Accepting the world as it is.

I'm pro-Russia. Won’t bother me if Russia interferes in affairs in neighboring Ukraine. We Americans are uppity. Obama has warned Russia to not meddle. To stay out. And let the Ukrainians decide their own future. That’s fine. In principle. But that’s not the way of the world. Big nations act like bullies. No finer example than the USA. We Americans have bullied our way all over the Western Hemisphere. And then we have the gall to chastise Russia for doing the same sort of bullying in its neighborhood. Furthermore, the eastern half of Ukraine is mostly ethnic Russian.  I like Russia’s influence in the world. It’s for the good. Anyway, Russians are a good people. Just as good as Americans.  Maybe just as bad, too. But I have no control over that. I accept the world as it is – and get on with life. –Jim Broede

My worst nightmare.

Occasionally, I encounter someone I thoroughly dislike. Without even meeting the guy. Yes, I know that’s being unfair. To Ted Cruz, the U.S. senator from Texas. I’m judging Cruz from a distance. From what I’ve seen or heard on TV. For me, he represents everything vile in American politics. His ego knows no bounds. He wears blinders. Has no desire for compromise. His way is the only way. He’s grossly unfair. Therefore, I have no qualms about treating him unfairly. Just the same way he’d treat me, and most everyone else. Cruz would like to be president some day. So that he could fashion America his way. Fortunately, it’s unlikely to happen. But still, it’s a scary possibility. Germany went for Hitler. Italy went for Mussolini. America going for – no, no, no. Please. Spare me from a horrid thought. My worst nightmare. –Jim Broede

Two down, one to go.

I’m crazy. In nice ways. Because I’m harmless crazy. I have virtually no power. Over other people. I have crazy ideas. Crazy thoughts. About love, for instance. And proudly proclaim that I’m a romantic idealist, a spiritual free-thinker, a political liberal, a lover, a dreamer. But I have no desire for political power. Or for abundant monetary or material wealth. I prefer to let people be themselves. Even to be crazy. Provided it’s in harmless ways.  Unfortunately, there are harmful crazies. Many of ‘em politicians. Ego-driven. Power-hungry. Pols such as Viktor Yanukovych, Silvio Berlusconi, Ted Cruz. Playing. Every day. On a world stage. In roles as dangerous buffoons. Amazes me no end. That they become celebrities. Because of their craziness. They ascend to positions of power. Fortunately, Yanukovych and Berlusconi are on the descent. Finally, fully recognized as blatantly harmful. To others. To their countries. Let’s hope that the same goes for Crazy Cruz.  The sooner, the better.  –Jim Broede

A Boris Yeltsin look-alike.

I want to visit Russia some day. Because I’m curious. About Russians. But also because I look like a Russian, or so I’m told. I’d like to walk down Russian streets and be mistaken for a Russian. I look at pictures of Russians. And ask myself, “Do I really look like them?’ Seems to me that Russians have many varied looks. My Italian true love says I look a little like Boris Yeltsin. I hope not. Because he’s dead.   Of course, she meant an alive Boris. I think. Once upon a time I was accused of being the king of Sweden. Incognito. Similar looks again. But that was 30 years ago. Before I blossomed into a handsome Russian caricature.  Makes me wonder, too, if Sweden’s monarch has aged into a Boris look-alike. –Jim Broede

My constant source of happiness.

I’m happy. Even when I’m unhappy. About events over which I have no control. My secret. I put distance. Isolation. Between me. And the rest of the undesirable world. I retreat. To my cocoon. I always have a haven. A place for my soul/spirit to dwell.  Where I'm reminded.  That I’m happy. To be alive. And conscious.  Able to think. To write. Yes, and especially able to love and savor life -- my constant source of happiness. –Jim Broede

Walking buddies.

I’m cultivating a friendship. With a dog. An Irish setter. Named Jack.  Lives a half-mile from me. I pass him by. Several times a day. On my walks. Jack has been around for a year or so.  Mostly ignored. Even by me.  Until recently. Now he's caught my attention. Because he barks a lot. And runs around. Frantically. In his yard. Also wears a barking collar. Gives him a throaty electric shock. Every time he barks. Seems cruel. Jack may soon be dispatched. To a new home. In the country, his owner says. Neighbors complain. About the incessant barking. Really, it's Jack's way of telling everyone. He wants attention. I’m heaping good vibes on Jack. It works. Seldom barks at me any more. His thank you, I guess. For giving him what he craves. Attention and loving. He also needs more exercise. Nobody hardly ever takes Jack for a walk. He’s confined. Imprisoned, really. In a tiny yard. Jack tries to compensate. By running in circles. And barking his head off.  There's a solution, of course. Jack needs a real true friend. To take him for daily walks. I'm game. We are about to become walking buddies. –Jim Broede

A true test of my undying faith.

So many things. That  I can't prove. But still believe. Because I simply want to. For instance, belief in life on other planets. No doubt about it. Just has to be.  Belief in spirits, too. Some day, I will become total and conscious spirit. A presence without a physical being. No doubt about it. Firmly believe, too,  that some day again the Chicago Cubs will win the World Series. Hasn’t happened since 1908. This. More than anything. Is a true test of my undying faith. –Jim Broede

An observation.

I'm critical of myself. But I try to avoid criticizing others. Instead, I make suggestions. Too often construed as critical.  When really meant in positive ways. Therefore, it's better to look for more tactful alternatives. Personally, I welcome criticism.  As a test for my thick skin. I often heed criticism. Learning from it. But others are more easily offended. So, I tell people this is 'only an observation. What do you think?' –Jim Broede

The precious ones.

