Saturday, December 28, 2013

Thank god, I'm not a Johnson.

I'm fascinated and pleased by my unique surname, Broede. So thankful that it isn't Smith or Jones or Johnson or Anderson. I don't want a common name. There aren't very many Broedes. At least, in the USA. Maybe 20 at the most. And I suspect we are all related. I know of several hundred Broedes in Germany. We Broedes all have Deutschland roots. It's the 'oe' in Broede that identifies our German origin. Sometimes, the 'oe' becomes an 'o' with two dots over it, known as an umlaut.  There are other spellings of surnames pronounced the same way as Broede. Including Brodie and Brody. They are mostly of  Scottish, Irish and English origin. I've traced my ancestry to Switzerland, as far back as the 1600s.   When our surname was spelled Brathi. My ancestors migrated to Germany after the 30 Years War. And Brathi was pronounced like Broede in the German language of the day. And so the sound Brathi obtained a German spelling. Germans don't pronounce Broede exactly the same way as English-speaking Americans. Sounds more like the way Americans would pronounce Brathi. To the best of my knowledge, I'm the only Jim Broede in the world. I have a son-in-law, with the very common name Bob Johnson. Every day, I thank the creator that my name is Jim Broede -- and not just another Johnson. --Jim Broede

Storybook endings.

I'm resigned. To the fate of the Chicago Bears. They'll lose. To the despised and rival Green Bay Packers. On Sunday afternoon. In Chicago. I feel it. In my bones, my psyche, my gut. Yet, I'm pulling for something other than destiny. For a miracle. For divine intervention. Merely for my emotional pleasure. The Bears are supposed to lose. I know that. But I want the script changed. At my behest. I want to overrule the gods. It's been that way. Ever since I was a kid. Perhaps I get my way occasionally. But I want always. Imagine that. I've made my trivial wishes important. I'm a gambler. Not with money. But with emotions. I root for the Bears in professional football and the Chicago Cubs in professional baseball. Especially in what I deem pivotal games. When they lose, I used to be downright morose. Depressed. Out of sorts. For days. It bothered me. Not so much any more. But still, I'm affected if my storybook ending doesn't prevail. Yes, that's stupid. And selfish. Because it really shouldn't matter in the grand scheme of life. But still, I let it matter. My mood can be affected. By the happenings in a football game. By random chance. So here I am. At the moment. Trying to put the Bears-Packers football game into the meaningless category. It really shouldn't matter. Even if the Bears lose badly. Or in a heartbreaking fashion. Yet, I can't fully stop myself from letting it matter. I recognize the Bears are a relatively bad team. More bad than good.  And they probably don't deserve to win. I am trying to prepare for an emotional letdown.  For disappointment. When really, I want unbounded happiness.  Jubilation. I want to usurp the grand creator. And take control of the universe. If only for a few precious moments. I want storybook endings. Designed exclusively. For me. By me. --Jim Broede

Friday, December 27, 2013

'All Sardinian women are beautiful.'

I like to please my Italian true love. So when she suggested a supper featuring pecan-crusted chicken breasts, I went shopping. And to my surprise, the butcher at the Safeway Grocery in Phoenix never heard of pecan-crusted chicken before. I filled him in. Told him we gourmet progressives in Minnesota have 'em all the time. Anyway, we settled for baked salmon. With a freshly squeezed orange marinade. Good. But not as delicious as pecan-crusted chicken breast. Especially when the mood strikes. Fortunately, the encounter with the butcher wasn't a total loss. Because he's no longer a total stranger. He's from Albania. Having migrated to Arizona 13 years ago. He's nostalgic. Returns to his homeland every other year. For visits. I complimented him on his English. I would have never guessed he was foreign born.  'How is it that you learned such good English?' I asked. He pointed to his head. 'The teacher gave me good whacks,' he said laughingly. I introduced him to my true love. 'She's from Sardinia,' I said. 'Do you know where that is?' Of course, he did. Albania isn't very far away. 'My best friend's girl friend is from Sardinia,' he said. 'She's beautiful.' I gave my true love a loving glance, and announced:  'All Sardinian women are beautiful.' --Jim Broede

Thursday, December 26, 2013

Time to be in love with life.

'The Great Beauty.' It's an Italian film worth seeing. In the soothing and romantic-sounding Italian language, of course, and with Italian actors. And English subtitles. The first five minutes portray Baccanali living. Which rid the audience of two prudish women. They walked out. In disgust, I guess. Which was just as well. Because they were incapable of grasping the soon-to-come great beauty. In the story. In the scenery. In the great city of Rome. Seated next to me in the theatre in Phoenix on Christmas Day was my Italian true love.  That made for even more great beauty. My true love has been a great and good influence on me. Getting me back to the big screen movie theatre. After an absence of almost 10 years. For reasons I wish not to extol. Anyway, 'The Great Beauty' is about the beauty of life. Which so many of us lose sight of. Because we are bogged down in the blah and humdrum of living. Sadly, no longer recognizing true beauty. Really, life is wonderful. Precious. There to be savored. With opened eyes and loving spirits. No more excuses. Yes, time to be in love with life. --Jim Broede

Wednesday, December 25, 2013

Makes every day special.

It's been years since I had a white Christmas. Maybe five.  But really, I don't miss the whiteness. Maybe that's not the proper thing for a Minnesotan to say. But then, I've never been big about being proper.  Anyway, in recent years most of my Christmases have been spent with my Italian true love. In idyllic and snowless Sardinia. And now, this Christmas Day, I'm with my true love in Arizona, where it's sunny and a balmy 70 degrees. To tell the truth, I've never been a big celebrant of Christmas. Instead, I'm more a celebrant of life. Which makes every day special. --Jim Broede

Tuesday, December 24, 2013

Living outside of time.

