from aiming for the ideal society. By working continuously for the common good. But that poses a problem. A stumbling block. We can’t agree on the definition of the common good. I have mine. You have yours. But still, I’m happy. Because I’m in love – with life. Despite the frailties. –Jim Broede

Scary, isn't it?

Let Texas secede from the union. That would be a good idea. I’m all for it. Then Sen. Ted Cruz could be elected president. Of Texas, of course. He’d win easily. With the support of his entourage of conservative Texans. They gave him an eight-minute standing ovation the other day. In Houston. For acting like a Texan. For leading the charge to shut down the U.S. government for two weeks. Cruz’s only regret.  The closure didn’t last long enough. Anyway, he thanked the Texans in the audience, mostly adoring women, for the thunderous ovation. Declaring he was happy to be in America again. Yes, in Texas. That the rest of America is no longer his kind of  America. Far too liberal. For putting a black man in the White House. For not thinking like patriotic racist Texans.  Scary, isn’t it? –Jim Broede

Slowly. Gently. No hurry.

I like going to bed. And falling asleep.  It’s very pleasant. Very relaxing.  A nice way to end the day. Some nights I start falling  asleep  at my computer. While writing. Could be that I write in my sleep. Drifting. Drifting. As if on a cloud. I’m doing that tonight. Listening to soothing music, too. A hypnotic prelude to sleep. Maybe that’s why I sleep so well. I make a ritual of going to sleep. I edge into slumber. Like an adagio. Slowly. Gently. No hurry. –Jim Broede  

Time. Be gone. Farewell.

I’m occupied. Every day. With something. That means I’m alive and with it. I sort of lose track of time. Which is good. Suddenly, I look at my watch. It’s late. But does it really matter? No. That’s a nice thing about my life. My time has become my own time. It doesn’t belong to anyone else. Especially when I am alone. Doing as I please. I am free. I’ve wanted to live outside of time. And maybe the closest I can come is to lose track of time. Maybe I should throw away my watch. Yes, and get rid of my clocks. Any reminder of time. Be gone. Farewell. --Jim Broede

Comprehending me.

Too many people I know don’t know themselves. And that’s a pity. To go through life without any deep personal discovery. I uncover  new stuff about me daily. In some ways, I’m the most interesting person that I know. Doesn’t mean that I have a gigantic ego. But admittedly, I have an ego. And self-confidence. That’s important. I’d hate to go through life without probing my depths. My soul. My inner being. And the best way to understand myself is to understand other people. To relate to them. To take educated guesses about what makes them tick. And then make comparisons. About how much we are alike. And different, too. I often put emphasis on the differences. Because that brings balance into my life. I don’t necessarily want to be like others. Or for others to be like me. I’d rather just live and let live. But for all this to be possible, I have to fully comprehend me. –Jim Broede

In my dreams.

I’m a well-tuned machine. I could keep exercising (working out) for hours. Non-stop. Walking. Bicycling.  Doing all sorts of physical exercise. I’ve been bicycling 30 to 40 miles most days. And when I put the bicycle aside for a while, I walk for 10 miles a day. I’ll do that when the snow arrives. In Minnesota, that could be almost any day now.  My Italian true love cautions me against too much exercise. I scoff at such advice. Because exercise makes me feel good. Furthermore, I’m a man of moderation.  I know when to rest. When I go to bed. And start dreaming. That I’m running a marathon.  That’s the best way to do my most vigorous exercising. In my dreams. –Jim Broede

Must have been barbers long ago.

I read in the New York Times. Yesterday. Of the discovery of a 1.8 million year old skull. The experts say it’s a human-like skull. With only one-third the brain capacity of a modern human. The Times printed a photo of the skull. On the front page. And a story on page 8A.  The finding. By archeologists. Was in Georgia. Not the state. But the republic. Anyway, I find that fascinating. That this guy roamed planet Earth so very, very long ago. Almost unbelievable. Of course, maybe it was a gal. I wonder if there’s a way of telling. An artist made a sketch of what this being might have looked like. It was definitely a man’s face. With a well-trimmed beard and moustache. Must have been barbers long, long ago. –Jim Broede

A horrid but entertaining thought.

