I'll take a good-running rusty car.

I like driving old cars. Especially if they are good runners. Doesn’t bother me if the body is rusting. I can live with that. As long as the vehicle gets me to where I'm going. Round-trip Minnesota-Chicago jaunts. Did it twice this past month. In my 1997 Oldsmobile Cutlass. Thought about driving my 1991 Mercury Cougar. But the air-conditioning isn’t working. My friends tell me they wouldn’t be caught dead driving such old cars. They want to ride in glamor. And with peace of mind. Knowing that the newer cars are less likely to break down. Mechanic tells me my cars have reliable, well-maintained engines. Take either car to Chicago, or even across country, he says. Furthermore, I have undying faith in my cars. Several of 'em have exceeded 250,000 miles. If not for the rust, they might still be alive and running. Come to think of it. Maybe that’s the secret of living forever. A rust-free body and well-tuned engine. –Jim Broede

Far better than most women.

My Italian true love underestimates my talents. As a house cleaner. Really, I’m one of the best. When I want to be. She thinks I need the weekly services of a hard-driven cleaning lady. That only women know how to clean a house properly and thoroughly.  That’s bunk, of course.  When I set my mind to it, I can do almost anything. Certainly, cleaning house far better than most cleaning ladies. Thing is, my true love thinks that every book and CD in my vast collections needs to be dusted regularly. Individually. Like several times a year. My true love also would have the books neatly arranged on the shelves. Based on height of the books. The taller ones on the left. And getting smaller as we move to the right.  Which seems silly and unnecessary. Meanwhile, I admit to having a little bit of dust under the bed. Occasionally.  Even when cleaning ladies come in. So it’s their fault. Not mine.   The cleaning ladies also tend to mop the floors. I get on my hands and knees. And scrub. With a brush. Vigorously. Adroitly. One could eat off a Broede-cleaned floor. Though my true love wouldn’t do it. Anyway, I’m supposed to be taught the art/craft of housecleaning. By cleaning ladies. Thing is, I suspect I could teach them more than they could teach me. If only I put forth the effort. The same sort of gumption that I put into my daily writing and my daily physical exercise routine. The fact is, I have the talent. The only question is, do I have the time? Tell you what. I’m gonna make the time. To become one of the world’s best male house cleaners.  Far better than most women. –Jim Broede

I'd rather go to Venice.

For a moment, Chicago reminded me a little of Venice. While sitting along the Chicago River. Between the State Street and Wabash Street bridges.  Boat traffic. Full of tourists. That’s my focus. Until I glance up. At the skyscrapers. So high, it makes me dizzy. Looking up. I have no desire to take elevators or steps to the top. Where I’d find a glass platform. Allowing me to walk out. And look down. I wouldn’t do it for a million dollars. I’d rather go to Venice. Where I initially met my Italian true love.  So much more romantic than a Chicago setting. –Jim Broede

Maybe it was a compliment.

I’m sitting on a bench. In Water Tower Place. In the heart of Chicago. Watching people. Knowing full well these are mostly natives. Maybe not all born here. But they’ve become. It’s the way they dress. And relax. Casual. Informal. This isn’t Rome or London or Vienna or Venice. It’s undeniably Chicago. I tell my Italian true love, ‘Look around. And tell me, who’s the best dressed?’ Of course, it’s the two of us. We look classy. Cosmopolitan. European.  We are the visitors.  Though I was born in Chicago. But I haven’t been back in a long time. I’ve become more like an Italian. Maybe even an Italian  gentleman. Or so I tell myself. With a grin. My true love says I look like a Chicagoan. I wonder. Maybe that’s a compliment. –Jim Broede

It's all abhorrent.

It’s abhorrent that any regime uses poison gas that kills 1600 people, as alleged in Syria. Ironic, isn’t it? That certain American politicians, such as Barack Obama, take Syria to task for such a horrible ‘war crime.’ Anyway, makes one wonder about America’s use of nuclear bombs to destroy the civilian populations of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.  Was that all right? After all, it was done for the purpose of winning a war. Maybe Syrians are trying to win a war, too. Personally, doesn’t matter whether it’s bombs or poison gas. All war. All killing. It’s all abhorrent. –Jim Broede

Charming: Chicago and my true love.