I’m not always nice. Even to my friends. I can be impolite, impossible and aggravating. But that’s all right. Because with friends, I dare be honest. Better to tell a friend what he/she doesn’t want to hear.  Of course, I may be wrong. I make mistakes. Dealing with friends. Again, that’s all right. My best friends forgive. Little wonder. They are the precious ones. –Jim Broede

Better to love than hate.

In school. At home. In church. Everywhere. I was brought up by the oft-repeated notion that the world was divided up. Between good guys. And bad guys. Furthermore, they were identified for me. By teachers. By parents. By clergy.  By nearly everyone. But somewhere along the way, I wised up. Started making up my own mind. And it seemed that the world was full of gray. Not everyone wore a black hat or a white hat. The so-called good guys had a mix of bad. And the bad ones had some good traits. Nowadays, it’s the politicians that like to divide the world into good guys and bad guys. Many of ‘em, for instance, want to continue to wage cold wars. Hot wars. Every kind of conflagration. Comes down to ideology. Closed minds. Open minds. As for me, I’d rather be confused. And see some good in bad. And some bad in good. Leaves me in a dilemma. Until I decide it’s better to love than hate. –Jim Broede

Never an ending. To blessed life.

Certainly. I’m not bored. With being alive and conscious. It’s a profound experience. Nothing less than amazing. That I exist. In this time. And place. How can this be?  Other questions, too. Why am I here? For a purpose?  Is it mere coincidence? Or a divine plan? Have I lived other lives?  Will I live again?  Makes me wonder. If my soul/spirit becomes recycled. Forever. Always. Opportunity for new beginnings. But never an ending. To blessed life. –Jim Broede

My quest for truth.

I like to experiment. Do things in different ways. Writing, for instance. Made my living for a long time. By writing. For newspapers. Stories about life. Happenings. Thoughts. Breaking news. Features.  Yes, the bad side of life, too. Dirty politics. My writing style has changed. Over the years. Especially since retiring. A more succinct way of saying things. Short sentences.  Selective but simple words. I practice. Here in my blog. I pick the subjects. Random thoughts. Dictated. By my soul/spirit.  That way. I feel more poetic. A poet. In disguise. Expressing, My way. Never fearing. Assuming a natural role. As fool. So that some day I become. A true romantic idealist. A true spiritual free-thinker. A true political liberal. A true lover. A true dreamer. –Jim Broede

In never-ending ways.

I prefer life stories with happy beginnings.  And with no or inconclusive endings. Thing is, I want life to go on forever. Therefore, endings don’t fit into my ideal life scenarios. I leave the outcomes dangling. Allowing me to live in the now. The ever-present. The moment. I also practice not fretting about tomorrow.  Because I’m totally engrossed in today. I’ve noticed, too, that my tomorrows tend to have new beginnings. Helps me stay fresh. With new perspectives on life. In never-ending ways. –Jim Broede

A coup d'etat or just deserts?

Viktor Yanukovych had himself a pretty good gig. As president of the Ukraine. Living in splendor. Outside Kiev. His premises had a half-dozen large residences of various styles, a private zoo with rare breeds of goats, a coop for pheasants from Asia, a golf course, a garage filled with classic cars and a private restaurant in the form of a pirate ship.  Ah, the opulence (and gall) of politicians. Getting away with whatever one can. Though Yanukovych decided to abandon it all. Fleeing this weekend. To save his skin. He calls it a coup d'etat. I call it just deserts. --Jim Broede

It's all right. To be spoiled.

My neighbor. Sends home treats with me. Beautiful daffodils. The yellow flowers. They are on my desk. In full bloom. In a purple vase.  Nice, isn’t it? We do little things for each other. I walk her dog. And used to walk her Alzheimer-riddled father. But he’s gone. Into a nursing home.  She sends me home with homemade dinners. Once, a candle, too. For a moment. I felt guilty. Accepting favors. Niceties. But then I decided. It’s all right. To be spoiled. –Jim Broede

My fondest dream.

I’m in awe. Over the vastness of creation. Seems unbelievable. Yet, I believe it. The speculation. Our Milky Way galaxy is only one of billions of galaxies. And to merely cross the Milky Way, it would take 50,000 years. Traveling at the speed of light. Which is 186,000 miles per second. The Milky Way has billions of suns. Presumably, billions and billions of planets. Some of which must be similar to Earth. Favorable for life. As we know it. Imagine that. Life. Life. Life spotted throughout the cosmos. Not merely on planet Earth. At least, that’s what I’m believing. It’d be a dreadful shame if only the grand creator could visit all these places. Therefore, I am demanding the same travel arrangements as the creator. Give me the grand tour. Of all creation. That’s my fondest dream. I’ll settle for nothing less. –Jim Broede

A joyful clue.

Not sure. If I’m supposed to think of myself as exceptional. As one of a kind. Or a mere speck. One in billions and billions of humanoids now residing on Earth. If I take the humble approach, I’m not very unique. I’m no different than a grain of sand on the beach. But I have awareness. Consciousness. That’s the difference. Able to grasp being alive. And even daring to assume that I have a spirit/soul. Maybe that’s the essence of being the creator. I’m able to create myself. From nothingness. Able to create anything imaginable. No limits. My gawd! Maybe I’m not the creator. But a creator. Which gives me a joyful clue. About the shared loving essence of creation. –Jim Broede

My desert island.

