Getting merrily on with life.

I’m not a chronic complainer. Maybe because it wouldn’t accomplish much. Instead, better to find ways to enjoy/savor the moment. And the day and the week. I accept the notion that the world ain’t perfect. And I’m not gonna make it more perfect. Other than by adjusting my attitude. The best way I can. Which means fooling myself. To a limited degree. By imagining that I’m having a perfect day. Which I can. By establishing my own flexible ground rules. Such as marveling at the imperfections. The abundance of imperfect people. And their imperfect actions. Which I recognize. And that makes me perceptive.  When really, all I’m doing is forgiving myself. For being rampantly error-prone. Like everyone else.  Thing is, I don’t let it bother me. I  get merrily on with life. –Jim Broede

Living like a lazy bum.

Maybe all I want is to be a lazy bum. To be in a position in which I don’t have to do anything significant. Not even intermingling with people. Just killing time.  In lazy pursuits. Could be that’s what I’m doing. Walking. Biking. Writing nonsensical stuff.  Achieving nothing in particular. But fooling myself into thinking that I’m really creating a grand and glorious life. When really, all I am is living like a lazy bum. --Jim Broede

Making sense of the moment.

I don’t have writer’s block. Because I allow my imagination to flow. Maybe into the realm of nonsense. Which is all right. A legitimate world.  Because I can find solace in nonsense. Makes me laugh.  Of course, I can enter into the serious world, too. But that often ends up in utter nonsense. As if there’s no rhyme or reason. Unless I fool myself. Into making sense of the moment. –Jim Broede

An extension of my mind.

The greatest discovery of my life. The written word. Maybe that’s even more astounding than consciousness. The ability to have a thought. And then be able to put it in writing. As a kid, I was able to do that with paper and pencil. Later the typewriter. Now the computer. I not only can think. But I can see my thought. In writing. Through mechanical means. Allows me to ponder. To savor a thought. To come back to it repeatedly. Again and again. To not forget. To file away a thought.  Still knowing that I can fetch the thought. On a whim. Back in ancient times, it wouldn’t  have been so easy.  No writing materials. I’d have to file everything in my mind.  Which might be good training for the mind. But I much prefer an assist. From the written word. Imagine. If I had to remember the 6,400 threads in my blog. Impossible. But with the written word. It’s all retrievable. An extension of my mind. –Jim Broede

I want it all.

My physical being. My body. I love using it. My arms. My legs. Everything. Staying in motion. Every day. Walking 10 miles most days now. When the weather permits, I take to the bicycle for 30 miles.  Exercise. It’s one of my positive addictions. If I live into my 80s and 90s, I want to still be able to walk 10 miles a day. My attitude: Use it. Or risk losing it. Same thing goes for the mind. I wonder if the same goes for the spirit. Use it or lose it. I want it all. –Jim Broede

Grieving.

I’m not sure if grieving is always a good thing. Especially if it’s prolonged grieving. The loss of a loved one, of course, can be devastating. Emotionally. Psychologically. One has to learn to adjust  Grieving is a natural process.  Taking varied lengths of time. I know. From experience. But still, I’m acquainted with a few souls that grieve for the rest of their lives. They remain in an essentially unhappy state. Rather than getting on with life. Maybe it can be argued that they are getting on. In a grieving way. That’s their way/choice. And it should be respected. But that doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s good. Therefore, I’m tempted to play a role. In trying to lead a friend/acquaintance out of grief. Into a happier realm. Maybe that’s wrong. And I should tend to my own business.  Tell me, am I wrong for trying to intervene?  By encouraging the grieving to get on with life. –Jim Broede

My kind of world.

I suspect that every war is preventable.  Through deal-making. Even with the devil himself.  Compromises. Give and take. That end in benefits. For mankind. Far better than the death and devastation wrought by  war.  Think about it. Take World War II. If a masterful diplomatic deal had been concocted that benefited everyone. One can imagine it. On hindsight. Almost a century later. Maybe it would have required an intervention. By the creator himself. Or his equivalent. A god-like emissary. Here on Earth. Of course, that would have taken compromising. With the devil. With Hitler.  Maybe Hitler would have had to agree to sending Jews abroad. To other countries. Rather than to concentration camps and gas chambers. With the rest of the world willing to accept the refugees. And maybe Hitler’s aggression, and invasion of other countries, could have been curbed by tough measures short of war. Economic sanctions.  And the buying of time. To allow the Germans to come to their senses.  To overthrow Hitler, or to quell his perverse antics.  As it turned out, six million Jews died in the Holocaust. And tens of millions of soldiers and civilians died.  An enormous waste of human life. If history could be played all over again. In different ways. If one could turn back the clock. And try again. To create a significantly different scenario/outcome. That would be grand. To have the opportunity for a second chance. A do-over. To create something closer to my kind of world. –Jim Broede

The reasonable ones.