Time moves slower in Arizona than in Minnesota. Or so it seems. If that's what I feel, then it's true. I've always wanted time to slow. To a crawl. So that I have an infinity, of sorts, to savor life with my Italian true love. I'm absorbed. With her here in Arizona. Enjoying every minute. Makes me wonder if life back in Minnesota is less enamoring. Because a week there seems to pass relatively fast. Could be that time speeds up when I'm in a routine. Pretty much doing the same stuff every day. But with my true love, it's different. Nothing is routine. Everything is extraordinary and precious. More fulfilling. One forgets about time. Time is obliterated. It's as if I'm living outside of time. --Jim Broede

Pretty woman.

The pretty African-American woman asked if I was looking for the shuttle bus. 'No,' I said. 'I'm merely out for a walk.' I was at Sky Harbor International Airport in Phoenix ambling back and forth between Terminals 2 and 3. Killing a couple hours while waiting for the arrival of my Italian true love on a flight from Italy. Anyway, an hour later, I spotted the same woman again. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. So I inquired. 'Are you waiting for the shuttle?'  Turns out, she's employed by the airport to assist passengers on and off the shuttle. Reason enough to strike up a conversation with another stranger. As is my habit. We talked about her job. And personal stuff. She's lived in Phoenix virtually all of her 30 years. I volunteered stuff, too. About how I came to meet my true love. My ploy. To get the pretty woman to talk. About her life. She's married. To a guy she met on the Internet. He was living in Georgia. And that's where she went to live for a while. But now they are in Phoenix. For good, it seems. Both working at the airport.  But she also has established her own business, a hair salon. For which she's a walking advertisement. The first thing I noticed. Her hair. Fabulous. Long and curly. Afro-American style. Her most becoming feature. We also talked about what it's like to be black in America. I know one thing. I'd hate to live in Georgia or Alabama or Mississippi or Louisiana  or Texas -- as a white man. And much less so as a black. But she's a survivor. Young and enthusiastic and gracious and charming. I wished her all the best and a very, very happy life. She deserves it. --Jim Broede  

Monday, December 23, 2013

On motherhood.

Women that choose not to have children. They are among my most coveted and cherished friends. Because they tend to be very independent. A likeable trait. They don't need the experience of motherhood to be happy. Most are married  or in loving relationships. They have the opportunity and capability of bearing children. But prefer not to. For a variety of personal reasons. Sometimes, because children would hamper their independence. I like that. They don't have to be like most women. Some are free spirits.  They revere and savor life.  In their own ways. They don't feel obligated to bring other life into the world. Yet, they are the most unselfish people I know.  I'm also acquainted with very selfish mothers. They can't exist without children. And some do their children more harm than good. Interesting thought on motherhood, isn't it? --Jim Broede

In possession of a fertile mind.

Being thoughtless. That's a precarious mindful situation that I abhor. No, I don't mean being uncaring about others. My concern is not having any thought on my mind. Being totally blank. Occasionally, I find that my mind is more or less empty. Devoid of anything. Bordering on the unconscious. I'm merely going through the motions of living. Like a zombie. That scares me. So I sit down at my computer, like now, and write a thought about being thoughtless. But really, I'm not thoughtless. I have written proof. Right here in my blog. That I'm thoughtful. And in  possession of a fertile mind. --Jim Broede

Sunday, December 22, 2013

A lasting impression.

I'm on vacation. Well, sort of. Because in one sense, I'm always on vacation. Year-round. That's the benefit of being a retiree. Though I stay gainfully busy. Writing. Walking. Biking. Thinking. All done at a leisurely pace. No hurry. I'm in Arizona. For a few weeks. Out of my customary native habitat. In Minnesota. So maybe this can be considered a real vacation. Living at my daughter's house. In a fairly swank gated community. Mostly full of financially well-off retirees. As an outspoken political liberal, I'm less than a staunch defender of gated communities. I suspect that many of the residents here are rock-ribbed Republicans. They have a right to live where they want. Including gated communities. Really, I gotta admit this is a very comfortable environs. My daughter and her husband chose well. Anyway, the people are very, very friendly. When I go for walks, I'm greeted with hand waves. From other walkers, from friendly neighbors, from motorists, many of whom drive golf carts. The community is built around several golf courses. Indeed, I've had a warm welcome. Doesn't matter that I'm a stranger. That's nice. And appreciated. I could get used to living here. So quiet. Peaceful. And downright neat. I'm impressed and enthralled by the architecture and the layout of the place. I sense an art deco look. In a southwest adobe style. Some homes designed with pillars. Reminds me of portions of affluent Italy. That suits me. Because my true love is an Italian. And she's flying in tomorrow. To join me for the holidays and beyond. She'll like all this. I typically spend my winters with my true love in Sardinia, a Mediterranean island paradise. But not this winter. Because I want her to get the American Southwest experience. She's never been here before. This will be quality time for her. Me, too. I want to know her impression of the idyllic gated community. It'll leave a lasting impression, I'm sure. --Jim Broede

Curiously connecting strangers.

I'm a master at it. Learning something curious and significant about a total stranger. Within two minutes of  a chance meeting. In the parking lot of the Safeway Grocery store in Scottsdale, Arizona. I had just unloaded my purchases from a push shopping cart. The stranger offered to take the empty cart. I told him that was a wise decision. Because I have a magical touch. Sort of like the mythical King Midas. Therefore, the cart was imbued with a magical aura. This was his lucky day. That prompted the guy to make small talk. About the relatively chilly early morning temperature. In the low 50s. 'Not chilly for me,' I declared. 'I'm from Minnesota.' I volunteered more information. That I usually spend my winters in Sardinia, with my Italian true love. Instead, we're meeting this winter in Arizona. 'Do you know where Sardinia is?' I asked. He certainly did. Once upon a time, he had sailed around Sardinia, the second largest island in the Mediterranean Sea. Wow! Fancy that. In a brief encounter, we had learned so much about each other. That's the way life was meant to be. Strangers connecting. In curious ways. --Jim Broede 

Let's become truly free once again.