I know someone who reserves the right to become furious. Over nothing. It’s really her vivid imagination. She chooses fury over calmness. Perhaps merely testing the limits of her mind.  If so, that’s funny. Intriguing, too. Personally, I’m in favor of controlled fury. Which means I’m not furious. Because I’m in control. The truly furious are out of control. That’s a horrid thought. But hey, Halloween is fast approaching. A time for a horrid and entertaining thought. –Jim Broede

I'm the master of trickery.

I want to live outside of time. In a place where I don’t have to be concerned about running out of time. Then I’d be in the land of forever. Though I suspect it wouldn’t be a physical place. It’d have to be a spiritual existence. Another dimension. Sort of a nothingness. I’d still have the ability to think. To even imagine the physical. That raises the possibility that’s where I am now. Outside of time. And I’m merely imagining being me on planet Earth. In the realm of time. I’m able to trick myself. Into believing that it’s all real. –Jim Broede

Please, protect us from crackpots.

I’m pro-government. Yes, I want government, especially on the federal level, to be a vital part of our lives. Give me more government rather than less government. I’d rather have government running the show than putting my faith and trust in the private sector. That’s just the way I am. After a lifetime of political observation.  My suspicions are aroused when Tea Party crackpots and lunatic fringe Republicans clamor for less government. They’d not hesitate to shut down government. To literally destroy government.  They’d like to become the ruling elite. Outside the normal bounds of human decency.  They abhor democracy. They have no empathy for the middle class and the poor and destitute. They favor the rich. They detest an even-handed  government. Thank gawd. For the invention of government that protects us from the crackpots. By focusing on the common good. –Jim Broede

Feeling Italian round-the-clock.

I live in two time zones. Seven hours apart. Here in Minnesota, it’s 4 in the morning. But my Italian true love is in Sardinia. Where it’s an hour before noon. Last night, I put her to bed. With a telephone call. On Skype. She retired at 4 in the afternoon. Ooops! I mean nearly midnight, Sardinian time. I’ve adjusted well.  To living in two places. Simultaneously. Years ago, I wore two watches. A reminder to flip back and forth. But not any more. I automatically know. Of the moment in Italy. Because I am in Italy. Spiritually. Though still physically in Minnesota. Like thinking in two languages.  Admittedly, I’m not much with Italian lingo.  But hey, that doesn’t stop me from feeling Italiano. Round-the-clock . –Jim Broede

Politics ain't my game.

To succeed in politics, especially at a higher level of government, one must be a member of a political party. That would turn me off. Immediately. Because I would lose a great deal of my independence. Of course, I could declare that I’m an independent. But that would make the going very difficult. One generally needs the backing of a political party. And in America, that means either the Democrats or the Republicans. I’d be a poor fit. In any  party. But I’d come closet to fitting in with the Democrats. Because they are more tolerant of independent thinking.  But still, I wouldn’t feel comfortable. Thing is, I dislike playing politics. It’s a game that can get mean and nasty and intolerant. Another reason for me to steer clear. Furthermore, I’d be ineffective in the political realm.  Because I don’t want to play the game. –Jim Broede

My vow: To be clutter-free.

After living in clutter, I am becoming Mr. Neat. Yes, I have evolved. Into an anti-clutter freak. Thing is, I accumulated far too much stuff in my lifetime. But there’s been big change in the last six years. Ever since I met my Italian true love.  She’s opened not only my eyes. But my mind and heart as well. In so many, many ways.   Not least, to ridding myself of clutter. Much of it unnecessary material possessions. For instance, I have collected several thousand cassette music tapes. Most of ‘em stored in my small attic. But they used to be stored all over the house. Yesterday, I started clearing out 90 percent of the cassettes. Donating ‘em to the local thrift store. Where they will be sold for 50 cents each.  Used to be that I didn’t want to part with stuff. But I’m finally recognizing that I have way too much stuff. It’s really not meaningful stuff. It’s clutter.  Therefore, I am on a mission. To cultivate a clutter-free environment. All I really need is one precious treasure. My Italian true love.  Virtually everything else can go. –Jim Broede

I enjoy living.