Cutting deals with former adversaries. That’s what Obama is doing. With the Iranians. With the Afghans. With Assad in Syria. Wonderful. I like it. Obama and his foreign policy advisors are wise. Recognizing that diplomacy is far better than war. One has to recognize that regime change isn’t going to happen. In Iran. In Syria. In Afghanistan. Therefore, one has to accommodate. Work things out. Compromise. Obama is discovering that it’s easier to negotiate with foreign leaders than with his domestic opponents, the Republicans. The GOP steadfastly refuses give and take. Instead, Republicans want war. With Obama. They want to make Obama fail. Which means America fails.  Really, America’s fiercest enemy is from within. Crazy, lunatic fringe Republicans. There’s no dealing with them.  The Syrians, the Afghans, the Iranians. They are becoming the reasonable ones. –Jim Broede

Better to fool myself.

Lately, I’ve been focused on appreciating what I have. Rather than what I don’t have. Because it’s silly. Always wishing for a better life. When the present one is good enough. I’m able to savor precious moments. Every day. For one thing, I’m in love. Not only with my Italian true love. But with life in general. I’m in good spirits.  Of course, I’m dissatisfied with some stuff. Politics. Here in America. Worldwide, too. But I can’t do anything about it. I’m not a player. Merely an observer. If I was a creator, I’d create a better world. And I do. In my imagination. Once again, that’s good enough. For me. I love to go on flights of fantasy. With my imagination. That’s a big source of my happiness.  I also imagine living forever. Which would give me time to bring about change. Slowly. Slowly. No hurry. I have no desire to rush through life.  Better to fool myself. Into thinking I have forever. –Jim Broede

The survivor.

I try to be self-centered. To a degree. By telling myself what I have. And focusing on that. Rather than on what I don’t have. I have life, for instance. And consciousness. And that’s wonderful. A blessing. I know a fella. He recently lost his wife. To breast cancer. At a relatively young age. In her 40s. He doesn’t have her any more. Physically. In the flesh.  And he’ll grieve. For a while. And I’m suggesting that the way to get over the grief, is to focus on her spirit. He still has that.  And he has fond memories. And life. So much to savor. I’d rather be alive. Than dead. The survivor. With the ability to get on with life.  To be in love with the life force. –Jim Broede

About my love for life.

I retired. About 15 years ago. After a lifetime of writing. For newspapers. All sorts of stories. Features. Politics. Human interest stuff. About life. Retirement became a figure of speech. Never did retire, really.  I kept writing. Rarely miss a day. This blog, for instance. And letters. Emails. I’ve written millions of words. Poems. Reflections. Maybe more written words and thoughts than in all the years before 'retirement.' Started as a kid. In elementary school. My own neighborhood newspaper.  And mystery stories. Written in English class. In junior high school. The teacher had me read the most imaginative stuff. In class. Satires. Involving my classmates.  They laughed. Self-discovery.  I was able to reach people.  With my written words. Marvelous. Creative. Didn’t matter if it was crappy writing. Point was. I dared to write. To experiment.  To create my own style. My own thoughts. Ever-evolving.  Still am. Into new forms. Love letters, for instance. Never imagined that would be my forte. Expressions. In writing. About my love for life. –Jim Broede

Thoughts of life and love.

I often remind myself that I’m alive. And able to savor life. So that’s what I do. Virtually every day. I have lived some days without savoring, without bothering to think that I was conscious. Instead, more or less going through the motions of living. Like a robot. That was a long time ago. So for a while, I took to carrying a reminder note. In my pocket. Along with my loose change. ‘Remember, Jimmy Boy, you are an alive and conscious being. Think about the significance of it all.’  Anyway, I don’t need notes any more. But I’m sure that some do. The people that have forgotten that they are alive.  Anyway, I make it a point to write. Daily.  A blog. A journal. About life. And love. The two are intertwined.  A day never passes without vivid written thoughts of life and love. –Jim Broede

Give me a changed world, please.

I want to hear the death knell for capitalism. As we know it. More socialism. No longer do I want politics and economics based on survival of the fittest. Capitalism is a lust for money. Immoral. Instead, give me a society based on the common good. For all. Not just for the rich. To bring this about, we are gonna need a revolution. In which the people take to the streets. Not only in America. But worldwide. I want everyone to have a decent chance at survival. That will take a major overhaul. A redistribution of wealth. A eye-popping narrowing of the gap between the rich and the poor. Socialized medicine. Socialized education. Social security. Decent-paying jobs for everyone. Yes, that’s a world that pulls together. A world focused on good ideas. Of fairness. Of camaraderie. Of kindness. –Jim Broede

Good enough for me.

Don’t particularly like the infirmities that come with old age. Not sure that I’m there yet. With luck, I’m only in the autumn of life. It’s not yet winter.  As for the seasons here in Minnesota, my favorites are spring and summer. Then autumn. I could live without winter. But I’ll take the snow and cold, and make the best of it. The same goes for old age. Better than the alternative.  I’m learning to savor. Whatever it is at the moment. Because that’s all I’ve got.  And believe me, it ain’t bad. My Italian true love, for instance. We’re gonna meet this winter. In Arizona. Means a wonderful winter. Last winter, I was with her, too. In Sardinia. Yes, another splendid winter. And if she were with me on the frozen tundra, that also would make for Paradise. I’m easily pleased when it comes to love.  Doesn’t matter the season. Or the place. Or the age. Being alive and conscious and vibrant. That’s good enough for me. –Jim Broede

I love imperfection.