I’ve spent the week in Chicago. With my Italian true love. She likes Chicago. Maybe more than I love any big city. I prefer the countryside. And small towns. And mountain tops. Though there are nice things about Chicago. I’d rather visit. Not live there. But Chicago is a unique city.  Charming. Like my true love. It’s because of her that I was in Chicago. She makes me do things. That maybe I wouldn’t do on my own. That’s good. For her. For me. Adds balance to my life. Of course, I bring balance into her life, too. –Jim Broede

More to like than dislike.

I’m an American. Without any control over my government. It really isn’t mine. I’d like a different sort of government. But I won’t and can’t get it. Because as an individual, I am powerless. Oh, I can vote. I can shout. But that ain’t power. For power, I need money. Lots of it. So that I can buy my way into power. Really, my voice or my presence doesn’t matter. That was the case even when I served on the local school board. It was a matter of merely going through motions. Sometimes, I was on the far end of 5-1 votes. Like most Americans, I sit on the sidelines. And watch. And hope that government decisions go my way.  Occasionally, they do. But mostly they don’t. That’s all right. I’ve learned to live with the world the way it is. Even the things I don’t like. Because there’s far more to like than dislike. –Jim Broede

Makes me crazy. In love.

I’m crazy. Because I do strange things. For the sake of true love. I have learned to accept another. Unconditionally. Oh, maybe in little ways. And not in every way. Because my premise is based on hypothetical stuff. And not a real test. Such as giving up one’s life for a true love.  One never knows. Unless pushed to the brink. Seems to me I’ve had two true loves in my lifetime.  One died. And I remained devoted. Til death. But then I set myself free. To love another. Guess it’s that when I love, it has to be a living love. One I can touch. Physically. I don’t love the physically dead as much as the living. Because I am in the physical world. Though I am aware of the spiritual world. Problem is, I’m not fully in it. I’m looking in. From afar. I’d have to be dead to be a full-fledged spirit. I’m in no hurry to get there. And I don’t know how I’d love when I get there. I’m not yet pure spirit. I can’t do the same things that a totally spiritual being can do. Maybe some of the things. But not all.  Thing is, my spirit is contained. In a sense, imprisoned. In my physical being, And I sort of like the prison. Because it gives me a taste of two worlds. All at the same time. Like sampling the food before the feast. I’m trying to be a legitimate lover. When caught between the two worlds. That makes me crazy. In love. –Jim Broede

Better to ignore cold-hearted Jim.

My good friends and neighbors, Rick and Julie, are warm-hearted people. So decent that they may make me seem cold-hearted. Because I encourage them to put Julie’s dad into assisted living. He’s lived with them for five years. In steadily declining health. He’s got dementia. Probably Alzheimer’s. The care-giving has taken a heavy physical and emotional toll on both Rick and Julie. But they are dedicated to doing the ‘right thing.’  Which is far more than most couples would do for their aging parents. They have made tremendous sacrifices. For the sake of Julie’s parents. Her dementia-riddled mother died this summer. So they have a reduced workload. Though they may not consider it work. Rather, loving devotion. Thought I had Rick and Julie convinced that now they must get on with life. Put dad into a home. Visit him often, of course. And even bring him home frequently. Rick and Julie even reserved an assisted living room for dad. Paying monthly rent. But they’ve stopped short of putting dad in. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting until the right time. Maybe next week or next month. I’m suspecting, though, that dad will continue living with them.  For the rest of his life. Could be another five years, or more. Last night, I had dinner with Rick and Julie. And good conversation. I mostly listened to Julie. Lamenting about the lack of stimulation for residents of the assisted living place. Maybe it isn’t the right place for dad, she mused.  Makes me wonder. Maybe the right place is truly with warm-hearted Rick and Julie. Better to ignore cold-hearted Jim. –Jim Broede

Beyond a doubt.

