True spirits are kindly, not mean.

Maybe mean spirits really aren’t. I think of all spirits as kindly. One can’t be a spirit and be mean at the same time.  Spirits exist on an elevated plateau. Far above the mean level. So-called ‘mean spirits’ are fake. Merely masquerading. Some day I want to enter the spiritual realm. So I can get an intimate feel for true spirituality. My guess: Everyone thrives in a spiritual kingdom. Because of the absence of the mean-spirited. Imagine that. I’d have no trouble adjusting. To such an idyllic place. –Jim Broede

A sad state of affairs.

I keep wondering. Why politics have to be played in mean-spirited ways. There seems to be no other way. At least in America.  The two parties keep squabbling. And they hardly ever compromise. Therefore, problems don’t get solved. Of course, that’s to the detriment of the country. I’m often told by Republicans, that we Americans have the best political system in the world. If that’s so, the world is in sad shape. I’d much prefer a parliamentary system. With multiple political parties. Often that leads to coalition governments. When no party gets a clear majority.  Thereby forcing two or more parties to form a cooperative majority. And representation in Parliament is based on each party’s percentage of the vote in a national election. Anyway, I’m a fan of cooperation. And compromise. Especially in the political arena. But it’s not happening in America. Because we allow mean-spirited politicians to run  the show. Indeed, a sad state of affairs. –Jim Broede

The savoring of morsels.

I am in search of the elite. Kind and thoughtful people. The nice thing about it. I find ‘em. Makes me think that the world is a paradise. Despite the pitfalls. Anyway, I try to send out signals. For the elite. The kind and thoughtful ones. To cluster. To meet. To share our fondness.  For the good things of life. The camaraderie. The sense that we are all in this. Together. Of course, not everyone is kind and thoughtful. That’s too much to expect. But there are enough. That’s the brilliance of life. One doesn’t need everything. One can savor a few morsels. At the feast of life. And still be happy and content. –Jim Broede

Amazing, isn't it?

Surprise!  Daughter Julie brought Alzheimer-riddled father Ron home yesterday. For two hours. He hadn’t been home for six months. The important thing. It went well. Ron sat at the family’s kitchen table. Chatted. Albeit, from his dementia realm. Which Julie adeptly enters. Earlier in the day, Julie was visiting Ron. At his permanent abode. A 5-bed care home, called Arthur’s Residence, in an idyllic residential neighborhood. It’s like a real home. Not an institution. Staffed most of the day by four young women enrolled in colleges and universities. Studying to become nurses. They are enthusiastic and energetic and convivial. Exuding an abundance of good vibes. Exactly what Ron and others of his ilk need. Daily. Anyway, Julie showed up. And decided to take Ron with her. While running errands. Another good idea. Because Ron likes motion. Riding in a car. Or in a wheelchair. Or walking. It’s good therapy. Relaxes him. Suddenly, Julie had an idea. Why not bring Ron home? To his once familiar environs. What would happen? Hurrah! For Julie. Indeed, she would see. Ron responded. Magnificently.  A thrilling camaraderie. A family gathering. A little like old times. Ron enjoyed his stay. When it was time to return to Arthur’s Residence. No problem. Ron now thinks of having  two homes.  He’s no longer in an institution. No longer in a gawd awful traditional nursing home. Ron is a gentleman of leisure.  He’s learning how to adapt. In splendid fashion. Because now, wherever he goes, it’s home sweet home. Amazing, isn’t it? --Jim

No need to wait for tomorrow.

Often, when out for my daily 10-mile walks, I find myself talking to dear sweet Dottie. My dog and trusted companion for many years.  It’s as if she’s truly with me. Though she died many years ago. She’s very real. Accompanying me. I can still touch her. In a very real sense. Because we are connected.  In loving and spiritual ways. Used to think that some day…after death…that my loved ones and I would reconnect. In Paradise. But now I have discovered. That one doesn’t have to wait. I am able to stroll in Paradise. With Dottie. With my departed loved ones. Now. No need to wait for tomorrow.  --Jim  Broede

Like a piece of wonderful music.

I love being alive. Aware. Existing. Able to think. Consciously. I am.  Maybe I’m fooling myself. Into thinking that I am. And I’m really not. Only a figment of someone's fertile imagination. Therefore, I may be no more than a dream. And I’ll continue to exist. Until my dreamer awakens. But maybe I will still survive. In my dreamer’s conscious thought.  As a recorded dream. That can be played and analyzed. Over and over and over. Forever. Like a piece of wonderful music. –Jim Broede

Late at night.