Give me imperfect friends. I like ‘em because they have blemishes. That’s what makes them unique. That’s the attraction. I steer clear of people who seem to be a little too perfect. Especially if they are demanding. To the point of trying to make me perfect. In reality, I suspect there’s no such thing as perfection. Not even the creator is perfect. He’s made all sorts of mistakes. Fortunately, he was right about one thing. That is, from my perspective. And that was to create me. Even if it was a mistake, it was the right kind of mistake. I’d have it no other way. I’m satisfied. Living as an imperfect being. And able to love others created in the same imperfect mold. –Jim Broede

My far better choices.

Forgive me when I appear annoyed. With politics. With anything. Because I’m not. Yes, just pretending. Because I’m able to instantly change my mood. So that I’m happy and pleased. With life, in general. Allows me to focus on the good stuff. And I set the bad stuff aside. Because in many instances, I have absolutely no control over events. Such as political decisions. Politicians will be politicians. Criminals will be criminals. Idiots will be idiots. I can’t control ‘em. They’ll do what they do. I have no control over their actions. Only mine.  Therefore, I choose to get on with life. My life. Over which I have some semblance of control. By creating me. A romantic idealist. A spiritual free-thinker. A political liberal. A lover. A dreamer. In no particular order. That‘s far better than being a politician, a criminal, an idiot. –Jim Broede

A reminder of the gawdawful.

I avoided TV and radio programs today. Because I’d be reminded that it’s the 50th anniversary of the assassination of John F. Kennedy. Didn’t want to think about it. Though that’s what I’m doing now. Makes me sad. Don’t like being sad. Reminds me, too, that America is a very violent nation. Lots of shootings. Killings. Robert Kennedy. Martin Luther King. Of course, not everyone is shot. Black people have been  lynched, too. Yes, so many things I don’t like to think about. Makes me forlorn. Also wise for me to ignore American politics. So horribly depressing. I’ve also stopped celebrating my birthday. Falls on 9/11. Which reminds me of something gawdawful. –Jim Broede

A fate worse than death.

I’m terribly opinionated. Especially when it comes to dealing with opinionated people. I counter with my own opinions. About my dislike for the opinionated. For being unfair. For lacking open minds. Then I experiment. I begin to act like them. Closing my mind. Just to see what it feels like. That's all right. As long as I laugh. And stop taking myself so seriously. Recognizing that many of my opinions are full of baloney and factual errors and half-truths and distortions. Makes me feel like a Republican. Imagine that. It's downright scary. A fate worse than death. That's my opinion. –Jim Broede

My stance. And I'm sticking by it.

I don’t trust anyone with an overwhelming desire to be monetarily rich. People that have far more money than they really need. A baseball player, for instance, wanting $240 million to play for his team. Or a CEO of a big corporation insisting on a salary of $100 million a year. Yes, there are such people. And big corporations, too, with annual profits of $20 billion. Still, paying some workers the minimum wage. Exploitation for the sake of profit.  Must be corrupting. Even evil. This accumulation of vast sums of capital by millionaires and billionaires.  Defenders of capitalism claim there’s nothing inherently wrong with being filthy and obscenely rich. (My words, not theirs.) We have radically differing ideas about good and evil. I believe that the rich tend to be more evil than the poor. Maybe I’m wrong.  But that’s my stance. And I’m sticking by it. ---Jim Broede

Where Republicans belong.

The Republicans are dunderheads. Immoral, too. Scumbags. In sharp contrast, there’s Barack Obama. A smart fella. Moral. Nice as nice can be. Of course, like everyone, he can be mistake prone. Occasionally. And that’s all the Republicans ever focus on. His mistakes. Even the most minor ones. They even tout a trivial screw up as ‘Obama’s Katrina.’ As if Obama is as bad as George Bush. Yes, the same Bush that got us into costly, immoral, unnecessary and lethal wars. Immoral as immoral can be. But that’s the nature of Republicans. Defenders of the filthy rich. Heartless when it comes to dealing with the poor. Even cutting back on food stamps during the toughest of economic times. Uncaring about the jobless. And opponents of immigration reform. Obstructionists to the core. Designers of a do-nothing congress.  Yet, Republicans manage to bamboozle a hefty chunk of Americans. Especially the racist element. Even into believing that Obama isn’t an American. That he was born in Kenya. And that he’s a Muslim. Nothing wrong with that – if he was. But he isn’t. Lies. Lies. And more lies. I make my case. Republicans are the scum of the Earth. A shame. A shame. An endless shame upon America. Time for America to wake up.  Let’s tell Republicans to go to hell. That’s exactly where they belong. –Jim Broede

The benefits of timely self-deception.