Turned off a news program tonight. And thought. I should do this more often. Because I’d probably feel better. Not knowing what’s happening in the world. Could be that ignorance is bliss. The less I know, the happier I’d be.  I have fantasized. About being stranded on a desert island. I'd adjust. Quite well. Especially if I had my Italian true love with me. Once I got back from the desert island, I’d be in no hurry to catch up on the news. Anyway, I’m in Minnesota. Living in my cocoon. Come to think of it. Maybe this is as good as a desert island. –Jim Broede

Neatly balanced.

I yearn for a balanced life. The mental. The physical. Daily workouts. At both ends of the spectrum. I tell my Italian true love. That makes be happy. Her presence also helps. She brings emotional vigor into my life. Tranquility, too. Occasionally, my true love might think I go off the deep end. That I exercise too much. Especially physically. But really, I’m a man of moderation. Because I blend so much into my life.  And that’s the key. I could become an exceptional tightrope walker. Because I am neatly balanced.  –Jim Broede

An art gallery. To savor. To browse.

Here in Minnesota, no two winters are the same. Every winter unique. Once upon a time, I thought winters were all the same.  Snow. Cold. Then I noticed the details. The little things. The variations. Mother Nature’s handiwork. This winter. No single gigantic snowstorm. Yet, it seems as though we’ve been deluged with snow. Delivered a few inches at a time. Keeps adding up. Snow banks eight to 10 feet tall. Shoveling my driveway. I throw the snow. Like a discus or a shot put. Clearing the snow, too, from the low-pitch roof. Creates mighty banks. For easy access to the roof. No ladder required. Mother Nature is up to tricks. A February thaw. To fool us. That spring is on the way. But then, last night, a clean blanket of snow. And wind. Artistically sculptured drifts. Wet snow, too. Clinging to the skeletal tree branches.  Makes me wonder. Why I ever fled or dreaded winter. When really. Winter is here. In all its beauty. An art gallery. To savor.  To browse. –Jim Broede

Anyway, she laughed.

When it comes to my dear sister. I always avoid having a serious conversation. About politics. Instead, I chide her. Poke fun. Use biting humor. Because she’s a Republican. A shame on the family. Fortunately, she takes it all in stride. Sister knows, I won’t allow her to be serious. I won’t be, too. But I acknowledge occasionally being half serious. When I toss a too meaningful  insult or two. Fact is, I can’t help but detest most conservative Republicans.  Because they are downright nasty. In the way they treat their perceived foes. So I’m justified. In returning their brickbats. Today is my sister’s birthday. Her 75th. Coincidentally, falls on the same date as our mom’s birthday. I gave sister a call. With appropriate birthday wishes. As usual, the conversation touched on politics. I reminded sister. It’s impossible for me to take her seriously. Because Republicans lack brain cells. They qualify as sub-idiots. Yes, if ever they achieve idiot status, that would be a significant upgrade. And time to take them seriously. Of course, no chance of that happening. Meanwhile, sister tells me she's proud of having been born a Republican. A pity. A pity. A pity.  I was born blessed. She was born cursed. Anyway, she laughed at that notion. A good sign. –Jim Broede

I'm confident. Mom got her wish.

Mother. Mother. Dear Mother. Congratulations. It was exactly 100 years ago today. Yes, in 1914. That you entered the physical realm. And about 12 years ago that you departed. Tell me. How are you? I know you were growing tired. Of the physical life. You wanted something better. Even if it was absolute nothingness.  No existence. No consciousness. Better than living in terrible depression.  But I hope you’ve had time to reflect. That becoming a mother. Three times over. Helped make life worthwhile. Sure, maybe dad wasn’t the finest husband. He committed suicide. Fifty years before you died. But not before he fathered your Jimmy Boy. Then dear Bruce, who has already joined you.  And then dear Babs, who like me, still happens to be sticking around. Revering your memory. Believe me. I appreciate and love you no end. For becoming my true divine mother. Couldn’t have picked a better one. People tell me I should be grateful. To the creator. For blessed life. But really, I give you and dad full credit. Think about it. Despite certain pitfalls. The normal setbacks in life.  You still salvaged so much joy and wonder and bliss. You went on to another marriage. Really, the 34 happiest years of your life. Maybe that wasn’t quite having it all. Maybe you wished for more. For better. Today, however, I’m feeling very, very confident. That you finally got your wish. –Jim Broede

I'm superior.

I pretend to be an idiot. By occasionally watching Fox News. That’s what idiots do. To be fed idiotic and preposterous slants on the news. They call it fair and balanced reporting. And idiots buy into it. I don’t. But I pretend to. Because I want to know what it’s supposed to feel like to be a genuine idiot. Feels funny. Maybe I’m merely a fake idiot. Really, I’m a level or two higher.  That makes me think that I’m a little better than an idiot. And so I switch off Fox News. And turn on other channels. The ones that cater to relatively high-level imbeciles and morons. Like me. –Jim Broede

The reminder. I'm the blessed one.

Being an Alzheimer’s care-giver. It’s no easy task. But I reflected. Better to be the care-giver than the victim/patient. Imagine. The roles being reversed. Indeed, I did. That’s scary. Made me appreciate dear sweet Jeanne’s dilemma. She desperately needed care. And loving. The big question. Was I up to it? No longer a theoretical game. It was real life. Initially, I didn’t know. I suspect none of us do. But we forge ahead. In different ways. Some succeed. Some don’t. But that’s no shame. Trying. Trying. Trying. Loving. Loving. Loving. That’s the purpose of life. Isn’t it? Thinking. That maybe I was blessed. Honored. To be dear Jeanne’s care-giver. Better for me. To be tested. Rather than for Jeanne. Maybe that’s selfish. But it helped get me through. The constant reminder. I’m the blessed one. –Jim Broede

To find our way. Once again.