My best guess. Only about 10 women in the world could tolerate me. In a longtime genuinely loving relationship, that is. That includes my Italian true love. And there’s only one man capable of tolerating my true love in such a relationship. That’s me. This is what makes my true love so very unique.  She’s made for me. And I’m made for her. I tell her that. Regularly. Don’t know if she really believes me. The more important thing is that I believe it. That makes me happy. Because she’s exactly what I’m looking for. A supremely exquisite and extraordinary woman.  A one of a kind. Beyond being a mere goddess. No matter where I go in the cosmos, I won’t find anyone like her. Nary a carbon copy. Nary  a clone. There is no such duplicate. Only her. I fully recognize that I am blessed to have her in my life. And she knows that I feel blessed. She knows beyond a doubt –that is, if she admits to the truth.  –Jim Broede

My very, very true love.

The current cast of characters in my play of life include two cleaning ladies, an auto mechanic, a cat sitter, a handyman and my Italian true love.  I’m writing a scene. In which I play god. Thereby, allowing me to manipulate them. To my liking. Individually. In ways that keep them happy and satisfied. With me. And with each other. Turns out that my true love has ideas about ways that I should treat them. Maybe cast one or two or three of ‘em aside. For varied reasons. When really I want to keep them all as very active characters in my play. And in my life. I want them to more or less worship me. To recognize that I am the true god of love. Yes, that I know everything when it comes to the concept of love.  That I am capable of creating a world permeated by love. In which everyone gets along in perfect peace and harmony. My true love says that can’t be. That it’s a preposterous supposition. Unbelievable.  That I am crazy. But I remind her. I am god/the creator. I have no limits. I can create anything and everything. She says that I am a pretend god. Not a real god. But I say that in every world, even in the perfect ones, there is always a doubter. A disbeliever. But that as the true god, I still love the doubter. And make her my very, very true love. –Jim Broede

Friday, August 23, 2013

Proceeding in perfect harmony.

I am independent. So is my Italian true love. And I’m happy to report that we generally protect and respect each others’ independence. That doesn’t always happen when two independents hook up in a love relationship. Instead, one tries to dominate the other. Or maybe they both become domineering. But that’s not our style. Though it seems to me that takes practice and perseverance. Independent people must work at it constantly. For the sake of fairness. It’s human nature for independent people to assert their independence, sometimes in domineering fashion. That ain’t good. I know it. And so does my true love. Our aim, of course, is to proceed in perfect harmony. With each other. So far, so good. –Jim Broede

Thursday, August 22, 2013

Little wonder. It's true love.

I know people who crave for physical order and cleanliness. That’s the paramount goal of their lives. They may be in mental turmoil. But they put up with it. As long as they have a neat environs. Everything in its place. My mother was that sort. She could be on the verge of a mental breakdown. But as long as she could keep her house immaculately clean, she was able to survive. To find adequate solace in life.  She lived that way for 88 years. Bless her soul. My father, on the other hand, didn’t survive so very long. Only 38 years. When he committed suicide. His life didn’t come neatly arranged. He was a habitual gambler. And according to some psychiatrists, gamblers have a death wish. They like to take risks. Chances. For the thrill of a big win. Anyway, I’ve been thinking about neatness and order lately. Because my Italian true love is a stickler for order and cleanliness. Reminds me a little bit of my mother. Which ain’t necessarily bad.  As long as it brings her peace and contentment on the mental and emotional levels. That’s where I put my priority. Better to have a neat and orderly thought process than a totally neat and orderly place in which to live.  I like a tranquil environment, of course. Because it tends to sooth my mind. But I also can be oblivious of my surroundings. When I’m in deep and penetrating thought. I can live with dust under the bed. Or even a smudge on the window or mirror. My true love has more difficulty with that. But still, I like her tendencies. The ones that make her different than me. We really bring positive balance into each others' lives. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. Every which way. Little wonder. It’s true love. –Jim Broede

I dislike unforgiving people.

I can tell off anybody in the world. Even god himself. So don’t feel bad if I tell you off, my friends. At some point, I cease taking crap. That’s the way I operate. I’m not afraid to speak my mind. I’ll even tell off my Italian true love. If I find it necessary. And I rarely do. But I remind her, I’ve told off god many, many times. I don’t take guff from anyone. And that includes the Almighty. Thank goodness, god happens to be a forgiving sort. Otherwise, I might have been struck by lightning. My true love is forgiving, too. Makes me a lucky and blessed individual. Of course, not everyone is forgiving. I’ve lost some friends and acquaintances. But just as well. I dislike unforgiving people. –Jim Broede

Wishing to become mere humans.