I’m living under pretend time. Ever since daylight saving time went off. Didn’t bother turning back my watch and clocks.  Therefore, when I look at the time, it’s an hour later than real time. I quickly remember it ain’t as late as I think. That's nice. Allows me to slow down. And to savor my new-found hour. I'm gonna try living under this gimmick for another week or two.  To illustrate the advantages of timely self-deception. –Jim Broede

In love with solitude.

I write about virtually anything. Any subject. Any personal opinion. Daily. Makes me a self-publisher. I go to the Internet. Post in my blog. Or on Facebook. Maybe on the Alzheimer message boards. So many places to go. Google my name.   And stumble across stuff written 30 years ago.  Gives me an audience, too. People come to my blog.  Not astronomical numbers. A few hundred ‘hits’ every week.  Adds up. I’m also in daily contact with my Italian true love. Even when we aren’t together in the flesh. We connect on Skype. It’s like being in the same room. The same space. Seeing each other. Touching. By video. By audio. Doesn’t matter that she’s in Sardinia and I’m in Minnesota. I see her. My daily vision of loveliness. Another thing. I have access to all sorts of news media. From all over the world. Many, many versions.  Difficult to decide. What’s real? What’s fantasy? I’m bombarded. I pick and choose. Maybe it’s overload. But some way, some how, I decide. That it’s better to turn off all the electronic devices. And go for a walk. In the wilderness. And pretend. I’m the only being on Earth. Alive and conscious. And in love with solitude. –Jim Broede

Savoring all the good things.

I savor wins. And pretty much ignore losses. Without lamenting. That makes me a well-adjusted fan of the Chicago Cubs and the Chicago Bears. Having learned to take losses in stride. Losing used to bother me. For days. But no more.  Knowing full well I can’t affect the outcomes of baseball and football games. Therefore, I have to practice acceptance. No sense in stewing over a setback. But it’s all right to savor a win, by golly. By the Bears. On Sunday. In dramatic fashion. In overtime. Made my Sunday. Monday, too. Maybe the whole week. Triggered a good mood. An opportunity to savor wonderful happenstance. Luck, too. And athletic skills. So many things. That made the Bears winners. Not least being an assist from the football gods. They’ve often made me suffer. But I’ve become like the mythical Sisyphus. I refuse to suffer any more. I enjoy rolling a rock up a hill. And better yet, a win by the Bears or the Cubs. Any time. Any place.  I savor all the good things in life. –Jim Broede

Scares the hell out of me.

The world is full of low-life politicians. Always has been. Always will be. And they keep getting worse. Nazis. Fascists. Republicans. Doesn’t matter if they are rejected. Because low-lifers are always followed by others.  They cultivate the worst instincts in mankind. A political gene. A curse bestowed on civilization. No way to completely eradicate the hex. We are condemned. To be plagued. By low-life politicians. For eternity.   It’s our fate. Death. Taxes. Terrible politics. No escaping. Comedians tell us that the oldest profession is that of whore.  Not true. There’s no pursuit older than that of politics. By the low-life element. And it keeps getting worse. I keep telling myself that nothing can get worse than American-style Republicans.  That the curse has finally bottomed out. But I know better. Some day. Some time. Something will be hatched that's even worse than Republicans.  My gawd. That scares the hell out of me. –Jim Broede

The worst form of dementia.

‘Single payer is coming, Medicare for all, everyone with the exact same insurance, with no quarreling with insurers over needs, medical procedures, and medicines.’  That’s a quote. From a reader of the New York Times. Posted today. At the end of an article. About Obamacare. I could have written it. It’s my optimistic belief in what will ultimately happen in the USA. Medicare for all. That’s what I have now. Coupled with private supplemental insurance plan. To pick up the cost of everything not covered by Medicare. I’m satisfied. Happy.  Of course, I’m not a Republican. Thank gawd. And I have no desire to be a Republican. It would make me an immoral, obscene being. Yes, no worse fate than being Republican.  The worst form of dementia. Yes, more terrible, more horrific than Alzheimer’s. –Jim Broede

An imaginative retriever.

Maybe there was life on Mars. Four billion years ago. It’s a theoretical possibility. I can imagine it. So can scientists. And astronomers. The ones that have sent spacecraft to Mars. With robots. Exploring and photographing the terrain. Finding signs that Mars once had abundant water. Rivers. Seas. An atmosphere. Maybe there was an advanced civilization. Until something went terribly wrong. And now, billions of years later, Mars is a desolate place. Devoid of life. As we know it. Maybe the same thing will happen on Earth. Some day. Give it time. All signs of life will disappear. All signs of civilization. Gone. Life comes and goes.  And time erases all traces. Of what once was. But I can retrieve it all. With my imagination. –Jim Broede

My thrilling fantasy.

A world government. I’m fascinated by the concept. In theory. It could work. And bring about the good life. Of course, it’s not gonna happen any time soon here on Earth. But hey, maybe in 1,000 years. When civilization decides it’s worth a try. When people fall in love with the idea of achieving the common good.  The elimination of individual selfish desires. For the benefit of everyone. A thrilling fantasy. A preposterous idea.  But I wonder if somewhere in creation, there’s a planet run by world government. I’d like to visit the place. To see if it works. –Jim Broede

A way to end poverty.