I’d hate to be a refugee. Especially at my age. Not that many years from 80. Starting life. All over again. That would be difficult, if not impossible, for an old man. If I were young, I might be able to handle it. Especially if I were a natural born optimist. I’d have time on my side, if nothing else. Almost every day, I look at published photos of refugees. Mostly from Syria. But from all over the world. They have no homeland. Because of political turmoil.  Indeed, a sad state of affairs. Makes one wonder. About the human condition. Of course, my condition is fine. Because I am blessed.  I’ve had an occasional pitfall. Moments of sadness. But nothing as sever as being a refugee. Homeless. Without a country, too. It could be worse. Being gravely ill. And old. At that point, one might welcome death.  Meanwhile, here I am. In America. The so-called land of opportunity. We used to welcome immigrants. Refugees. From all over the world.  But now, we don’t want ‘em. Often for silly political reasons. And fear. That they may change America. For the worse. I don’t buy that. I’m convinced it would be for the better. I’d roll out the red carpet. And welcome them. In what I once thought was the American tradition. Too bad. America has lost its way. But it’s not too late. To find our way. Once again. –Jim Broede

A true dream.

The best dreams are the ones made up. When one puts a vivid imagination to work. For the pleasure of creating an ideal world. That is a true dream. Because it reflects one’s inner soul/spirit. –Jim Broede

I've been taught patience.

Every February. I get spring fever. Yes, I know spring doesn’t officially arrive until March. But my spring starts when my beloved Chicago Cubs show up for spring training. In Arizona. Sometimes, I journey down. To the warmth. The sunshine. For the pure joy of watching baseball. And the Cubs. Preparing  for the first world championship season since 1908. I always sense, this is the year. When it all happens. I’m waiting, waiting, waiting. Oh, so patiently. Yes, the Cubs have taught me patience. If nothing else. –Jim Broede

Doing the decent/right thing.

Upon entering the memory care unit of a nursing home, I’m always disappointed. Because nursing homes are businesses. With a primary goal. To make money. Treatment tends to be secondary. Therefore, one cuts corners. The ideal treatment is too expensive. Leaving little, if anything, for profit.  I’m an idealist. The romantic kind. Which means I’d declare, ‘To hell with profits.’ I’d create the ideal setting. By doing the right thing. Giving Alzheimer/dementia patients proper and effective care. Far less medication. And huge doses of good vibes therapy. By finding ways to enter the individual patient’s world.  Where I’d unleash good vibes. Soothing words. Always positive. Even when things go wrong, I’d not get upset. Because that’s a bad vibe. And no bad vibes are allowed. Under any circumstances. I’d become an actor. Playing the good vibes role. Without a hitch. Without hesitation. I know it can be done. Because I’ve done it. In caring for my dear sweet Jeanne. For 38 months. In a nursing home. I showed up daily. To provide supplemental ‘good vibes’ care for 8 to 10 hours. Then I went home. For much-needed respite. Otherwise, it would have been impossible.  Before Jeanne went into a nursing home, I was a 24/7 care-giver. Unable to help myself. Because I was exhausted. Mentally. Physically. Emotionally. Every which way.  Little wonder. I fell into the trap of bad vibes. Maybe only 20 percent of the time. But that offset the gains made during the upbeat 80 percent. Good vibes therapy needs to be practiced round-the-clock.  Believe me. It works. Not only with Jeanne. But with other patients. Now. If I were a millionaire or a billionaire, I’d establish good vibes therapy nursing homes. As demonstration projects. To prove. Beyond a doubt. That where there’s a will – and money – it’s possible to do the decent/right thing. –Jim Broede

The illusion of being superior.

Superior forms of life. They must exist. Far, far superior to human forms. Imagine the difference between an insect and a human. There’s a similar gap. Between a human and far more intelligent life.  We humans can’t even imagine it. Any more than an ant can comprehend human life and human knowledge.  Yet, we humans think of our selves as superior. When really we as inferior as inferior can be. That’s my supposition. But still, I’m happy to be me. Better than being an insect. Gives me the illusion of being superior. –Jim Broede

Turns out, life is worth savoring.

Upon reflection, dear sweet Jeanne’s 13-year siege with Alzheimer’s wasn’t all that bad. For Jeanne. For me. Because we got through it. Together. Time has a way of erasing away the worst of it. And putting the emphasis on the good that came from it. Of course, maybe Jeanne got the worst. Because she’s dead. But then again, she’s alive. In spirit. And who’s to say, that’s not the best? I, for one, am better off from the experience. Of care-giver and lover. Ending up as a better human being. Still flawed, of course. But nevertheless, better. For having stuck with it. For not quitting. Even in the depths of despair.  I understand the plight of care-givers. That have yet to come through. But I don’t feel sorry for them. Because they are going through the rite of passage.  A necessary part of life. From seemingly bad experiences come some things that are very, very good. Such as the strengthening of one’s spirit/soul. Taken as a whole, turns out life is worth savoring. –Jim Broede

Once a friend. Always a friend.