I know people who live a life of misunderstandings. They don’t understand others. Or even themselves. They go through life in ignorance. With little or no grasp of reality. I’m not saying that’s right or wrong.  Rather, that it is what it is. Maybe that includes me. I can’t say for sure.  Could be it’s all illusion.  A dream. From which I may wake. Or never wake. I can accept life.  As it is.  A figment of my fertile imagination.  The others in my life may be my creations. That would make me sort of a god/creator.  Maybe that’s all we are. Gods. Wishing to become mere humans. –Jim Broede

They might as well be dead.

I have to keep reminding myself. Live life slowly. Don’t hurry. Don’t try to do too much. Live at my natural pace. Seek tranquility. I have 100 things to do. And I won’t ever get ‘em all done. And the list grows longer and longer. Maybe that’s a nice part of life. Never getting it all accomplished. But still able to savor it all. The little things. The big things. Every thing. Even if I lived forever, there would still be more to do. More to relish. But still, I know people who lament. Because they are bored with life. They can’t fall in love. With anything. Not even with the life force. Or themselves.  They might as well be dead. –Jim Broede

My way.

Workers. Workers. Tell me how much it’ll cost to complete a specific job around the house. Painting the place. Or installing a new roof. Or cleaning the house. Don’t start telling me how much an hour. But rather the cost of the job. Size it up. Tell me what it’s worth. Right from the start.  Give me what sounds like a fair price. Then go and do it. I don’t care about how many hours the worker spends on the job. Just as long as he/she gets the work done. Satisfactorily. And preferably better than that. I don’t want surprises at the end. Such as a vastly underestimated quote.  Where I have to pay more than reckoned. Something that both of us feel is fair. A bargain for both of us. It’s up to the workers to calculate in his/her profit. And if it turns out to be less than expected, so be it. If more, so be it, too. I’m often annoyed by hourly workers. Because they tend to drag things out. Making the job last and last and last. Better for me if the worker works quickly and efficiently. Or proceeds slowly and efficiently. I leave that to the worker.  Another thing, I’m leery of hourly workers who are too meticulous about counting up their time. Getting paid for small fractions of hours. For every minute. Even ‘goofing off’ time. When employed as a newspaper reporter, I usually didn’t seek overtime. I gave my employer extra time. Gratis. Taking an extra hour just for the sake of writing a better story. Voluntarily. A sense of satisfaction being my compensation. . For doing a job well. No monetary reward required. Doesn’t mean that others have to follow my example. It just happens to be my way. –Jim Broede

I'd rather not please everyone.

I abhor having to please people. All sorts of  people. Friends. Acquaintances. Strangers. Drives me crazy. Trying to please everyone. That’s the nature of life though. Especially if one is employed.  One must please a boss. I had to please my mother. My father, too. Don’t have to please my brother any more. He’s dead. But I still have to please my sister. Of course, I can choose to not please anyone. I’m headed more and more in that direction.  Maybe I should try to only please myself. And my Italian true love. But even that’s difficult, if not impossible. Maybe it’s easiest pleasing myself. When I tell other people to go to hell. I’m finding that’s what pleases me the most. –Jim Broede

My favorite compartment.

So many people feel inundated. By the issues and responsibilities that come with their complicated lives. They are overwhelmed. Includes several of my best friends. Some of whom are ripe for nervous breakdowns.  But not me. I remain essentially calm, cool and collected.  I compartmentalize. Dealing with one matter at a time. Effectively shutting out the rest. It’s impossible to handle everything at once. Stupid, too. I may deal with a bunch of issues on a given day. But I keep them separate. So that I can better focus. I’ve talked about this before. The benefits of a one-track mind.  Years ago I had many trains of thought on my mind. Simultaneously. Left me confused. And perplexed. Now I set priorities. By placing everything into separate mindful compartments. And I move freely from one compartment to another and another. I have a favorite compartment. On matters relating to my Italian true love. Lately, it’s been my one and only compartment. I’ve shut down the others. Temporarily, of course. But I’m in no hurry for any re-openings. –Jim Broede    

Something to think about.