Not so sure that I want a free market economy. Rather let’s take more and more from the rich and give to the poor.  Of course, that won’t sit too well with the rich. Boils down to an issue of morality. What’s right? What’s wrong? Maybe everyone should have a guaranteed sustainable income. So that nobody is poor or impoverished. This can be achieved by redistribution of a nation’s wealth. Switzerland is thinking about it. A plan for the government to give every Swiss citizen a monthly stipend. Which would allow them to live comfortably. Even without having to work. Canada has experimented with such an approach. In a small town. In Manitoba.  With interesting (and positive) results. Anyway, it’s a concept that fascinates me. Maybe it’s the wave of the future.  A way to truly end poverty. –Jim Broede

The GOP's final solution.

It’s called Obamacare because that’s the label given by Republicans. Really, it’s the Affordable Care Act. Adopted by Congress. Into law.  Almost exclusively by Democrats. Designed to make health care affordable. For virtually everyone. About time. Long overdue. I would have preferred a single payer system. Similar to Medicare.  Which I have, fortunately. Because I’m a senior citizen.  Everybody should be so lucky.

Anyway, there currently are 40-some million Americans without health insurance. The ACA, aka Obamacare, is intended to bring America a step closer to universal health care.  It’s not the ideal plan. But it’s a step in the right direction. And far better than what we have now.

The obstructionist Republicans, of course, would settle for the status quo. In large part because they despise and hate Obama. Maybe because he’s black. And Republicans tend to be inherent racists.  They were born that way. The racism is inbred. But so is their love for rich people. They couldn’t care less about poor people. They think of the poor as shiftless, and lazy. The Republican heroes are billionaires and millionaires. When a trillionaire arrives, he'll be given revered status as a god. Republicans bowing and worshiping at his feet.  They would even pay for the privilege of kissing his royal ass.

That’s the way I see things. Republicans would just as soon keep the poor and downtrodden uninsured. They see that as a way to solve the problem of too many poor amongst us. Better to let them die. If Nazis were still around, they would send the poor to the gas chambers. The Republicans aren't quite so heartless. They would allow the poor to die of more natural causes. But  their real motive: They don’t want to spend money on the gas. They prefer looking for a  cheaper alternative. They don’t want to waste a single penny on the final solution. --Jim Broede

Better than being a cat.

I’d love to get into the minds of my cats. To think like Loverboy and Chenuska. That’s the point. I wonder if they think. Real thoughts.  Or do they have robotic minds?  Do they know they are cats? Do they have a perception of selves?  What is their level of consciousness? Do they find ways to speak/communicate with each other?  In very conscious ways. Are they aware of the possibility of death?  If so, do they fear death? How meaningful am I in their lives? Am I friend?  Do they miss me when I’m gone?  Do they understand some of my spoken words?  Such as ‘no.’  Meanwhile, I’m assuming that elsewhere in creation, there is life far more intelligent than we humans.  Life forms that we  are incapable of recognizing. Because the intelligence gap between us and them may be equivalent to the chasm between humans and ants. Fascinating stuff. Makes me wonder if I’m condemned to never be anything more than a relative low-life human. But I suppose that’s better than being an ant…or a cat. –Jim Broede

To be a true lover of life.

When I was a care-giver, I learned to enjoy the pursuit.  I stopped lamenting.  Ceased agonizing.  Accepted my role. Not only tended to dear sweet Jeanne. Without fail. By being with her 8 to 10 hours a day. But also cared for myself. With daily rest/respite. With daily exercise. Both mental and physical.  That’s important. I understood. That unless I took control of my life, I’d be in danger of doing more harm than good. To everyone. I’d be doing an inadequate job. My goal was to be one of the best care-givers. By taking a sensible and balanced approach. I began to exude good vibes. Toward Jeanne. And internally, too. Toward myself. Really, towards everyone. And that’s the lesson I learned. And which I still heed. Seven years after Jeanne died.  To be a true lover of life.  –Jim Broede

Give 'em hell, Barack Obama.

I’d like to see Barack Obama become downright dirty. Yes, a dirty fighter. A politician with no conscience. In order to advance his agenda. Obama is too nice. Too decent. Too low-key. That doesn’t work in the political realm. Makes him ineffective. And vulnerable. Obama must learn to become as unscrupulous as a Republican.  A real bastard.  He must learn to treat Republicans as scumbags. Because that’s what they are. They deserve to be kicked and bruised. And spat upon. Give ‘em hell, Barack Obama. –Jim Broede

Put me in touch with the creator.