I allow some friends to drift away. Because that’s the nature of friendship. To grant freedom. To friends.  To allow friends to be independent. To follow their inclinations. One doesn’t manipulate a true friend. Because that would be disrespectful. Thing is. A friend that has drifted. Is still a friend.  Drifting. Drifting. Drifting. Once a friend. Always a friend. –Jim Broede

It's all right to be stupid.

Stupid thoughts.  Zany, preposterous thoughts. All I have to do. To find ‘em. Is glance at my blog. Randomly. There they are. To confront me. Embarrassing thoughts. Proof that I am a fool. But I don’t let that bother me. I am what I am. Walking naked into the world. I could easily erase a written thought. Pretend I never wrote it. But don’t. Because it’s all right. To be very, very stupid. –Jim Broede

The selfish side of solitude.

Maybe solitude is a selfish act. It’s a way of isolating one’s self. From the rest of the world. From other people. I’ve been thinking about that tonight. About the pleasure of solitude. Living alone. For extended periods. It’s a way of getting away. When maybe one should be enmeshed with others. Especially with those in need. I give people advice. From my safe perch. In the realm of solitude. That makes me feel good. Because I have distanced myself. From harsh realities. Indeed, that can be construed as selfish. Exclusively for my benefit. –Jim Broede

Doesn't matter.

I rub some people the wrong way. They become annoyed. I’m aware of it. But still, I rub. Without qualms of conscience. Of course, I could rub  the ‘right’ way. But then, I have doubts. About right and wrong. It’s not so clear-cut. Maybe there is no right or wrong. No good or evil. Everything just is. Natural. The way it’s supposed to be. Everything going by plan. By intended design. People get rubbed. One way or another. Doesn’t matter. –Jim Broede

Kaput: An interesting German word.

I’d rather have good health than monetary riches. In other words. My biggest desire. To feel good. Mentally. Physically. All comes down to living life in the physical realm. Because that’s where I am. Assuming. I have a soul/spirit. But it’s locked inside my physical being. Might be released upon my physical demise. Don’t know for sure. Maybe the soul/spirit goes the same way as the physical. Into oblivion. Nothingness. I don’t want to accept that notion. It goes against my grain. My instinct.  Which is to survive. To live forever. In one form or another. Because I like awareness. Consciousness.  And that seems to be imbedded in my soul/spirit.  But then maybe my soul/spirit is physical. My brain. A complicated physical computer. With an imagination. That eventually ceases to function. Goes kaput. An interesting German word. –Jim Broede

My mission.

I have a few friends. In whom I have faith. And trust. Some friends have come. And gone. Died. Or drifted away. Strangers, too. Come into my life. Especially when I travel. After all, I have an Italian true love. And I live with her. Much of the time. In Sardinia. And do you know what? I put faith. And trust. In virtually everyone. In strangers. I wonder. Does that make me fearless?  Thing is. I’m in love. With life. I have no time to be fearful. Especially when I’m absorbed in the moment. Savoring life. And the people around me. Sure, I’m critical of goings-on. Things I see. Or hear about. The inequities. The mean spirits. The terror. The wars. The inhumanity. I’m cautioned. Daily. The world is a dangerous place. But still, I forge ahead. Living. Loving. Having faith. Trust. Trying to make the most. Of every day. –Jim Broede

An ideal society.

It’s all right to be rich. But not so poor that one is forced to live in poverty. I want a society in which there’s more fairness. And that might mean taking a little more from the rich. To help pay for social programs that benefit the poor. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not advocating eliminating millionaires and billionaires. Let them remain filthy rich. Only a little less filthy. I’m merely for lifting everyone out of poverty. And for providing everyone certain basic necessities, such as health care, education and a place to live. Nobody should be homeless. If the only way to create such an ideal society is by a modest redistribution of wealth – well, then so be it. –Jim Broede

Downright dirty and mean-spirited.

There was a time when politicians mingled with each other. From both sides of the aisle. Or so I’m told. They socialized. Over dinner. They were courteous. Nice. They sort of set politic aside. They got to truly know each other. As human beings. That made politicking a lot easier. Civil. Compromise was a decent word. That’s the way things got done. I’m not sure if there ever was such a time. If so, it was long, long ago.  Maybe it’s all a myth. A fable. The concoction of a fertile imagination. And politic was always politic. Downright dirty and mean-spirited. –Jim Broede

By the light of the silvery moon.

Amazing. I could read a book tonight (really almost one in the morning) by the light of a nearly full moon. Reflecting off the snow banks. By the sliding glass doors. In my study. Makes me aware. That I am alive and conscious. In a wonderful world. Maybe I was awakened. By the brightness of the night. So here I am. On my computer. Pecking away at the keyboard. Not only reading. But writing. By the light of the silvery moon. –Jim Broede

A totally harmless game.

Could be that the creator has created robots. And has total control. Over everything that he created. Yes, could be. Merely a game. He plays daily. At his whim. Knowing there’s no harm. Even in making bad things happen. Because it’s not real. Merely a game. Played for entertainment. To prevent boredom.  If so, it’s a sophisticated game.  Worthy of a creator.  And totally harmless. –Jim Broede

More fascinating than scary.

I exercise daily. Almost religiously. It’s become a ritual. Because I feel. Deep down. Inside me. That physical exercise is a necessity. Proof that I’m alive. And functioning. In the physical realm. Otherwise, I would have doubts. I look at my hand. And move it. Voluntarily. I do all sorts of movements.  Don’t know for sure if it’s all automated. By an outsider. By electrical impulses. Fed into my brain. By remote control.  Maybe from another planet. Another faraway world. If so, that’s more fascinating than scary. A sign. Evidence of the presence of a highly technical civilization. –Jim Broede

Instinctively.