I don’t mind being lazy.  Doing so-called ‘nothing.’ Because nothing really amounts to something. Maybe something very significant. Such as clearing my mind. Making me relaxed. As if I don’t have a care in the world. Often, that’s the way I end the day. Just before I fall asleep. I call it peace of mind. A state of pleasure and happiness.  The welcoming of soothing sleep. And a blissful dream.  Yes, all this. From being lazy and doing absolutely nothing. Something. Something to think about. –Jim Broede

On jumping and clicking my heels.

No matter the nature of my life, I construe it as ideal. That’s part of my nature. I am committed to being happy. No matter the circumstances. I am happy when living alone. And happy, too, when living with my Italian true love. Because that’s the way it is. Due to circumstances. Due to fate.  I try to make the best of everything. Means that I can live happily when I am most self-centered. That is, when I am alone. And I’m also very, very happy when primarily focused on another, Namely, my true love.  I jump and click my heels virtually every day. Just over the thought of being an alive and conscious being. Able to feel the pulse beat of life. –Jim Broede

I'm running out of patience.

The Chicago Cubs have had some mighty bad baseball teams. Without even trying. Losing came naturally. Therefore, the Cubs have become known as the loveable losers. Maybe that’s why the Cubs have decided to lose intentionally. Yes, actually trying to lose. The Cubs wouldn’t mind becoming the worst team in major league baseball. Maybe the reasoning for all this sounds crazy. But the Cubs management insists that it makes sense. Because baseball is structured to ultimately make the worst teams better. Much better. By giving them bonuses for losing. High picks in the annual draft of amateur baseball players. This year the Cubs drafted second. The Cubs also have been trading or selling their best players. Admittedly, so they lose more games. Meanwhile, the Cubs receive young players not quite ready to play major league baseball. But when those players mature, the Cubs are supposed to be much better. Under that scenario, the Cubs are investing in the future. But hey, I’m a skeptic.  Because the Cubs have been investing in the future for over 100 years.  And we Cubs fans have been waiting. For another World Series champion. The last one was in 1908. Frankly, I’m running out of patience. –Jim Broede

Finding true love. Twice.

True love. What is it? I’ve been asked that question. By friends. Because I claim to have a true love. A beautiful and intelligent Italian. The second true love of my life. The first one died. I’m not sure that true love can be fully defined. I sense it. One just knows. When one experiences it. It’s virtual complete acceptance of a loved one. No need to change her. But there are other factors, too. Multiple.  Seems to me that one can have only one true love at a time. Can’t be two. Or three. Because that spreads oneself thin. One has to be totally devoted to a single true love. Some friends tell me that true love is impossible. That may be so. For them. But not for me.  True love is an individual thing. Comes from within. From the soul/spirit. And not everyone has a soul. Maybe we are born without souls. And the soul enters later on. Maybe we have to search for our souls. And then cultivate and nurture it. I seem to become more soulful as I age. That’s something nice about the aging process. Instead of losing our souls, we have the opportunity to find one. To even find true love. Not once. But twice. –Jim Broede

Better things than dancing.

Leading a full life means avoiding a full schedule. In other words, stop trying to do too much. Do less, but savor it all. When one plays and works too hard, there’s inadequate time to really appreciate life. I can’t do everything. I become selective. And do the things I really want to. So I pick and choose. And create a natural flow. Something that I can handle comfortably. Often with passion. Sure beats merely going through motions. I also recognize that there are things I can’t do well. Such as dancing or singing. No sense in even trying. Because it’s a waste of my time. I have better things to do. Activity at which I can excel. Or thoroughly enjoy. –Jim Broede

She's a gem.

Some men are downright stupid. They don’t recognize a gem. When they see it. Even if they live with a gem of a woman for years and years. That’s one of the mysteries of life. The inability to recognize a fine and lovely woman. I’ve become acquainted with a gem. Giovanna. A friend of my Italian true love.  Which automatically makes her my friend. She’s visiting us for a few days. Here in Minnesota. She’s Italian, too. And we’re in the process of buoying her spirits. Because she’s in the midst of a marriage break-up. I tell her not to be sad.  To recognize that her husband is stupid. That she can do much better. That there are men that appreciate a gem.  Real lovers. I’m one of those guys. Maybe that makes me sound arrogant and conceited. But it’s not so. It’s just that I know gems. I’ve had two true loves in my lifetime. One died. The other lives.  I am thankful that both survived after bad marriages. With cheating and lying and unappreciative husbands. But I owe those husbands a debt of gratitude. For being stupid. For blundering. Thereby  opening  the door of opportunity for me. Two gems. The two loveliest women in the world. I am blessed. Because of blind men.  They didn’t see what they had. Treasures. Giovanna could be someone’s treasure, too. Believe me. She’s smart. Versatile. Talented. And if you want to know what she looks like. Take a peek at the accompanying photos. Taken last week in an old time photo studio in the Mall of America. Think about it, smart guys. She’s a gem. –Jim Broede  