I have to exercise. Mentally. Physically. Keeps me alive. If I didn’t stay active, I’d decline. Mentally. Physically. It’s a matter of use it, or lose it. Nicest thing of all, I never become exhausted. Mentally or physically.  I’m able to go morning, noon and night. I enjoy living. It’s a pleasure. A blessing, too. –Jim Broede

My fertile imagination.

I think about dying. Some day. But I don’t dwell on it. Because I prefer to focus on living. Today. Tomorrow. Next week. Next year. But I know, relatively speaking, that I’m running out of time. I’m feeling good. Healthy, really. But knowing at my age, that things are more likely to go wrong. At the snap of a finger. But I’m not worried. I accept the notion of death. That it’s inevitable. And that I am blessed. For having reached age 78. With the optimistic prospect of surviving into my 80s. In good shape. Mentally. Physically. Emotionally.  It would have been much more difficult for me to accept death when I was younger. I wanted to reach old age. To see what it’s like. And to have time to get my act together. Haven’t decided yet how I want to die. Maybe it doesn’t matter. It could be a sudden death. Or a long, lingering and painful one.  Wonder if I have a choice. My father did. He committed suicide. Sixty-some years ago. At age 38. That fate would have been unacceptable for me. I’ve always wanted to live. For another day. I never wished to die. If I had my druthers, I’d live forever.  As a spirit. In a non-physical dimension. I’ve become a romantic idealist. A dreamer, too.  I’m able to imagine such an existence.  Maybe that’s what I like most about life. My fertile imagination. –Jim Broede

True love: Makes me fully alive.

I know couples. As friends. And I sense many intricacies of their relationships. The best of ‘em keep evolving. Their love becomes stronger. Others stagnate. Or grow apart. Disintegrate. Yes, relationships. In all kinds of stages. Occasionally, I try to interfere. To encourage fixing things. Becoming true lovers.  Not all love is true.  A true love keeps growing. Keeps expanding.  Knows no bounds. I need true love.  Without it. I am lost. Adrift.  With it. I am found. Fully and passionately alive. –Jim Broede

Something the creator can't do

I write. Often. In the same way that I talk. In spurts. And fragmented sentences. Short. Because it’s easier for the listener/reader. To grasp. Easier for me, too. Because it comes naturally. Wasn’t always that way. My style of communication keeps evolving. I can write and speak long and complicated sentences. Still do. When the occasion dictates. Makes me flexible. Adaptable.  Must consider the audience. In order to be effective.   Some like this blog. Others don’t. That’s all right. I don’t aim to please everyone.  It’s a big mistake. Trying to be all things to all people. Several of my friends do. I tell them. That’s impossible. Not even the creator can do it. –Jim Broede

Warm thoughts.

I’ve got the upstairs garage pretty well cleaned and organized. Down to mostly books and clothes. It’s been nice working in the garage. Because the autumn weather has been mild and sunny in Minnesota. Supposed to cool a bit starting this weekend. But I’m ready for it. I’ll adjust. And dress appropriately. I’ll keep biking for a few more weeks. Until it snows.  Must get used to the cold again. But when I think of my Italian true love in Sardinia, I have warm thoughts. That will help me through the winter. Besides. We have a rendezvous scheduled. In Arizona. In December and January. Celebrating the holidays.  And life. Together. –Jim Broede

Does it really matter?

I like spiders. Just spied one. Crawling on the floor. Near my foot. I let spiders live. But if it was an ant, or a mouse, I’d not hesitate. I’d take action. Becoming a killer. An exterminator.  A decider. Over what lives, what dies. Makes me wonder. If I’m doing the right thing.  And does it really matter?  --Jim Broede

In pursuit of the idyllic life.