Sometimes, I believe what I want to believe. Even if it’s contrary to the evidence. That goes for spiritual matters. Thing is, when it comes to spiritual beliefs – one just knows. One accepts based on faith. Rather than evidence. Though one can construe faith as a form of evidence.  Wasn’t always that way. I needed conclusive evidence. But then, I decided that was silly. That certain things are beyond the realm of absolute understanding. Therefore, I need to make assumptions. Based on what I want to believe. Deep down. In my soul/spirit. Instinctively. –Jim Broede

With the pursuit of dreams.

Of course, I use my imagination daily. To give life to my thoughts. But better yet, I should encourage others to use their imaginations. As a way to cultivate one’s dreams.  I have a teacher friend who tells me she tries to turn her students into rebels. To be daring. To bring about change. Not only in the world. But in themselves. But I suggest that real life begins with the imagination. With the pursuit of dreams. –Jim Broede

For the love of baseball.

My Chicago Cubs tried to sign a coveted Japanese pitcher, Masahito Tanaka. And failed. Just as well. After all, I suspect Tanaka is over-rated. We’ll see. Because Tanaka signed with the New York Yankees -- a seven-year, $155 million deal. That’s putting great faith in a guy that has yet to throw a pitch in the major leagues. He’s going on his reputation. In a Japanese league, where last season he went 24-0. Imagine that. An undefeated season.  And he allowed barely over a single run per game. Tanaka showed up in New York.  For a press conference.  He flew in from Tokyo. On a Boeing 787 Dreamliner. He rented the plane. For $200,000.  Shows he’s not wasting time tapping  into his newly-acquired fortune. And that he travels in grandiose style. With only six passengers aboard. Tanaka and his entourage, including his wife and pet poodle. Nobody had trouble finding a seat. The plane carries up to 200.  Anyway, now it’ll be interesting to see if Tanaka pitches in equally grand style. But he doesn’t have to worry. He gets to keep his money. Even if he flops. As for the Cubs, I’d rather see them spend $155 million on multiple players. It’s a lower risk. With a higher potential for big returns. I want players that love baseball. Even more than they love money. –Jim Broede

Putting politicians to the smell test.

I’m not sure that any country can be great. Which means, I don’t give credence to polls asking people to single out the ‘greatest country in the world.’  Thing is, countries are run by politicians. And politicians, as a group, are inherently bad. Oh, there may be a decent politician or two. But eventually they succumb to the pressure of politics. And end up playing politics. More or less selling their souls. To the devil. Maybe that’s merely my cynical point of view.  In America, even our most revered presidents were politicians. It’s like a politician is a politician is a politicians. A politician can’t be a rose. At least, a rose has a nice scent. Politicians stink. One can tell the difference. With one's nose. –Jim Broede

I'm an analytical sort of guy.

It’s fun. Trying to psychoanalyze people. Maybe that makes some of my friends uneasy. But hey, I turn to myself, too. Self-analysis. To try to  figure out why I do certain things. Such as choosing to psychoanalyze friends. It’s a nice hobby. An informative pastime. Helps me better understand what makes people tick. Satisfies my curiosity. Of course, my findings may be wrong. After all, I’m merely an amateur. Without proper training. Many friends don’t know they are being psychoanalyzed.  But with some, I share my observations. And it can lead to interesting discussion.  Some don’t like what I’m doing. But others don’t object. Especially those with a sense of humor. After all, it’s done mostly in a lighthearted and positive manner. Thing is, I like my friends.  Therefore, I generally come up with kindly analysis. Though I may be a bit hard on myself. But that’s no bother. I have a thick skin. –Jim Broede

The revolution is on the way.

I’m somewhat encouraged. By a poll. That shows 50 percent of Americans over 65 believe America stands above all others as the greatest nation on earth. That means 50 percent don’t. Including me.  But even more encouraging, only 27 percent of Americans ages 18 to 29 believe that America is the greatest. The New York Times tells me that as late as 2003, Americans were more likely than Italians, Brits and  Germans to say the ‘free market economy is the best system on which to base the future of the world.’ By 2010, they were slightly less likely than those Europeans to embrace capitalism. Indeed, that makes me feel good. We are headed in the right (really left) direction. Away from capitalism. And to more humane economic and political systems. Of course, that’s bad news for Republicans. But good news for the rest of us. More socialism. More humanity. More fairness. But I’m sure it’ll come grudgingly. From entrenched capitalists that want to retain power and the status quo. But the long-awaited revolution is coming. –Jim Broede

To Mars: In the blink of an eye.

I was on Mars. Only a few minutes ago.  Walking on the surface. In a courtyard.  Paved with natural stone. Similar to the ways the ancient Romans would have done it. I made the trip. With the help of my spiritual imagination. While entranced by actual color photos. Taken by the Mars Rover. Sent by NASA.  They were printed in today’s New York Times. I really was there.  In spirit. Amazed. Enthralled. It was the preview of a truly spiritual life. When my soul/spirit leaves my physical being. Allowing me to go to any place in the cosmos. In an instant. Faster than the speed of light.  My gawd, I thought. How long did it take Columbus to sail across the ocean? And here I’ve been. To Mars and back. In the blink of an eye.  –Jim Broede

For the sake of fairness.