Late night. It’s nice. But then, I like all kinds of time. Doesn’t matter. Day or night. All time seem special. Maybe that’s an indication that I’m in love. With time. Though proclaiming that I want to forget time. Awareness of time reminds me that time is running out. That’s an unpleasant thought.  But still, time is endless. As long as I’m alive to appreciate time. I have the late night. All to myself. Though something is speaking to me. Yes, it's the wind. Therefore, it is not a silent night. Just as well. The wind is soothing. Just what I need. To be lulled to sleep. Late at night. By Mother Nature’s lullaby. -Jim Broede

The good life.

Aging has done wonders for me. Makes me feel good. About having lasted this long. I’ve beat the odds. Maybe it has something to do with my attitude. I seldom fret. Seldom worry. Just get on with life. One day at a time. Finding something to savor. Every day. Little things. Just being alive and conscious. Able to walk 10 miles a day. Able to ponder. In writing. It also helps having a loving relationship. Add it all up. Makes for the good life. –Jim Broede

Remarkable & blessed connections.

Death has benefited me. That is, other people’s deaths.  I’d not be here. If my maternal grandparents had not died young. Leaving my mother an orphaned teenager.  If her parents had lived to ripe old ages, no way would she have married my father. It was a marriage of convenience. Thankfully. From my perspective. Otherwise, I’d not have been born. My father committed suicide. One could look at that as a blessing, too. For my mother. Because she went on to another marriage. A truly loving relationship that lasted 34 years. Life and death take peculiar and interesting twists and turns. My dear sweet Jeanne died in January 2007. In October 2007, I met my Italian true love. We recently celebrated the seventh  anniversary of our loving relationship. Maybe Jeanne, from somewhere in the spirit world, arranged for this to happen. For another love to cross my path. Alzheimer’s and death played a role, too.  From so-called bad stuff (death) often spring cherished forms of life (love).  Little wonder that I’m a romantic idealist. Anyway, follow the links in the chain of one’s life. One might find remarkable and blessed connections. --Jim Broede

The important stuff of life.

If one’s life is inherently good, it doesn’t have to keep getting better. Because good is good.   That’s how I look at life. I have enough monetary assets to get by. Decently. Comfortably. Therefore, no need to accumulate more wealth. Better to just get on with living. With savoring what I’ve already got. Yes, I recognize that some people never have enough. Of anything. They always want more. More assets. More pleasures. More everything. That’s all right. If that makes them happy.  Thing is. I’m happy at the moment. With what I’ve got. Mostly love. And good health. The important stuff of life. –Jim Broede

A living hell.

I take pride. In being different. Don’t have to be like other people. Don’t have to fit into a social milieu. Don’t need an entourage of friends. One or two will suffice. I could even go a while without a single friend. Living on a desert island. Away from civilization. Because I can summon the spirits. Yes, that’s another way to fall in love. By entering the spiritual realm. I can fall in love with the spirits. With being alive and conscious. That allows me to eventually find a way to cultivate a loving relationship. With someone. With something. Thereby becoming truly human. In practice. Sadly, I have a suspicion. That there are people amongst us, who find it difficult, if not impossible, to love.  That must be a definition of a living hell. –Jim Broede

In search of the curious.

Don’t know if it’s wise. When engaged in conversation. I‘m quick to say what’s on my mind. Even when initially meeting strangers. I skip the small talk. And probe. Immediately. Wanting to know something significant. Personal, too. And it won’t take long for the stranger to know he/she is talking to a romantic idealist, a spiritual free-thinker, a political liberal, a lover, a dreamer. My aim is to exchange significant stuff for significant stuff. Of course, this may turn off some strangers. But that’s fine, too. Maybe the stranger is signaling that he isn’t worth knowing. I accept that. And get on with the next stranger. Don’t want to foist myself on just anyone. Instead, I’m looking for naturally curious people. The good news. I find them. Every time that I travel. Abroad. Little wonder. That I have a very curious and lovely Italian true love. –Jim Broede

Getting what we deserve.

Say something bad about someone. Over and over and over. It will create an impression. That lingers. In the minds of people. Especially the uninformed. They may not know whether the allegation is true or false. But they’ve been told. More or less. To believe the bad stuff. Unfortunately, many people don’t make the time and effort to get to the truth.  I bring this up. Because much bad has been said of Barack Obama. By Republicans. By conservatives. By some downright nasty people. That’s the nature of politics. And it works. This is the way elections are won and lost. Ignorant, brainwashed voters march to the polls. In droves. Little wonder that we stupid Americans get what we deserve.  Yes, masterful lying politicians. –Jim Broede

Nothing ventured. Nothing gained.