Tell you what I don't like about America. Lunatic fringe Republicans. Greedy capitalists. Big business. Especially tax-evading and low-paying corporations. And the huge and ever-widening gap between the rich and the poor. This is only a small start on my lengthy list of complaints. Of course, there's lots to like about America, too. That's why I stay. And work for political, economic and social change. Generally, I don't like what America has become. Since 9/11. An over-reactionary country. Americans are being told by political leaders, especially conservatives, that we need to live in fear. That we have to submit to ridiculous surveillance. Such as taking off our shoes at airports. For the sake of security. Meanwhile, the government's National Security Agency has decided to spy on all of us. Collecting wads of private information. We all have become suspects. Big private corporations are doing it, too. Acting on behalf of Big Brother. Keeping tabs on the likes of me. If I start using other than my usual computer, that triggers an alarm. My email network is shut down. Until I can prove that I am me, and not an imposter that broke into my email account. Absurd. Absurd. Absurd.  All in the name of security. We Americans have been robbed of our cherished privacy. Again, for security reasons. We are cautioned. Be careful. Don't trust anyone. Be vigilant. Stand by and guard your bags at the airport. Never leave them out of your sight. Another sign that the damn terrorists have won. America has declared war on bogus terrorism. Yes, the ultimate overreaction. These aren't terrorists. They are gangs of thugs. Criminals. And should be treated as such. The equivalent of the Mafia. No reason to go to war. America has wasted trillions of dollars and tens of thousands of lives is useless and obscene wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. Money and lives that could have been spent on building a better America. Please, please America, come to your senses. Let's become free of fear and over-reactionary surveillance. Let's become a truly free nation once again.  --Jim Broede

Saturday, December 21, 2013

The one and only Yahoo Jim.

Call me strange and fantastic and a yahoo. So much so that some people have a hard time believing I'm for real. Especially the security personnel at Hotmail, an email service provider. They suspect it's not me operating my account, jbbroede@hotmail.com. Therefore, in retaliation, they have denied me access to my beloved account. Don't know when or if I'll ever be allowed in again. I've tried for four days, and counting, to tell the Hotmail security gendarmes they should have nothing to fear from me. That I'm a totally harmless chap. And for real. On vacation in Arizona with my beautiful and charming Italian true love. Apparently, they find that story too hard to believe. That the real Jim is back home where he belongs, in Minnesota shoveling snow and tending to business on his home computer. Which I really was doing. Until I fled on Tuesday. Anyway, I deserve better treatment than I'm getting from the surveillance Doubting Thomases at Hotmail. It's time for them to recognize the truth. I'm the strange and fantastic Jim Broede. I move around. And I moonlight as a romantic idealist, a spiritual free-thinker, a political liberal, a lover, a dreamer. Furthermore, I'm a friendly fella, who wouldn't dream of impersonating me. I am who I am. Until the Hotmail doubters become real believers, I've been forced to go to the competition for my email service. My new email address: jbbroede@yahoo.com. For now, just call me the one and only Yahoo Jim. --Jim Broede

Collecting my idiotic wits.

I'm an idiot. No doubt about it. Because I do idiotic things. Daily. Makes me wonder how I've survived. To age 78, and counting. Maybe a guardian angel hovers over me. And saves me from myself.  Take the other day. I'm wheeling my travel bags on a cart. At a rental car place. Had to go down an escalator. Lo and behold, I push the loaded cart on the escalator. Just ahead of me. Wasn't thinking. I was in my idiot mode. As the stairs automatically moved downward, the cart tipped forward and the bags tumbled down ahead of me. Followed by the spiraling cart. Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.  Bang. Bang. Bang. Fortunately, nobody else was on the escalator. Anyway, two guys watched all this from atop the stairs and came to my rescue. Asked if I was okay. I was. Though embarrassed. And they kindly helped me collect my belongings -- and my idiotic wits. --Jim Broede  

Friday, December 20, 2013

Just the right balance.

I have a wonderful life. Without having everything. That makes me blessed. If I had everything imaginable, it'd be a curse. All I need are the essentials. Such as good health. And a love interest. That keeps me going. If I had too much, I wouldn't know what to do with it. Such as wads of money and the opportunity to be a reckless spendthrift. And a mansion so spacious I'd get lost in it. I can live without all that stuff. I'm still very happy and alive and conscious at age 78. Able to walk 10 miles or bike 30 miles every day. My first true love died 7 years ago after our idyllic 38-year marriage. But I've found a second true love, an Italian. Affording me the opportunity to bounce back and forth between Minnesota and Sardinia, an island paradise in the Mediterranean Sea. Little wonder that life seems so magical. So wonderful. I have just enough --not too much, not too little. Just the right balance. --Jim Broede

I ain't Speedy Gonzales.

I'll accept being called Giacomo or Vaclav -- the names for James in Italian and Czech. Obviously, I prefer Jim. My nickname. I try to avoid James. Another thing, I abhor being tagged Speedy Jim or Speedy Giacomo or Speedy Vaclav or Speedy anything. Because I'm trying to live at an extraordinarily slow and leisurely pace. It's good for my health --mentally, physically, emotionally. I detest being in a hurry. I want all the time in the world to savort/linger over every precious moment. Let me proceed at a snail's pace. No sense in quickening the journey to the end of my wonderful life. --Jim Broede

Thursday, December 19, 2013

Everything is now.