I’m trying to persuade my friend and neighbor Julie to go with husband Rick on a trip this weekend. To get away. For much-needed respite. To finally make her dad, who has Alzheimer’s, a second priority. Yes, Rick and her marriage should become first priority. It hasn’t been. For five years. Because dad was put first. Out of necessity. Finally, two weeks ago, dad was placed in assisted living. Julie is still there. At his side. Daily. Providing supplemental care. She  continues to be a good care-giver. For her dad, that is. But Julie neglects taking care of herself. And care of Rick, too. She has yet to learn an important skill of the care-giving art/craft. That of taking care of one’s self and one’s true love. In this case, Rick. The nice thing. Rick has done an admirable job of caring for Julie over the extended and challenging Alzheimer sojourn. But Julie hasn’t always been adequately attentive/caring of Rick. Fortunately, Rick has been understanding. A sign of true love. I tell Julie that now it’s time to return the favor. To focus on Rick. For the sake of a stable marriage and true love. That, first and foremost. Now is the time to get away from the constant emotional and physical demands and tensions of care-giving. Leave it to the professionals and friends. And just take off.  For the weekend. In pursuit of pleasure and a more normal and idyllic life. –Jim Broede

Thriving in Paradise.

I’m torn between two beliefs. That the world in which I live is Paradise. But also Hell. On any given day, I can imagine being in both places. Of course, I prefer Paradise. And that’s where I spend most of my time. Entire days and weeks and months. I try to experience Hell only from afar. I know it exists. All I need to do is read about it. Or watch television. There’s news of life in Hell every day. In my own country. All one needs do is associate with a lunatic fringe Republican. Simply go to Congress. It’s Hell.  Full of idiots. I’d rather converse and associate with the devil himself than most Republicans. Because the devil operates with some degree of rhyme and reason. Not a trace of it in modern day Republicans. Wasn’t always that way. Abe Lincoln, for instance, was a Republican. When Republicans were decent and honorable. The nicest thing about life is that I’m able to more or less steer clear of Hell. Because I live in remote parts of the world. In Minnesota. In Sardinia. With my Italian true love. I feel the pulse beat of love. An undeniable indication that I reside in Paradise. Maybe that’s the real difference between Paradise and Hell. Loving ways exist and thrive only in Paradise. –Jim Broede

Telling Congress to go to hell.

I’m imagining. That I’m a public employee. In Washington. Told to go home. Because Congress decided to shut down the government.  For political reasons. Well, I wouldn’t go home. I’d stay on the job. In my office. Round the clock. Gratis. Without pay. Just to show that I won’t acquiesce. Yes, I’d keep my little portion of government open. And functioning. To spite Congress. .And because I believe in good government. Run smoothly. And efficiently. Without resorting to the usual political gamesmanship. I’d serve the people. And tell Congress to go to hell. –Jim Broede

Keenly aware.

I’ve captured the moment. At about 3 in the morning. Just got up. Feeling rested. After about three hours of sleep. Time to think. Time to write. About being in a crazy world. With events over which I have no control. I am isolated. In a remote place. In Minnesota.  No turmoil. No consternation. No fear. Makes me blessed. Knowing that I am alive. And conscious.  Savoring life.  I am where I am. Being. Where I want to be. Doing what I am doing.  Keenly aware of existence. –Jim Broede

Living with my decisions. Happily.

I  have 1,000 things to do. On any given day. But I’ve learned not to feel overwhelmed. Instead, it gives me peace of mind. That I have so many options.  It’s up to me to decide. Which things do and not do. Recognizing that I can’t do everything.  Even if I lived for 1,000 years. Because I am constantly adding things to my imaginary list of ‘things to do.’ Years ago, I felt overwhelmed. Indeed, that was stupid. I should have known better.  Of course, my friends and others tell me I should do this and that. But really, it’s up to me. I’m the decider.  And I live with my decisions. Happily. –Jim Broede

Is it better to die old?

It’s a real downer. A friend, still quite young, in her 40s, is dying. Wish it weren’t so. I would have hated to die in my 40s. Death is hard to take. At any time. But maybe it’s easier when one reaches so-called old age. Like me. I’m 78. Seems more fair.  I think about Schubert and Mozart and Bizet. They all died so very young. In their 30s. But maybe they had an inkling that they wouldn’t live for very long. That’s why they were so productive/creative at such young ages. They didn’t waste time. Of course, if there’s an afterlife, it all evens out. They continue to live. In a different and maybe better way. And so they end up blessed. Meanwhile, I think of myself as blessed. Because I’m in no hurry to reach the afterlife. Just in case there isn’t one. Anyway, my thoughts tonight are with my friend. Though that won’t do her any good. –Jim Broede

I am a proud troublemaker.