Wonderful life.  That’s what I do. Virtually every day. Remind myself. That life is wonderful. So fortunate. So blessed. To be alive and conscious. A thinking being.   Fantastic. How can this be? Why am I here? On a planet called Earth. Many other beings preceded me. Infinitesimal numbers. They came. They went. Where? Into oblivion? Into another dimension?  I’ll be gone some day, too. Sooner than later. A pity.  Unless I take on another life form. Something better. More profound.  With a higher degree of aliveness and consciousness. I want to settle for nothing less. Than sitting at the right hand of the creator. So that I can ask questions. And get answers. –Jim Broede

My daily fix.

Started a new exercise regimen today. Walking 11 miles. Instead of my customary daily bicycling workout of 30 to 40 miles.  Walking has its advantages. Not only in getting adequate exercise. Also gives me the opportunity to read the New York Times. And a novel, too.  Can’t do that when biking.  May decide to alternate. Between biking one day, and walking the next. With reading material in hand. When the snow arrives, it’ll be easier and more convenient and safer to walk. Thing is, I’m addicted to exercise. It’s my daily fix. Keeps me well-tuned, relaxed and at peace.  --Jim Broede

For the purpose of psychoanalysis.

Occasionally, I ponder what it was like being a youngster. Allowing my mind to wander back.  Making myself 8 or 9 or 10 again.  To see what I remember. Inevitably, something specific. An incident. A happening. And I try to relive it.  A way to capture the past. And to find new and maybe profound meaning. Of course, I like to live in the now. And I do. Even when I recall the past. Because I bring the long ago into the present moment.  Often for the purpose of psychoanalysis.  –Jim Broede

Mom was right about something.

I have nothing to write about at the moment. But that won’t stop me. I’ll write about nothing. Which means I’ve made something of nothing. Goes to show that I’m creative. When I was a youngster, off in my room, alone, and being quiet, my mother became suspicious. “What are you doing, Jim?’ she barked. I replied, ‘Nothing.’ And she replied, “You can’t be doing nothing. You have to be doing something.’ Come to think of it, she was right. I’ve been doing something, continuously.  From the day I was born. –Jim Broede

Winter ain't so bad.

Let the arctic air come. I’m ready for it. I insulated the three big living room windows tonight. I already had the bedroom windows and a sliding glass door insulated. The south window by my computer, too. Later this week, I’ll do the kitchen window by the sink. And the bathroom window. And maybe one of the windows in the kitty room. Also I raked more leaves early this evening. Big piles which I will pick up and move onto wetlands across the road. I’ll keep raking the yard. Until a snow cover arrives. It’s one winterizing project after another. I’m enjoying it. Also did 30 miles on my bike. And took the neighbor’s dog for a one-mile walk. I’m a human dynamo. In action all the time. I’ll continue to take to my bike even when the arctic air mass moves in. I’ll wear a ski mask and a warm jacket. Won’t let winter defeat me. Winter is nice. If one learns how to deal with it. I’m in love with life. And that includes winter. But I am looking forward to spending several weeks in Arizona in December and January. A break from winter. With my wonderful Italian true love.  It’ll be her first time in the American Southwest.—Jim Broede

Nothing is more real than love.

I have a theory. About the relativity of love. One must first imagine being in love in order to be truly in love. Imagination plays a big role. I’ve always wanted to fall in love. But at the beginning, I didn’t know what it meant to be in love. So I had to think about it. I began imagining. Different scenarios.  And always, love seemed like a good thing. Therefore, I went in pursuit of love.  To put my ideas to the test.  And sure enough, I was able to fall in love. With my first true love. And when she died after 38 years of marriage, I imagined that my love life wasn’t over. Sure enough, a second true love emerged. Found her in an unexpected place. In Italy. And then there’s another bonus. Having discovered, with the help of my fertile imagination, that I’m in love with life.  Not only relatively speaking. Because nothing is more real than love. –Jim Broede

After a day of biking and reading.

I’ve learned to relish outcomes. After the fact. Rather than during the process. Take the Chicago Bears pivotal football game with the Detroit Lions today. I have resolved to not watch or listen to the game. Even though I’m a Bears fan. I have better things to do. Such as biking 30 miles and reading a book.  Instead, I’ll check the result. After the game is over. If the Bears win, I’ll watch replays. And savor it all. If the Bears lose, I’ll more or less ignore the details. And get on with the rest of my life. Reading my book. A novel by Paul Auster. This way, I’m not wasting my time. By subjecting myself to the possibility of a frustrating and heartbreaking loss by the Bears.   In essence, I’m playing it safe. Freeing myself from the entertainment (and stress) of watching a football game. Better to wait for the outcome. Over which I have absolutely no control. What ever will happen, will happen. And I will practice complete acceptance. In a relatively relaxed manner. After a day of biking and reading. –Jim Broede

As long as I have forever.