My third or fourth greatest fear. Growing old. To the point that I can no longer take adequate care of myself. The result of diminished mental and physical capacity. When one needs to rely on others. I haven't reached that point. And maybe never will. Could be it's better to just drop dead. And not linger on. But if I live for a long, long time. Well into my 80s and 90s, let's say. I could end up old and decrepit. Not a nice thought. But it happens to people all the time. I know some of 'em. I understand their fears and discomfort. Some of 'em would rather be dead. But others still find ways to savor and appreciate life. Even in such adverse condition. Amazing, to say the least. Don't know exactly how I'd react to that kind of circumstance. I am currently in love with life. But that doesn't necessarily mean I'll always be enamored. Far easier to be a lover when all's well. Mentally. Physically. Emotionally. Better able to curb my fears about the future. I live for today. By savoring what I've got. I'll deal with bad times when I have to. No sense in getting too far ahead of myself.  Now. Now. Now has always been the most important moment in my life. I  have yet to actually live in the fearful future. Come to think of it, maybe there is no future. Everything is now. --Jim Broede

My greatest fear.

Think of it, folks, I have been labeled a 'suspicious' character. All because I tried to access my Hotmail/email account from other than my personal home computer. My provider raised  the issue that this aroused their suspicions of a security breach. If this isn't a scary Orwellian development, then please tell me what is. I'm into my third day of trying to convince Hotmail security personnel to let me into my email. To get over it. To accept me as a user of multiple computers. Not only from Minnesota to Arizona, but all the way to Sardinia, where I reside for lengthy times with my Italian true love. In fact, she's meeting me in Arizona for the holidays. Please know, dear Hotmail, that it's no secret. I'm in love. And I am a romantic idealist, a spiritual free-thinker, a proud political liberal, a lover and a dreamer. I shouldn't be considered a 'suspicious' character. Maybe a harmless goofball, yes. Please, Hotmail/Microsoft, clear up this matter. And get out of my private life. Let me operate like a free man. Above suspicion. I've been your customer for over a decade. And I have thousands of emails stored with you. At a reasonable annual cost. You used to be on good behavior. Causing me no problems and providing a neat service, too. But you've changed. Into a snoop. That's not supposed to be your business. By the way, the same goes for the National Security Agency (NSA). Did they put you up to spying? On me and your other customers? That's my greatest fear. U.S. citizens being robbed of their freedom and right to privacy.  All for the sake of bogus security. --Jim Broede

Wednesday, December 18, 2013

I feel spied upon.

My email provider, Hotmail, is spying on me.  Looking into my e-mail files, and keeping track of the computers I use. As if it's their business. Generally, I use my personal computer at home in Minnesota. But on Tuesday I traveled to Arizona for a winter break. Which meant I had to find another computer to use while on vacation. But when I tried to sign in to my e-mail account, I was denied access by Hotmail. Solely because I wasn't logging in on my usual computer. I was supposed to unequivocally prove to Hotmail's security personnel  that I was really Jim Broede, and not an imposter. I have spent two days trying to do that. Without success. It's been frustrating. I need to reach people. By email. And maybe some are trying to reach me. Don't know. Because Hotmail keeps denying me access to my emails.  First off, it's none of their damn business whether I'm using a computer in Minnesota or Arizona. My computer. Or a friend's computer. Furthermore, they have no right to know where I'm residing today or any day. I have a right to privacy. I don't want to be spied upon and brought under suspicion. Anyway, this security check stuff must be a recent thing. Because I've been spending winters in Sardinia with my Italian true love. And when I was there, I used her personal computer for my email. In those days, Hotmail never questioned it. That was in the good old days. When I was still able to live as a free man. Maybe not so any more in America. Take Edward Snowden, for instance. The federal government wants to put him on trial -- for espionage. For being a traitor. For exposing the government. For spying on its citizens. Well, Snowden happens to be my hero. Wonder if that makes me suspect. Maybe the government has enlisted Hotmail to spy on me. --Jim Broede 

Ken Kurtz: No longer a stranger.

I hate to travel. But I love getting to my destination. It's the travel part that throws me for a loop. I'm  uncomfortable in the act of traveling. Taking care of the details. Getting everything in order. Running around. Catching flights. Checking bags. It's stressful. But I cope. Usually by talking to strangers. Getting to know something significant about 'em. Like the guy that sat next to me Tuesday on the flight from Minneapolis to Phoenix. We didn't talk to each other  for the first half of the three-hour journey. I gazed at the guy. He was absorbed in a book. A military story. The guy has a military bearing. Big. Burly. Bald. Wore a beret. Didn't take it off for the first hour. Had huge hands. Not long fingers. But thick thumbs. Three times as big as mine. His closed fist could have delivered a lethal knockout wallop. I pondered whether I should strike up a conversation. He was in the middle seat. I was on the aisle. On his left. An elderly Asian woman was on his right in the window seat. I would not have hesitated talking to her right from the start if we had been shoulder to shoulder. But I was uncertain about this guy. Took me a while. My curiosity finally won out. We became acquainted. And no, he didn't pursue a military career. He's Ken Kurtz, a construction contractor in Palm Springs in California. But he grew up in the city of Superior in Wisconsin. He misses Lake Superior and the Northwoods environs. Learned all sorts of interesting personal stuff about him. A very likeable chap. If my path ever leads to Palm Springs, I wouldn't hesitate looking up Ken Kurtz. He's no longer a stranger. --Jim Broede

Monday, December 16, 2013

In love. Joyfully.

Life has its heartbreaks.  But still, life is good. I wouldn’t want to trade it for the alternative. Having never lived. I’ll take the bad with the good.  Especially when the deal is 98 percent good. When my dear sweet wife Jeanne came down with Alzheimer’s and died almost 7 years ago, it was the worst heartbreak of my life. But I did what Jeanne would have wanted me to do. Which is, get on with life. Living the way it was meant to be. In love. In love. In love.  Joyfully. Joyfully. Joyfully.  –Jim Broede

Sunday, December 15, 2013

Entertaining the creator.