             

Ain't too old for a good workout.

I can’t do everything I used to. Such as run a 7-minute mile. But at age 77, I can still bike 40 miles a day. Which adds up to 270 miles some weeks. And when I don’t bike, I generally walk 10 miles.   I like to stay physically active. But a close friend frowns on my physical workouts. Says it’s too much for a man my age. That’s ironic. Because the friend, who happens to be 20 years younger than me, should be exercising far more. If for no other reason than weight control.  Doesn’t hurt anybody to be in good physical condition. And to set aside time daily for aerobic pursuits. Another friend discourages me from climbing a ladder. Suggesting that it’s dangerous for an ‘old man.’ My response?  I don’t feel old. Last summer, I painted the exterior of my house. On a ladder. I not only survived. I also enjoyed myself. Wasn’t work really. But a pleasure. Thing is, I know what I’m capable of. Don’t need other people telling me what I can and can’t do. –Jim Broede

My influential true love.

I let my Italian true love influence me. Especially in matters pertaining to my lake home in Minnesota. Because when she’s here, it’s really our home. And I want her to feel comfortable. She’s encouraged to take charge when it comes to domestic matters. Including the interior decoration. I like her tastes. I tend to live with too much  clutter. But that’s changing. Fast. She’s for a clutter-free environment. And lots of light.  Flowing in from outdoors. She’s a devotee of Frank Lloyd Wright. Maybe my true love didn’t know what she was getting into when moving in with me in the summers. But she could well make a living as an interior decorator. Many, many interesting ideas. Anyway, I spend fall and winter with her in the comfortable environs of Sardinia/Paradise. Where I more or less serve as a de facto househusband. Which I don’t mind. Because she works. As a teacher. And I’m retired.  With ample time to do household chores. Furthermore, I’m a good cook. –Jim Broede

Please, give me forever.

I’m being Italianized. Which ain’t a bad fate. Because it’s being done mostly by my Italian true love. She’s staying with me in Minnesota. This summer. And she’s brought along a girlfriend. In need of a buoying of spirits. Because of a setback in her personal life. Believe me, all of our spirits are being cultivated in grand and glorious fashion. At concerts. At plays. At an Irish festival. On St. Croix and Mississippi river cruises. Dining in and out. I’m savoring Italian home cooking daily. Best of all, it’s the Italian camaraderie that keeps me in a blissful state. Knowing full well, too, that I’ll continue to spend fall and winter with my true love. In Sardinia, the second largest island in the Mediterranean Sea. Where one seldom, if ever, experiences freezing temperatures or snow. Beaches also abound. Can’t visit ‘em all in a single lifetime. Funny thing. Years ago, I was being fully Germanized. The result of my highly successful search for my roots. Of course, I spend time in Deutschland, too. With my new-found German relatives. I never dreamed of some day being Italianized. But lovely things keep happening in my life. Offsetting the occasional sad events. Anyway, it’s a beautiful life. Fast-becoming a citizen of the world. I'll keep exploring. All of creation. Means I need nothing less than forever. –Jim Broede

Give it time.