I’m wearing a new sweatshirt. Emblazoned. On the front. In big bold letters. With a message: ‘Here comes BIG trouble.’  Big is underlined. The shirt makes me feel feisty. And it tells a truth. I am a proud troublemaker.  I truly like to make trouble. Right here in my blog. And everywhere. I have no problem offending people. Often, unintentionally. But intentionally, too. Oh, I spread my share of plaudits. But I don’t hesitate expressing my wrath. When it’s deserved. On nasty and mean-spirited people. –Jim Broede

Could be, I'm already a lazy bum.

I’m thinking about spending one day a month as a lazy bum. Essentially, doing nothing. No writing. No physical exercise. No chores around the house. No special projects. My aim would be to see what it feels like.  Like I say, I’m thinking about it.  Which means I may not do it. Because it goes against my nature. I have to do certain things. Every day. In order to be happy. To feel fulfilled. That includes writing. And working out. I don’t want to be a lazy bum. Though maybe that’s what I am. Without knowing it. Because I do as I please. That could be interpreted as laziness. Thing is, I’m really not working. Instead, I’m in constant pursuit of pleasure and happiness.  In a way, that’s a form of laziness. It’s a way for me to avoid work. Nothing feels like work any more. Could be, I'm already a lazy bum. –Jim Broede

Staying alive.

Several of my dear friends are funny. In thinking that I over-exercise. Believe me, I don’t come close to overdoing it. I feel good while exercising.  Relaxed. Comfortable. It’s good for me. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. I’m not gasping for breath. I’m merely moving my physical being. Doing what my arms and legs and torso were made to do. Move. Move. Move in rhythmic ways. It’s my form of dancing. Actually, real dancing, out on the dance floor, is far more strenuous than my biking or walking. I also tend to think while exercising. Clears my mind. Gets rid of the clutter.  And makes thinking easier. In that sense, I’m exercising my mind as well as my body. My friends are far more sedentary than I. They may not fully understand the benefits of exercise. Sustained. Aerobic. Of course, it’s all right for them to be sedentary. If that’s their thing. But I am compelled to exercise. Daily. For several hours. I’m built and wired that way. Maybe that’s why I’ve lived this long. To 78, and counting. If I had followed a sedentary lifestyle, I’d probably be dead by now. Meanwhile, maybe it would be dangerous for my sedentary friends to go out and exercise vigorously. . They might drop dead. For being out of shape.  I suspect we each are doing what we have to do. To stay alive. –Jim Broede

Suicide in a very gory way.

In a way, I love political conservatives. Especially the Republican kind. Despite my being a liberal. And a socialist sympathizer. Thing is, the lunatic fringe conservatives are the Republicans’ worst enemy. They keep dragging down the GOP.  Making the Republicans a laughing stock. They make moderates and even Barack Obama seem like good and sensible people.  Sane. Intelligent. The contrast. It’s amazing. Anyway, Republicans are in disarray. They don’t have enough sense to ditch the lunatic fringe. Instead, they cater to the party’s most stupid and mean-spirited element. Of course, that’s bad for the Republican Party. Very bad, indeed. Nothing could make me happier than to see Republicans committing political hari-kari in a very gory way. By embracing the lunatics. –Jim Broede

Still waiting for next year.

I would happily manage the Chicago Cubs. For free. In fact, I would pay the Cubs if they hired me. Yes, I’m a Cubs fan. Addicted. Since childhood. I’m 78. And it’s been a long, long time waiting for the Cubs to win a World Series. Last time that happened was 1908. But hey, there’s a consolation. I remember 1945.  When I was a 10-year-old kid. Listening to the radio. The Cubs were playing the Detroit Tigers. In the World Series. And the Cubs lost the seventh and deciding  game.  That makes me an elite. Imagine that. I was alive. Way back then. The last time the Cubs almost did it. Thank gawd. Haven’t run out of time.  I'm still waiting for next year. –Jim Broede

Things went haywire.