I’m not a joiner. For instance, I refrain from becoming a member of any political party. Oh, I may sympathize or empathize with certain liberal political movements. But don’t sign up.  I’ve never been a card-carrying member of a political party. And that’s the way I want to keep it. Because I detest politics. I am truly independent. And generally, political parties want their members to go along with the majority. To vote as one. As a bloc. That’s especially true of Republicans.  No dissent. No such thing any more as a moderate Republican. It’s as if Republicans are clones. Of each other. They march in lock-step.  Often, in goose-step. Like Nazis.  That’s the nature of many political movements. They go off the deep end. That can happen even in liberal movements.  Though I’d find it easier falling to the left than to the right. But I like to portray myself as a man of moderation. I’m willing to compromise. To meet somewhere in the middle. For the sake of fairness. –Jim Broede

For camaraderie with Fritz & Dieter.

It was the last place I wanted to visit. Las Vegas. But I’m gonna fly there. In June. Because my wonderful German cousin Fritz and his wonderful neighbor Dieter will be there. They are addicted to foreign travel. Particularly to the U.S. And they want me to meet them. In Vegas. Of course, there are better places I’d rather be. Except I’d go to hell for the opportunity to spend a few days with Fritz and Dieter. They’re good company. Besides, Fritz is my very favorite cousin. A guy I didn’t know existed. Until I did extensive ancestral research. A few years ago. After retiring.  Lo and behold, Fritz and I share the same distant high-number great grandfather. From around 1820. A guy named Valentin Broede. Furthermore, Fritz has our ancestry traced all the way back to the 1600s. In Switzerland. Anyway, the long and short of it: Fritz and I have cultivated an extraordinary friendship. We visit each other. Fairly often. In Germany. In the U.S. Fritz has made about 10 visits to America. Meanwhile, he’s introduced me to many German cousins. And his friends. In Deutschland. Yes, he’s linked me to my precious roots. Made me feel my pulsating German blood.  Therefore, Vegas, here I come. For another of many grand reunions. Believe me, I’d go anywhere for camaraderie with Fritz. And Dieter, too. –Jim Broede

It feels -- oh, so good.

A muscle ache. In my leg. I try to ignore it. And go for my usual 10 miles of walking. Usually, that works. I work it out. Until the ache goes away.  Maybe I’m living. By an assumption. No pain, no gain. I like to push myself. When it comes to physical exercise. Maybe mental exercise, too. But seldom do I feel pain. When exerting my mind. Could be that I don’t exert enough. To feel pain. Only comfort. To tell the truth, mental pain comes only when I become lazy. And don’t push. I feel great satisfaction pushing my mind to the limit. It feels – oh, so good. –Jim Broede

Learning the art of acceptance.

Sometimes, I fret over political outcomes. That’s stupid. On my part. Because fretting won’t change the outcome. I can wish it were otherwise. But that won’t change what happened. For instance, when George Bush got elected. To two terms. That was a political disaster. Two obscene and needless wars. Only thing I could do was endure. Let it be. Of course, I fretted. But that did no good. I went to the polls. And voted.  Against Bush. But didn’t matter. If I had stayed home, the outcome would have been the same. In my home congressional district. My representative is Michelle Bachmann. A pity. A shame. I can’t do anything about it. But fret. And thank the creator that she’s decided not to seek office next time around. When it comes to American politics, I’m a mere observer. Unless I just happen to be in the majority. Able to celebrate. And that rarely happens. Guess I have to learn the art of acceptance. Or keep fretting. –Jim Broede

The loss of freedom. So be it.

I’m for locking up people. Not in jails. But in mental health hospitals. Where they get treatment. For mental health disorders. In America, we’ve moved away from mental health institutions. Preferring that the mentally disturbed be free to come and go. On their own. When really, many of ‘em pose dangers. If not to others, then to themselves. They need treatment. Even if it’s against their will. For many years, my sister abused herself. With alcohol.  She should have been put away. Long ago.  Into a mental health facility. Until she stopped the abuse.  She should have been robbed of her freedom to get drunk. Day after day after day.  Some eight years ago, she saw the light. Became a recovering alcoholic. But the mental health system should have seen to it long before that. My sister should have been forcibly committed.  To mental health therapy. Maybe that’s taking away some of her basic freedom. But so be it.  –Jim Broede

A near-perfect match.

I practice. Not getting too far ahead of myself. Living for today. Not tomorrow. I’d rather be fully into now. Savoring the moment. I’ve been able to do that. More and more. Since I retired 16 years ago. Allows me to be more in control. Of my life. And my activities. I used to write for an employer. Now I write for myself. I’m my own editor. I pretty much do as I please. Which means pleasing myself. Though I do try to please my Italian true love.  And a few friends. But they all know I’m very independent. And I like independent people. My true love is almost as independent as me. Little wonder, there’s a mutual attraction. Because we are respectful and encouraging of each other’s independence. We are  different in many ways, too. But that’s no problem. Turns out that makes us more balanced. A near-perfect match. One thing we have in common. We take life one day at a time. And make the most of it. –Jim Broede

The search for true meaning.