I wonder. Why I do this and that. Anything. Why I even get up in the morning. When it would be just as easy to stay in bed. All day.  Suddenly, I merely decide.  To go shopping. For something I don’t need.  Could be that I’m not the decider. Instead, I’m a puppet. Attached to strings. Manipulated and maneuvered by a grand puppeteer.  And here I am. On stage. Entertaining the creator. –Jim Broede

A stretch for my imagination.

I like to take unpopular positions. In politics. In philosophy. On social and economic matters. On virtually anything. Yes, just for the sake of testing. To determine if there’s any validity to this or that stance. I pretend. That I’m an avowed communist. An atheist. A true believer. A simpleton (Republican).  Of course, that can be confusing. Don’t always know what I am. It’s possible to shift positions. From day to day. But believe me. It’s educational and entertaining and a stretch for my imagination. –Jim Broede

Dreams full of caring.

One can’t care about any and everything. Impossible. Unwise, too. Because an overload of caring can be detrimental to one’s health. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. I know care-givers that care too much. They are burdened by cares.  And they start wishing that they didn’t have to always be caring. But still, they proceed. Caring. Caring. Caring endlessly. Like saints. Maybe that’s what they are.  But I wonder, if to survive, the saints learn acceptance. Enough to put caring on hold. For a few minutes. For a few days. Maybe only in blessed sleep. In unconsciousness. But I suspect that even then, they have dreams full of caring. –Jim Broede

Saturday, December 14, 2013

The political bite of sound.

When it comes to politics, many people are ill-informed. Another way of saying, they’re ignorant. Maybe because they don’t care. They have better things to focus on. Such as making a living. And finding time to enjoy life. Sounds sensible and wise to me. Therefore, little wonder that when it comes to elections, they base their votes (if they even bother going to the polls) on malarkey gleaned from sound bites. They don’t take time to examine the issues.  Maybe that’s why Republicans control the House of Representatives.  –Jim Broede

Friday, December 13, 2013

Better distinguished than handsome.

Spotted a photo of Robert Redford. And noticed that he’s starting to look like an old man. He’s 77. A year younger than me. I take solace in seeing an aging Redford.  Shows me I’m not alone. Looks to me like Redford is letting himself age gracefully. Not hiding from it. And with no remorse. Really, Redford looks more distinguished than he did as a younger man. Maybe it’s better to be distinguished than handsome. –Jim Broede

No complaints.

Used to be a breeze to survive a Minnesota winter. But I’ve lost my toughness. Need a break from winter. Though it’s only mid-December. Not yet the first official day of winter. I’m about ready to flee to Arizona. For  a few weeks. Where I’ll link up with my Italian true love. Normally, I’d spend winter with her in Sardinia. But this sojourn to the American Southwest will be a nice change of pace. Especially for her. Because she’s never been there before.  I’m also thinking about a return to Arizona in March. To take spring training with the Chicago Cubs. I have Sardinia in my plans for April and May.  Ah, the good life. I’m blessed.  No complaints. Even winter ain’t all that bad. –Jim Broede

My greatest fear.

Fortunately, I’m one of the least  dangerous people in the world.  I have goofy ideas. Political. Economic. Social. But I wield virtually no power. It also helps that my government hasn’t yet been taken over totally by lunatic fringe Republicans. If that ever happens, I’m in deep trouble. Because I’d be considered unpatriotic and a security risk. For my excessively liberal political views. I might be placed in a concentration camp. If not summarily executed. That’s my greatest fear. Being caught up in a topsy-turvy world. For instance, if I had been born into Nazi Germany, I would have had great difficulty surviving. I’m not a Jew. But I have what Nazis would have deemed radical ideas. I’d not have pledged allegiance to Hitler. Could be, I’d have kept my mouth shut.  And done nothing. Other than acquiesce. Like so many other Germans. Don’t know. But I’d like to think not. Certainly, I’m a vocal critic of conservative Republicans. Especially the more far-out ones that might some day force me to flee America. To save my own skin.—Jim Broede

Thursday, December 12, 2013

Mutual respect: That's the big thing.

I know good communists. Good atheists, too. And horrid Christians. What does this prove? That labels often are meaningless. Meant to categorize people. If you are a conservative Republican, for instance. all communists are bad. All atheists are bad. And all Christians are good.  I know better. Maybe because I’m less judgmental than most Republicans. I approach people with an open mind. Doesn’t matter what they are called. Instead, I try to get to know them. As they really are. Most people, I’ve discovered, are likeable. Good enough to have as acquaintances and friends. Generally, doesn’t matter whether they are communists, atheists or Christians.  I even like people who have done bad.  Because nobody is perfect. I even like some Republicans. Despite their political views. I don’t have to agree with my friends.  We can be diametrically opposed on many matters. We’ve learned to be tolerant. Of each other. We learn, too. From each other. We find ways to show mutual respect.  That’s the big thing. –Jim Broede

Yes. Yes. Ain't America great?

One can love life. Without loving money. Not all monetarily rich people will agree with me. They covet money. Because it buys them the comforts of life.  Not only the essentials. But luxuries, too. But others require only the essentials. They don’t need the luxuries. I know some very happy people. Without much money. In fact, some of ‘em live at the poverty level. Still, they are happy. And in love with life.  They even love their work. They work hard. Maybe even hold two jobs. But they still have difficulty making ends meet. And if per chance they become ill and need health care, all too often they can’t afford it. They are uninsured. But that’s a problem that the Affordable Care Act (aka Obamacare) seeks to remedy. To make health care affordable to even the poorest of the people. That’s admirable. Unless you are a rich, conservative Republican. Then you might conclude that poor people are lazy bums. They don’t deserve a break. They don’t deserve subsidized health care. And to hell with the 41 million Americans without health insurance.  After all, it’s survival of the fittest. Which translates to survival of the richest. In fact, if you are so poor that you can’t properly feed your entire family – well, that’s tough. It’s your fault that you can’t find a job, or that you have to subsist on the minimum wage. You will no longer qualify for food stamps. Because that’s a government handout that’s gonna be denied. By rich Republicans. Because they need the money for corporate welfare. Intended for the benefit of the rich.  Yes, the message is that government exists to make the rich richer and the poor poorer. Yes. Yes. Ain’t America great? –Jim Broede

A common element in all my dreams.