Nobody lives forever. Or so I’m told by scientists and others. But I have no proof of that. Therefore, I am assuming I’ll live forever. Not necessarily in my present form. And maybe in another dimension. Because that’s what I want to believe.  And I put no limits on my beliefs.  Especially when it comes to spiritual matters. And life.  I allow myself to imagine. Anything. Nothing is too preposterous. I was meant to be alive. Forever. When I leave Earth, there are other places to go. To other planets, for instance. Astronomers now tell us that in our Milky Way galaxy there may be 50,000 planets similar to Earth. And virtually endless possibilities in all of creation. Over one trillion galaxies.  Maybe once my time expires on Earth, I’ll be automatically recreated. With the exact same DNA.  On another planet. Maybe a zillion light years from Earth. Doesn’t matter. As long as I have forever. –Jim Broede

Despite their dementia.

I have learned the language of my dementia-riddled friend, Ron. That’s how we conversed tonight. For an hour. Virtually non-stop.  In gobbledygook.  The exchange did wonders for Ron. For me, too. Because I had reached Ron. By returning his gobbledygook with my gobbledygook.  Ron sensed that I understood what he was saying. Though I didn't grasp everything. But that wasn't necessary. For Ron to feel that he was truly being heard.  Because I responded to everything he had to say. I emitted good vibes. Not only with gobbledygook. But by making eye contact. Using hand and arm gestures. And touch. So many, many ways to communicate. With Ron. And others. Despite their dementia. –Jim Broede

Nationality doesn't matter.

Being an American. It’s nice. But not all that important in the grand scheme of my life. Far more important: Being a human being. Alive and conscious. Doesn’t matter so much where I live. Whether in America, or elsewhere. I can be a happy and fulfilled human being in many, many places. Also, I rank being a romantic idealist ahead of being an American citizen. Same goes for being a spiritual free-thinker, a political liberal, a lover, a dreamer. Being an American is incidental. I could even settle for being an Italian or German or Russian. Even an Arab or an African.  Nationality doesn’t matter. As long as I’m a decent human being.  –Jim Broede

My nightmare.

I had a nightmare tonight. In a futuristic setting.  With new technologies that I had to learn. In order to get by. And I couldn’t do it. Told I had to do it now. I could not take my time. And learn slowly. It was stressful. Made me furious. I wanted to succeed. But couldn’t. I was driving a truck. A truck I had never driven before. In heavy traffic. Maybe it was a bus. Because there were passengers. Telling me what to do. Giving me conflicting orders/advice. It was becoming mayhem. I finally pulled over. And refused to drive any more. I woke up. And decided to stay up. Didn’t want to fall asleep again. For fear that I’d enter the same nightmare. –Jim Broede

The warm caress of winter.

I’m adjusting to the coming of winter. Fortunately, it tends to set in gradually. Giving one time to adapt. Really, it’s not so bad. And there’s something nice about the cold, crisp air.  It’s clean. Certainly less polluted than warm air. And it’s easier worshiping the sun. Nice to feel the sun touching my face. It’s like a caress.  A warm caress. --Jim Broede

Give me Elizabeth Warren.

I want a president who’s far more liberal than Barack Obama. My one big gripe with Obama: He’s far too moderate. Almost conservative.  Of course, Republicans portray Obama as a wild-eyed liberal. He’s anything but that. I’m a liberal. And I know a liberal when I see one.  For instance, a true liberal is for a single-payer health care system.  Not water-downed Obamacare. Foisted on us because Obama is all too willing to compromise with Republicans and health care insurers. Obama sold out. In order to get a foot in the door. For what he hopes some day becomes socialized medicine. But I’m not willing to wait. I want very liberal approaches now. Yes, now, now, now.  That’s why Obama is an unsuitable president. Oh, he’s better than any Republican. But that’s no longer good enough for me.  I’m switching allegiance. I’m promoting Massachusetts Senator Elizabeth Warren for president in the next go around.  She’s a true liberal. Obama ain’t. –Jim Broede

If I were the head honcho.

This guy, Snowden, alerted us about government spying. We're all being spied upon. Not just Americans. World leaders, too. Our allies. Such as the German chancellor. She had her personal cell  phone tapped. For 10 years.  Snowden, meanwhile, has been banished from his country. America. And accused of espionage. American politicians would like to put Snowden in prison. And throw away the key. For being 'un-American.' For being a 'traitor.' For allegedly endangering the lives of American soldiers. Snowden has asked for clemency. And he deserves it. For being the truly patriotic American. For revealing government secrets. But the heads of intelligence committees in Congress say no way. That he should be treated as a criminal. An outcast. A bad, bad guy. The worst. But I tell you, the ‘worst’ are the politicians in Washington. For getting us into unnecessary and immoral and costly wars. In Iraq. In Afghanistan. They should be tossed into prison. For the rest of their lives. For war-mongering. And guys like Snowden should go free. And be honored. That’s how I’d run the show. If I were in Congress. If I were the head honcho. –Jim Broede

Mission accomplished.