I detested memorization assignments. In elementary school or junior high. We were required to memorize a poem. Or maybe it was the Gettysburg address. We had to stand up. In class. In front of everyone. And repeat the poem. From memory. And I almost always thought, ‘What a waste.’ Because I memorized by rote. Repeating a line until it was emblazoned in my memory. Then going to the next line.  Meaningless words. Really, I should have been required to find meaning. I didn’t know any better. The teacher should have required me to read the poem aloud. And then translate. The meaning. Into my own words. Meaningful words. I remember rebelling. Refusing to memorize. Because I was wasting my time. Maybe I got a failing grade. But I should have received an A-plus.  For becoming a rebel. Maybe a stupid rebel at the time. Meanwhile, I’ve wised up. I’m always looking for true meaning. In everything.  –Jim Broede

Making life bearable.

My Alzheimer-riddled friend Ron is in a behavioral modification program. Run by so-called dementia experts. Unfortunately, they are doing Ron more harm than good. Because, in my opinion, they are over-medicating him. Trying to drug him into ‘good behavior.’  With sedatives, and other stifling medicines.  Ron would be better off. With virtually no drugs. Instead, Ron needs my good vibes therapy.  Round-the-clock. Twenty-four hours a day. Of course, he won’t get it. Because that would be too inconvenient and too expensive. Easier to drug Ron.  Into a stupor.  It’s far cheaper, and an easier way for nursing homes to make money.  Nursing homes are businesses. Out to reap profits. That’s the nature of the game. It’s too idealistic to think that truly effective care should be provided for those in need – for no profit.  Merely because it’s the right thing to do. I’d be happy to teach the care-givers good vibes therapy. For free.  It’s really simple stuff.  The creation of an environment in which good vibes are exuded all day, all night.  No bad vibes allowed. I practiced it for 38 months. For 8 to 10 hours a day. It worked. Made life bearable. Not only for me. But more importantly, for my dear sweet Jeanne. –Jim Broede

With no qualms of conscience.

The ends justify the means. I wonder about that. My answer. Sometimes, yes. Other times, no. Depends on the situation. One needs flexibility. In getting things accomplished. For instance, maybe it benefits everyone if I tell a lie. Or I may be dealing with someone who can’t face the truth. And it’s just as well. To continue living a deception. Of course, when it comes to the realm of politics, some politicians would sell their souls. Just for power and political gain. I’d be tempted to use ruthless means to quell some pols. With no qualms of conscience.   –Jim Broede

A different time, a different place.

As I was waking this morning, my stream of thought turned back. Into the past. Numerous events came to mind. Randomly. It’s as if I put my life on rewind. Stopping intermittently. For a brief review. Going on to one event after another. For almost two hours. And it made me wonder. How my soul/spirit was constantly evolving. By events that affected my consciousness. That I might be quite a different being. If I had been born into a different time, a different place. Fascinating. Makes me wonder. If that’s the nature of eternal recurrence. A constant starting over. In a different time, in a different place. Ending up with a totally different soul/spirit. –Jim Broede

The exception. Rather than the rule.

My dear sweet Alzheimer-riddled Jeanne spent the last 38 months of her life in a nursing home. Which would have been cruel and unusual punishment. That is, if I had failed to show up. Fortunately, I was with her. Every day. Never missed.  Most days, I was there for 8 to 10 hours.  To see to it that Jeanne got proper care. A blend of professional care from the nursing home staff and lots of supplemental care – from me. It was a team effort. I fear for anyone left alone in a nursing home. Without supplemental care. From the likes of me. Nursing home residents need an advocate and protector. Preferably a loved one. I don’t trust the care they’d receive if left entirely to the nursing home staff. No matter how well-run, nursing homes will always have shortcomings. Such as under-staffing. And incompetence. Many nurses aids work for the minimum wage. And remain poorly trained. Especially in the care of dementia patients. If I hadn’t showed up, Jeanne would have had only one shower a week. Instead of the showers I provided every night.  The memory care unit residents seldom got fresh air. I took Jeanne our in her custom-made wheelchair every day. Even in the wintertime. Wrapped snugly in a thermo sleeping bag.  Had I not been there, Jeanne would have dined in a congregate dining area with distracting disturbances. Instead, I hand-fed her in the privacy and quiet of  her room. Jeanne received all sorts of preferential treatment. Because I was there -- to douse Jeanne in good vibes. Every dementia patient should be treated in a similar manner. Unfortunately, from what I have observed, that’s the exception. Rather than the rule. –Jim Broede

The lightness of life.

A brilliant, bright day. Cold as hell, as some detractors of winter would put it. But I know better. The mythical hell is hot. Hot as hell can be. Of course, I don’t believe in the hell myth. Better grasping the essence of true paradise. Right here on Mother Earth. No sense in waiting to die to advance to the heavenly realm.  Paradise is located between one’s two ears. In the mind.  In the wonderful imagination. Inbred in the human spirit. There for the taking. Immediately. Now. And oh, such a bright paradise. I’m reading. A novel. Called ‘Light.’ An imaginative trip. Into a day in the life of the painter Claude Monet. He was in love. With light. The profound effect. Of light. On everything. But especially the scenery. A radiant miracle. With spiritual dimensions. That’s what I am seeing today. In paradise. The lightness of life. –Jim Broede

Still had to find the real me.

In high school. I would not have been Chris Christie’s friend.  Because he was class president. And an athlete.  A somebody. That is, in his mind. I didn’t particularly like a somebody. Though I had nothing against them. It’s just that I didn’t want to be a somebody. Better to be a nobody. Didn’t yet know that I wanted to be a romantic idealist, a spiritual free-thinker, a political liberal, a lover, a dreamer. The last thing I wanted was to be popular. No ambitions to be class president or star athlete. Still had to find the real me.  –Jim Broede