Look at it this way. There’s something nice about bad happenings. That is, if one follows things out to the ultimate conclusion. Everybody faces some forms of adversity during their lives. One can’t get through life any other way. Therefore, it’s a matter of learning how to cope. With it all.  Take my Jeanne’s 13-year siege with Alzheimer’s, for instance. We didn’t always cope in the best way. But we learned. From our mistakes. We got better at it. Not perfect by any means. But I learned something about the art/craft of care-giving. Learned a whole lot about the concept and practice of love, too.  So it wasn’t a total loss. In fact, I’m probably better off today for it. So is Jeanne. I’m assuming she’s living in the spirit realm. Happy. And focused on love.  I know one thing for sure. I’m happy. Very much alive and conscious. Aware that life is good. Even if there’s a little self-deception involved. I’ve learned to savor life. On a day  to day basis. Living in the now. Making the most of it. I’m in the mood to live forever. I don’t want out. Instead, I want in. Every day, I tell myself, how sweet it is. That’s my message to today’s beleaguered care-givers. Life often gets better. But you have to give it time. –Jim Broede

In positive and loving ways.

It’s important the way one deals with the Alzheimer experience. After all, it’s a potential life-changer. For the survivors. In dramatic ways. For the bad. For the good. Seems to me that one has a choice. For me, it’s meant getting on with life. Doing exactly what dear sweet Jeanne would want me to do. To savor every day. To appreciate being a survivor. Being alive and conscious. Aware. Above all else, to be a lover. Of life. I spent nearly 40 physical years with Jeanne. But I’ve still got the spiritual Jeanne.  Inside me. Whispering into my soul.  A spiritual  connection. Not religious. But spiritual. There’s a big difference. It’s a one-on-one thing. Truly soulful. Intimate. Very personal.  We live in different realms now. And therefore, we have to adapt. To make the most of where we are at. And to follow our destinies. Yes, getting on with life. To continue the journey. In positive and loving ways. –Jim Broede

So much to savor.

So much that I don’t know. But that doesn’t bother me. In fact, that makes life so very interesting. Always something new to discover. Daily. Sometimes, I’m left in awe. Learning. Learning. Learning all the time.  Take my Italian true love, for instance. I’ve known her for six years. And if I lived with her for 1,000 years, there would still be more to learn. So much depth to a human being.  Especially a loved one. So difficult for me to be bored. Instead, I’m fascinated. By the pulse beat of life. And consciousness. Not only of the mind. But of the fabulous spirit. So much to savor. –Jim Broede

About the wonders of life.

Interesting. The varied personalities that emerge. In the state of dementia. Some belligerent and agitated. Others seemingly at peace. Jovial. Kindly. Gracious. Makes me wonder why. In pre-dementia days, some of ‘em were just the opposite of what they’ve become. A doctor told me that his father was a Lutheran minister. Never uttered a swear word in his life. Until Alzheimer’s.  And an outpouring of obscenities.  Maybe  he understood what was happening. Robbed of his mind.  He became angry. Maybe others tapped into the spiritual dimension. And found solace. To tell the truth, I don’t know. But I like to speculate. About the wonders of life. –Jim Broede

Curious animals. Curious people.

Two raccoons visited me tonight.  On my deck. Just outside sliding glass doors. A magnificent and thrilling view. From my study. It was  dark. But I could still see them. A scene to behold. Roused my Italian true love from sleep. So she could see live raccoons. For the first time ever. I had left peanuts on the deck. In the afternoon. For the squirrels. But the raccoons made the discovery. Before the squirrels. Now I’m looking forward to frequent revisits from the raccoons. I’ll put out food for the raccoons every night. For the rest of summer. And I’ll light the deck. For a better view. I wouldn’t have noticed the raccoons. If not for my cat Chenuska. She hissed. And batted at the door glass. To try to chase away the raccoons. Unsuccessfully, of course. At first, I didn’t see the raccoons. But I knew something had to be out there. Maybe a stray cat. But no, I soon spotted a raccoon. Then a second one. They pressed their faces against the door glass. As if they might want to come in. But more likely, to satisfy their curiosity. That’s what I like. Curious animals. Curious people. –Jim Broede

The creator's grand plan.

I know a friend of a friend. Which means she has become my friend, too. And she’s been going through a bad time. Because of the break-up of her marriage. And I’m suggesting that it’s all for the good. For an obvious reason. The husband is a loser. Didn’t recognize that he had a multi-talented gem of a wife. A very decent and loveable human being. With a wonderful sense of humor, too. That adds up to far more than he deserved.  So, good riddance to the fella. I’m sure she’ll end up with someone who’s more appreciative. A real tried and true lover. If so, the marriage break-up will prove to be a blessing. That’s the way life evolves. Far more often than not. From bad springs good. Makes me wonder if that’s part of the creator's grand plan. –Jim Broede

Makes me wonder.