Life is good. As long as I’m allowed to dream. That’s a big part of my happiness. Dreams. I don’t achieve everything. But hey, I have boundless dreams. And if a few come true, that’s all I need. The unhappy people are the ones that brood over lost/failed dreams. Instead, I focus on the dreams that come true. If I have enough dreams, the odds are with me. I can’t miss on ‘em all.  Never have. Never will. I have confidence. Because my dreams are worth pursuing. Not just frivolous. And they are all geared for happy endings. Because they have a common element. The love of life.  –Jim Broede

Wednesday, December 11, 2013

Winter ain't so bad.

I’ve adjusted to Minnesota winter in positive ways. A prime example: Tomorrow’s high temperature is supposed to be 18 degrees. It’s gonna feel balmy.  Because we’ve spent much of the past two weeks below zero. Last night, it was 14 below. And that doesn’t count the wind chill. Therefore, 18 degrees (yes, above zero) will seem like a heat wave.  The next time we get above freezing, I’ll probably go outdoors. In shirtsleeves and shorts.  Anyway, next week I’m headed to Arizona. For a winter break. When I hear folks there complain of a ‘chilly’ 60 degrees, I’ll scoff. As I wipe the sweat from my brow. –Jim Broede

Tuesday, December 10, 2013

Aiming for perfect balance.

In my book, there are good communists and bad communists. Good socialists and bad socialists. Good capitalists and bad capitalists. Yes, good people and bad people. Of all stripes.  I’m the one that decides. Because I’m judgmental. I reserve that right. To differentiate between good and evil. Sometimes I’m right. Other times I’m wrong. That’s the peril of being. I make choices. Every day.  Unfortunately, I make mistakes. Misjudgments.  I also leave many judgments to other people. That’s the easy way out. To make no judgment at all. Though that may be a judgment in itself. Steering clear of responsibility. But I’ve also been accused of being far too judgmental. I really don’t know. Therefore, I swing back and forth. Judgmental and non-judgmental. Aiming for perfect balance. –Jim Broede

In my dream world.

I find it necessary to occupy myself with kind and loving thoughts. Daily. Even if I’m not in a kind and loving mood. Invariably, that does the trick. I’m reminded that I’m capable of kind and loving deeds. That all I need do is focus. On my kind and loving nature. And presto. I’m back on track. Sure beats being cruel and hateful. Which I’m not. But occasionally I can be indifferent and uncaring. Residing in sort of a neutral zone. I suspect that’s where many of us hide out. In limbo. We don’t get turned on. We merely mark time. Maybe years and years ago, that was me. Marking time. Never bothering to truly fall in love. With life. Too easy to go through the motions. Then I discovered that falling in love wasn’t a bother. It lit me up. I was meant to not only be a lover. But a dreamer, as well. Kind dreams. Loving dreams. Amazing. They all come true. In my dream world. –Jim Broede

Monday, December 9, 2013

Learning to love, despite life in hell.

I wonder. About fates worse than death. Yes, there must be. That’s why people choose suicide. They’d rather be dead than alive.  Amazing, isn’t it? I’m in love. With life. But I can imagine situations in which death is the preferable alternative to aliveness. And there’s a possibility that death isn’t death. Merely a passage to another form of life. Endless life. For some, that may be scary. The inability to die.  To be cursed to everlasting life. In hell. Cruel and unusual punishment. That raises another question. Can one adjust to hell?  And learn to love. Despite life in hell.  –Jim Broede

The very odd nature of life.

Think of it. Being alone. Has its advantages. I can think of nothing worse than being with people. All the time. Round the clock. No break from togetherness.  Nothing wrong with togetherness. But one can get too much of it. Much easier to adjust to solitude. To solitary confinement. My favorite people are the ones capable of living alone. I like them so much that I want to be with them. Because they are my kind of people. Loners. Solitary souls.  Thing is. We can be with each other. And alone. All at the same time. Sounds odd. But then, that’s the nature of life. Very, very odd. –Jim Broede

Glimpses into my perfect world.

I’m always looking for a more perfect world. And generally, I find it. In a moment. Almost everyday. Just being alive. And feeling good. That does it. Maybe I become disenchanted in the next moment.  But there’s no denying the fact that I experienced exhilaration. And joy.  Even if for a fleeting moment. That’s proof enough. That life ain’t so bad. And I know that more than likely, I'll have other grand and precious moments. Later today. And tomorrow. And next week.  Yes, tastes and glimpses of a satisfying and perfect world. In which I reside. Alive. And conscious. And in love. –Jim Broede

Sunday, December 8, 2013

On preparing for precious moments.

I’m a loner. In that I spend lots of time alone. Of course, it’s different when I’m with my Italian true love. Either in Sardinia. Or here in Minnesota. And when we’re not together in the flesh, we still make daily contact. On Skype. Therefore, in that sense, I’m not all that much alone. We’re really together in spirit virtually all the time. But I’m physically alone more than I’m physically with someone. Anyone. Doesn’t bother me. Really, I like the balance. The solitude. Gives me time to turn inward. To think. To write. To read. To pursue one of my favorite pastimes –  savoring solitude. In preparation for precious moments of togetherness.  With my true love. –Jim Broede

...in a very primitive stage.