Football. It’s a brutal and vicious game. Players are injured. Including brain concussions.  Studies show that many former pro players are prone to dementia. Linked to the beatings they took on the football field. There’s a high risk of all sorts of crippling injuries when one plays football. The Chicago Bears quarterback, Jay Cutler, is out with torn groin muscles. And that made the Bears an 11-point underdog in last night’s game with arch rival Green Bay. I was glum. Expecting the Bears to lose. Especially because of a rash of injuries to several key players in recent weeks. But lo and behold, the Bears sacked and injured Green Bay’s star quarterback, Aaron Rodgers. Happened early. On the first series of plays. Rodgers missed the rest of the game. And maybe he’s going to be out for a while. Reason for the Bears to be encouraged. Even elated. As Rodgers staggered off the field. Because in these games, winning is everything. One often plays with brutal intent.  There’s a  bottom line. For most Bears fans. The Bears won, 27-20. A game they most likely would have lost. If Rodgers hadn’t been whacked. Mission accomplished.  That’s life. In fun and games. On Planet Earth. –Jim Broede

A figment of my wild imagination?

Astronomers reported that there could be as many as 40 billion habitable Earth-size planets in the galaxy, based on a new analysis of data from NASA’s Kepler spacecraft. Just read that in the New York Times. And it made my day. Gives me something to think about. To imagine. The possibility of boundless life. Considering that our galaxy (the Milky Way) is only one of maybe a trillion galaxies. An infinite number.  Multiply 40,000 Earth-size planets by one trillion.  Wow! Another reason for me to be in love – with life. With being alive and conscious. And able to be in awe of the vastness of creation. Makes me wonder though. If creation is only a figment of my wild imagination. It wouldn't be. Unless I was here to perceive and savor it.–Jim Broede

If one didn't have dementia.

My dementia-riddled friend Ron lives in a swank idyllic setting. One in which I could live. In peace. And tranquility.  But I suspect that Ron is mostly unaware of where he’s living. And unaware of the meaningfulness of the setting.  When I talk to Ron, I try to make him imagine that he has three homes. This one. Plus the lake shore home in Forest Lake, where for several years he lived with daughter and son-in-law. Plus his cabin in Grand Marais on Lake Superior. Where he spent some of his retirement years.  Mostly before dementia. I want him to pretend. That he’s really well-off. That is, in his current assisted living place. Out in the countryside.  I tell Ron he’s blessed. When maybe he isn’t.  Because I suspect that Ron would be much better off if he lived in a more Spartan place. But received the best of care. For his dementia. Instead, Ron is looked after by two care-givers that have responsibility for 11 patients. They are spread thin. They could be better trained, too. But that’s not where the money goes in this assisted living business. Instead, it goes into swank facilities. Into the kind of luxury living one could really appreciate and savor – if one didn’t have dementia. –Jim Broede

Call me an optimist.

In some ways, I’m ashamed to be an American. One example. I’ve allowed lunatic fringe Republicans to take over one house of Congress. Not that I can do anything about it. Other than to complain. And to feel ashamed. For the sake of America. Gotta live with it. The best way I can. I suppose it could be slightly worse. If I had lived in Nazi Germany. I would have felt helpless there, too.  Because mean-spirited movements are mean-spirited movements. They occur. Yes, crap happens. And one has to get on with life.  Fortunately, the Nazis went away. With a big assist. Defeat in World War II. I don’t know what it’s gonna take to  make diehard Republicans go away. But hey, call me an optimist. Ultimately, something good and decent will prevail. –Jim Broede

Makes me a true blue American.

I am a spy. A natural born spy. A master spy. Because I am an American. I’ve confessed. To my Italian true love.  I spy for my country.  I’ve mastered the art of spying. Nobody does it better than I. I pretend to not know the Italian language. When I speak fluent Italian. Because that allows me to eavesdrop on conversations. Italians think I don’t speak Italian. So they say anything in front of me. Even bombarding me with insults.  But I understand. Every word. Every nuance. I speak many, many languages. German. French. Czech, Russian. Chinese. You name it. I speak it. But I pretend to be a nincompoop. A dummy. An idiot. That gives me access. Makes me the greatest, most proficient spy in the world.  Makes me a true blue American.  –Jim Broede

Settling for what I've got.

One thing nice about my life. The fact that I’m more or less unencumbered. Able to do pretty much as a please. I can even choose to do virtually nothing. Don’t even have to go out and earn a living. Of course, if I had a desire to be better off in certain ways – such as having more money – life probably would be different. I’d be more encumbered. More obligated to change the course of my life. Thing is, I’m happy. Just being alive and well.  And having my Italian true love. Some people are never satisfied. Never happy with their lot.  Always wanting more. I'd like to have forever. But I don’t fret knowing I won’t ever have it. I’ll settle for what I’ve got. Now. This moment. --Jim Broede

On broede-like decisions.

People are stupid. Oh, maybe not everyone. But I suspect that most people are stupid. In one way or another. They simply don’t take the time to educate themselves. To become well-informed. Fully knowledgeable. Maybe they have legitimate excuses. That they are too busy. Living life. Of course, it could be that people are lazy. Mentally as well as physically. They don’t put forth the time and effort to collect the facts needed to make wise and broede-like decisions. Yes, they don’t think like me. Instead, they take life too seriously. They don’t fall in love. With life, or anything. They don’t even take time to laugh at the absurdity of it all. –Jim Broede