Maybe life is meant to be funny. Full of laughs.  Not to be taken seriously. I’m beginning to think that’s the truth. The real truth. The original intention of the creator. But somewhere along the line, things went haywire.  People began to take themselves seriously. So seriously. That they became Republicans. –Jim Broede

Is there no escape?

I want an idiot-free world. No more idiots. But the more I think about it, that means a world without people. Because we are all idiots. We were born idiots. And we die idiots. It’s a continual turnover. An ever-lasting hell, so to speak.  All of us. We are condemned to live in hell. For our entire natural lives.  There’s only one unresolved question. What about the afterlife?  Is that idiotdom, too? Oh, my gawd! Is there no escape? –Jim Broede

I believe...

The trouble with politics is politics. We need to take politic out of politic. Especially in Washington. Let’s become more objective. And less subjective. About the running of a country such as America.  Let’s ban politicians not only from making political decisions, but from delving into economic, social and moral matters as well. Some day I want to live in a political-free country.  Impossible, you say?  Well, I believe in the impossible. I believe in a world without Republicans. In a realm where we all can walk on water.  I believe… --Jim Broede

Thinking. The cure for boredom.

Staying up late doesn’t bother me. Because I’m fascinated. Enamored with life. With whatever I’m doing. Whether it’s cleaning the house. Or pondering about what to write. I’m enjoying myself. And so I don’t feel tired. I tend to be tired when bored.  And that hardly ever occurs. Besides, I enjoy being bored. That turns me on. Makes me wonder why I’m bored. And when thinking  about it, I’m no longer bored. Yes, thinking. The cure for boredom. --Jim Broede

A dreamer, too.

I like to romanticize about life. That’s why I fantasize a whole lot. I make of life what I want it to be. Not necessarily what it is.  That’s why I believe in an afterlife. In other dimensions. In Paradise.  In divine fate. In destiny. In the idea that I am blessed. And that life is full of pleasure. That work isn’t work. Instead, it’s pure pleasure. I believe in happiness far more than I believe in sadness. I stay up into the night. To savor being alive and conscious. Aware that I have a pulse and a heartbeat. And that I have true love. Not only of life. But of  my Italian true love. Makes me a true romantic idealist. A dreamer, too. --Jim Broede

The terrible truth.

Things ain’t going well in assisted living. For my friend Ron. He’s the 85-year-old father of my friend and neighbor Julie. He’s got Alzheimer’s. And lived with Julie and Rick. In their home. For over five years. Until he was placed in assisted living last week. I’ve written a lot about Ron. In this blog. I’ve taken to Ron. And his pet dog Sasha. We go for walks. Almost daily. But less often now. Because the extraordinary senior care campus is 20-some miles away. Out in the country. On 183 acres. It’s swank. Idyllic. And expensive. But looks to me like Ron’s not getting proper/adequate care. Maybe it’s that he needs more than assisted living. In a nursing home. Where he’d receive round-the-clock care. When left to his own devices, he gets into trouble. Could come to harm. Julie is thinking about bringing Ron home again. She’s pissed. With the staff in assisted living. They aren’t doing the job. Especially on weekends. They are understaffed.  Also, most of the nurses’ aides are poorly trained. They have no or little clue over how to deal with Ron and others with dementia. It’s a disgrace. A shame. I fear for Ron’s well-being. Even if he’s checked into a full-fledged nursing home.  I know. Because my dear sweet Jeanne had Alzheimer’s. And she spent the last 38 months of her life in a nursing home. I was there for her. For 8-10 hours a day. Didn’t miss a single day, thank gawd. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have received proper/adequate care. She needed the supplemental care that I provided.  Ron will need that, too. And most likely, he won’t get it. Unless Julie and others show up almost daily. To supplement the care. That’s reality. A must. Sadly, all too often, it doesn’t happen. That’s the nature of the care-giving business. Leaves so much to be desired. It’s expensive. Terribly expensive. And terribly inadequate, too. –Jim Broede