The ‘have-nots’ of the world need to organize. Need to form a formidable and powerful union. To take from the rich and give to the poor. Yes, to redistribute the wealth of the world. To narrow the gap between the rich and the poor. It’ll be a hard goal to achieve. Almost impossible. But not impossible. No doubt, it’ll take a long, long time to achieve. But I can imagine it. And that’s good enough for me. For the moment. Yes, as long as I can create such a society.  In my mind. In my fertile imagination. A ‘where there’s a will, there’s a way’ sort of thing. Maybe requiring a dramatic evolution in the essence of mankind. A spiritual upheaval. A coming of heaven on earth.  Coming bit by bit. Iota by iota. Maybe in a million years. Because we are still in a very primitive stage. –Jim Broede

Saturday, December 7, 2013

The ultimate wacko.

Nelson Mandela. A communist. That’s what I heard a lunatic fringe Republican call Mandela the other night. That was supposed to make Mandela a bad guy. Rather than a great man. That’s the way Republicans talk and think.  They call Barack Obama a socialist. These are meant as labels that make Mandela and Obama unworthy. But as I see it, there’s nothing wrong with being a communist or a socialist or a Marxist. Call me a political  leftist or a progressive. And I’ll take that as a compliment. The last thing I’d want to be is a lunatic fringe Republican. The ultimate wacko. –Jim Broede

Friday, December 6, 2013

A government for modern times.

If one gets the impression that I’m disgusted with American-style politics – well, then you are grasping me correctly. I’d scrap our political system, and start all over. From scratch. Because I don’t want any foul stench remaining. Not even a trace.  I’d go for a totally new constitution. Probably a parliamentary form of government, too. Multiple political parties would be welcome. And encouraged. Especially the kind that steer clear of old style politics. Many of ‘em would be political in name only.  Most likely, there would still be Republicans and Democrats.  But there would be so many parties that there’d never be a solid single party majority. Rather, a coalition of multiple parties.  A blending of vocal minorities.  Forcing lots of give and take. Cooperation. Yes, compromise. Now the two parties stifle each other. It’s 85 percent the fault of unbending, conservative lunatic fringe Republicans. And about 15 percent the fault of too timid progressive Democrats. It adds up to inept, gridlock government. Unfortunately, we Americans are cursed with an ever-bogged-down government. Which may end up destroying a once-promising American nation. Let us recognize the need for dramatic change. Maybe even a revolution. And the creation of a totally new nation. Designed for the modern age. Sure beats what we have -- an archaic 18th century model. –Jim Broede

Thursday, December 5, 2013

Give me time. I'll make things work.

Maybe it’s good and all right to be unrealistic. To pursue far-fetched dreams. Believing in the impossible. Maybe that makes me what I am. A romantic idealist, a spiritual free-thinker, a political liberal, a lover, a dreamer. Some may laugh at me. Call me a fool. Full of fantasy.  But hey, I believe in my dreams. Because they often come true. And for the ones that haven’t – well, who’s to say they won’t? Just give me time. I already have the fortitude. Patience, too.   –Jim Broede

Waiting for the great awakening.

As I age, each day becomes more precious. Running out of time. That may be a good thing. Used to be that I could speculate that I had lived only half of my life. Still had plenty of time. But can’t say that any more. I’m 78. In another 78 years, I’ll be long dead. Now if I have 10 years left, that’ll be pushing the odds. Into the optimistic realm Doesn’t bother me. This shortage of time. Because I have today. Another day to love life.  Forever may be a curse. If I had it. Because that would allow me to waste time. I’ve done plenty of that. In my younger days. Until I discovered love. And began to appreciate the life force.  Thing is, I wouldn’t mind having forever. My imagination allows me to think that forever is possible. Of course, not in my present life form. I’d have to evolve. Maybe into full and complete spirit.  For all I know, that’s me. Now. A spirit. Imagining that I’m a physical being. Dreaming. Marking time. Waiting for the great awakening. –Jim Broede

Wednesday, December 4, 2013

My snowy Paradise.

Snowed in today. Trapped. At home. It’s a nice feeling. I was supposed to travel today. Along the freeway. To take care of business. But Minnesotans have been cautioned. Don’t travel. Unless it’s absolutely necessary. I like that message. Doesn’t stop me from going outdoors. To shovel snow. And breathe exhilarating cool, crisp fresh air. I tell my Italian true love. Connect with me on Skype. ‘I’ll show you a winter wonderland.’  She’s in Sardinia, an island in the Mediterranean Sea. Palm trees. Balmy weather.  Yes, she resides  in Paradise. And so do I – albeit in snowy Minnesota. Really doesn’t matter where. Paradise is everywhere. When one is in love. --Jim Broede

Takes a little bit of believing.

I accept the possibility. And likelihood. That when I die, that’s it. I won’t survive in any other form. That’s the nature of human existence. We have our instant of life. And consciousness. And that’s all. If so, all right. That’s better than never having lived. It’s been fun. A pleasure. A thrill. I can fathom the idea/thought of oblivion. Being obliterated. Like a swatted fly. Here one second. Gone the next.  I don’t lose sleep over it. But nothing stops me from imagining other scenarios. Such as surviving in another life form. As a spirit. In a non-physical dimension. Any and every thing that I’m capable of imagining -- it’s all possible. Just takes a little bit of believing. To go a long way. –Jim Broede

Tuesday, December 3, 2013

Ripe pickings for the GOP.

Many opponents of the Affordable Care Act (aka Obamacare) label it ‘socialism.’ They’ve been brainwashed. Brought up to despise and hate socialism. Without even knowing what socialism is. Some of the same people don’t like black people. Merely because they are black. Without genuinely knowing a black person. They don’t delve into the intricacies and complexities of life. That’s too difficult. Talk to ‘em. I do. It’s apparent. They are ignoramuses. Educated on sound bites. Because they have an attention span of no more than 30 seconds. Little wonder. They are ripe pickings for the Republican Party. –Jim Broede

Imaginary and otherwise.