My imagination knows no limits. And that scares me. A little bit. Because I can imagine scary stuff. Things I shouldn’t do. But still, I wouldn’t trade my imagination for anything. It’s my strength. My salvation. Makes almost anything possible. By merely imagining it. Maybe I’m just imagining me. My life. That’s all it is. A dream. I imagined things today. When riding my bicycle. Pleasurable/beautiful  things. And it all seemed so real. As if I were really living the imagined scenario. Sometimes, it’s hard to separate the imagined from the real. Make me wonder if there’s a difference. –Jim Broede

Space travel. It's for me.

I’d love to visit Mars. And maybe some day I will. Upon becoming a total spirit. Then I won’t need air to breathe.  Won’t be physical. So very nice. Allowing  me to go anywhere. Even to the red-hot sun. Or all the way to hell. Instead, I’ll explore the cosmos. Other galaxies. All of creation. I’ll be in the same form as god/the creator.  Giving me a sense of equality. Now I feel inequality. That’s the nature of being physical. It’s far too limiting. I was born to be free. A spirit. Unfortunately, the real me is locked up. Imprisoned.  The only escape is the death of my physical being. I’m not complaining. No reason to. Knowing full well that I have a spirit. A soul.  Don’t get me wrong. The physical world ain’t too bad. Instead, it’s that the spiritual realm is better. Especially if I’m in the mood for  space travel. –Jim Broede

On savoring music and my true love.

My Italian true love turns me on. In many, many ways. Not the least being to new forms of music. New for me, at least. Left on my own, I’d listen to only classical music. But my true love introduces me to other music. Like folk/rock guitarist Shaun Phillips, who we heard live last night. And Bob Dylan. Leonard Cohen, too. Initially, I liked her kind of music. Because she liked it. That intrigued me. But now I understand and appreciate her music.  For the sole sake of the music. Doesn’t matter whether she likes it or not.  Of course, she also likes classical music. But when we travel together. She’s tuning the radio stations to non-classical stuff.  Which is all right with me. Because I more than tolerate her favorite music. I not only can take it. I savor the music. Her, too.  –Jim Broede

Sharing the plateau with the creator.

Maybe I have all the time in the world. In the rare moment when I am unconscious/unaware of time.  Unconcerned about the future or the past. Living outside of time. Makes for pure eternal pleasure. Spending forever in the spirit world. Sharing the same plateau with the creator. –Jim Broede

Always have. Always will.

I’m retired. For 15 years now. But really, it’s as if I’m still employed. Full-time. People don’t understand that. Including friends.  They think I have all the time in the world. Treating me as if I have nothing to do. Point is, I write. Something. Daily. More than I used to write for newspapers. And I exercise daily. To stay fit and trim. These endeavors add up. Maybe even to more than full-time employment. I’m sort of self-employed. Of course, I enjoy my ‘work.’ As I did before retirement. Best to savor life. Always have. Always will. –Jim Broede

My shtick.

Some close friends doubt that I’m calm, cool and collected. But I really am. They tell me that I’m sort of like Woody Allen. Neurotic. I perceive Allen as calm, cool and collected. In full grasp of himself.  Relaxed. In control. He acts neurotic. That’s his shtick. His act.  His way of being funny. He’s brilliant. I’m not so smart. But I’m calm, cool and collected. That’s my shtick. –Jim Broede

I'm with Russia on this one.

Good news. Edward Snowden has been granted a year of political asylum in Russia. Gives me another reason to like Russia more than my native country, America. Though I would never pledge undying loyalty/allegiance to any country.  A country is merely a country. Often run by absurd and unwise and deceitful politicians. In America, Snowden would be prosecuted for espionage. For revealing classified and secret information. Over American government spying on its own citizens. The Obama administration would like to imprison Snowden, and throw away the key.  I voted for Obama. Twice. But that doesn’t mean that I support all of his policies. Especially when he starts to act a little like a Republican. I like Obama when he acts like a true liberal. There’s talk that Obama will cancel a scheduled summit talk with Russian President Putin in September. Because of the rift with Russia over Snowden.  Another sign of the petty nature of American politics. –Jim Broede