The greatest gift I ever received. What is it? I’ll tell you. My imagination. Don’t know when I first discovered it. But one thing I know. I keep cultivating my imagination. Without imagination, I’d be nothing. A robot. Going through the motions of life. It’s not good enough to be merely conscious. One also has to imagine. Being in love, for instance. With someone. With life. I want my imagination to know no bounds. If I can’t have something.  I can at least imagine it. Allows me to create. In my mind. In my consciousness. The wonders of life. Imaginary and otherwise. –Jim Broede

Monday, December 2, 2013

The psychological game I play.

I used to be a sportswriter. In my younger days. Made a living that way. But decided I had better things to write about. Though I’ve remained a fanatic of the Chicago Cubs. Virtually all my life. I follow the Chicago Bears, too. But not quite so avidly. Used to watch and listen to games. From beginning to end. On TV. Or the radio. Now I seldom watch games. Don’t like to get caught up in the excitement. And the element of chance. Over which I have no control. I’d rather wait. And check the score after the game is over. If the Cubs or Bears win, give me the joyful details. Might watch highlight clips of the game. If my teams lose, I  avoid sportscasts. After all, I want to feel good. A loss makes me feel less so. Yes, it's a sign that I don’t always know how to put a loss in proper perspective. So that I’m not bothered. I’m always pleased by a win. But I groan and moan over a loss. Especially a hard luck one. The lost opportunities. The what ifs... When bad luck strikes the Cubs and Bears, it's as if the nasty baseball and football gods are responsible. For robbing  me of a simple pleasurable moment. They decided to be cruel and make me suffer. Little wonder, I seldom watch a game. Through. To the end. I'd rather wait for the result. Knowing whether it’s gonna be emotionally safe for me.  To delve in. –Jim Broede

Sunday, December 1, 2013

The real test of our love.

I appreciate winter. In Minnesota. No kidding. It ain’t that bad. Just walked 12 miles today. Beautiful weather. Sunny. Chilly. But not cold. Because it’s near freezing. Could be 20 below zero. Furthermore, no snow on the ground. Makes for easy walking. The lake is frozen over.  But I wouldn’t risk walking on it. Maybe not until January. And by then, I’ll be in Arizona. Cavorting with my Italian true love. Customarily, I’d be in Sardinia now. With my true love. But we decided on a different scenario this winter.  It’ll be her first plunge into the American Southwest. One of these winters,  I’ll  lure my true love to Minnesota. She comes in the summertime. But the real test of our love will be when she arrives in the winter. During a blizzard. And 30-below. But hey, look at it as another life experience. Something to fondly remember. –Jim Broede

Because I live a blessed life

Occasionally, I lament. Over little things. Over big things. Essentially, over what could have been. And wasn’t. Like when my dear sweet Jeanne became dementia riddled. With Alzheimer’s. And died seven years ago. But I stopped lamenting. When I learned acceptance. And got on with the rest of my good life. Letting life evolve. Naturally. I have a second true love. A lovely and intelligent Italian. I had Jeanne for 38 years. For which I am thankful. Really, no reason to fret any more. Because I live a blessed life. Always have. –Jim Broede

What is true spirit?

I have a yearning. To become spirit. To shed my body. My physical being. Yet still be alive. Aware. I imagine spirit as a conscious existence. But without the handicap of being locked up. Inside something. Contained. I want to be free. To go anywhere in all of creation.  To live on the same plateau as the creator. In a sense, to be his equal. Unencumbered by the physical realities of life. Able to observe the physical. Without being in it.  I wonder if true spirit exists. Now. Inside me. Is it the soul? I am enamored. By the thought of spirit. Wondering. Wondering. What is true spirit? –Jim Broede

Knowing he's lived the good life

I know self-destructive people. A care-giver, for instance. Wrapped up in caring for her dementia-riddled father. In the process, she’s flagellating and destroying herself.  Won’t surprise me if she dies before her father. Doesn’t make sense. But still, she’s hell-bent. On doing the ‘right thing.’  Of course, I tell her it’s the ‘wrong thing.’ That she’d be better off  by taking well-deserved breaks. So that she’s around to bury her father. Knowing he lived the good life. That should be sufficient. A real blessing. Doesn't matter the way he died. –Jim Broede

On accepting my destiny.

Everything is preordained. My life.  Everything. Can’t be altered. No matter how hard I try. My every movement. Is dictated. By a life force. Over which I have absolutely no control. When I think otherwise, it’s self-deception.  There is no such thing as free will. That’s my opinion at the moment. Give me time. Until tomorrow. And I’ll change my mind. Only because it’s preordained that I will. Shifting. Back and forth.  Wish I truly had free rein. That my destiny wasn't on a set, unalterable course. But today, I know better. Beyond a doubt. That everything falls into place.  Just the way the creator meant it to.  He knows exactly what’s gonna happen next. Like clockwork. Tick. Tick. Tick. Every tick followed by another tick. Endless ticks. Until the end of time. When it all begins over again. In the exact same way. Nothing different. I’ll still be writing my blog. Like a crazy man. Compelled (maybe condemned) to accept my destiny. –Jim Broede

I am grand and glorious.

At the moment, I feel that I’m not so lazy after all. That I have created a grand and glorious life. That I like my pursuits. Because they are fulfilling. I feel good. Psychologically.  Spiritually. And that’s really what matters. Maybe I assumed that I’m lazy. Because I don’t work. Never have. Instead, I pursue pleasure. Doing things I like to do. So here I am. Feeling grand and glorious and in love with life. –Jim Broede