Allowing people to be themselves. That’s supposed to be a good thing. Generally speaking. But I see nothing wrong in discouraging some friends and acquaintances from being themselves. Because they have drifted into potentially harmful patterns. I might step in. And offer unsolicited advice. Especially if they seem headed for disaster. I know some very unhappy people.  That don’t necessarily have to stay unhappy. If they make a few changes in their lives. Might be no more than an attitudinal shift. A new way of thinking. A new grasp on life.   Of course, I have no power to reshape anyone. Other than myself. True change must come from within the self.  But I have the power to persuade. To make suggestions. In a friendly and convincing manner. I’ve done it before. And I’ll do it again. After all. Nothing ventured. Nothing gained. –Jim Broede

Love isn't always enough.

Care-givers don’t like to hear it. That they’ve become bad care-givers. For the simple reason that they care too much. Think about it. They work themselves into a frenzy. To the point of exhaustion. Even to death. Indeed, that’s a pity. A shame. They fail to recognize the consequence of not taking care of one’s self. Maybe that’s required first and foremost. In order to be a solid and effective care-giver.  Love isn’t always enough. For years, I was a 24/7 care-giver. For my dear sweet Jeanne. I should have known better. Eventually, I did. Placing Jeanne in a nursing home. For the last 38 months of her life. That allowed me to not only take good care of Jeanne. But also to take good care of myself. I had reduced my daily care-giving role to 8 to 10 hours. Providing valuable and, yes, stellar supplemental care to Jeanne. Because I was finally able to get daily respite breaks. In my cocoon. At home. When I showed up at the nursing home at 10 in the morning (without ever missing a day) I was rejuvenated. Refreshed. Able to exude good vibes in Jeanne’s presence. Because I had finally learned to take care of myself.  A vital part of being a good and loving care-giver. –Jim Broede

My choice: Joy over sorrow.

When a slightly negative thought pops into mind. I swing into action. And replace it with a slightly positive thought. That tips the scale/balance. My thinking picks up momentum. In a favorable direction. And before long. I’m on a happy roll. I’ve been able to turn a sorrowful thought into a poignant and fond memory. Of course, it takes a disciplined mind. Trained. To savor the best of life. Rather than the worst.  Really, it’s easy. Given the choice.  I’d rather feel joy than sorrow. –Jim Broede

Fortunately, I have an option.

Public Enemy No. 1. If it were left to me. To do the rankings. I’d NOT put the barbarian Islamic State at the top of the list. Nor the threat of an Ebola epidemic. Instead, my clear choice would be Republicans. Yes, that loony hateful gang trying to take complete control of the American political scene. If that happens, it’ll be criminal. And tragic. The Republicans already dominate the House of Representatives. They seem on the verge of taking over the U.S. Senate. And in two years, it won’t surprise me if they occupy the White House. They already have a majority on the Supreme Court. I’d rather live in Hell. With the devil. Than in a Republican-controlled  America. Of course, that’s just me.  My sense of values. The devil seems like a kindly, decent and humane gentleman --- when compared with scumbag Republicans.  Fortunately, I have an option. I can flee America. And go live with my Italian true love.  In Paradise. –Jim Broede

Saved by my reclusive ways.

If left to my usual reclusive ways, I have difficulty finding something to worry about.  I merely go for a walk. And steer clear of civilization. Retreating to  the safe haven of my durable cocoon.  But I have a habit of picking up the New York Times or tuning in National Public Radio or switching on the liberal commentators on MSNBC. And I’m promptly reminded there’s plenty to worry about. Ebola. The Islamic state.   The likely Republican take-over of the Senate. And more. But to tell the truth, I don’t fret about that stuff. Because I can’t do anything about it. Crap happens. My attitude is to get on with pleasurable aspects of life. In my ever-evolving role as romantic idealist. Better to make love. Than worry about things. –Jim Broede

Doing things I shouldn't do.

Yes, I use the word ‘should.’ Maybe too frequently. But still, ‘should’ is not necessarily a bad word. It’s all right to say that you and I should do this or that. Even when we don’t. I use ‘should’ in my internal debate. Between right and wrong. If I did everything I ‘should’ do, living would become far too difficult. It’s far easier to break rules. And do the things I shouldn’t do. –Jim Broede

The making of fond memories.

A cloudy day. I like it. Doesn’t matter if the sun doesn’t shine. Every day is wonderful. The rain. The snow. The sleet. The wind. The heat. The cold. Because I’m able to adjust. To adapt. And savor it all. That’s the nicest thing about life. Even the moments of sadness. Tend to evaporate. And become salvaged. As fond memories. –Jim Broede

Motion and fresh air. Give it a try.

Seems to me that we all need diversions in life. But especially if one is Alzheimer-riddled. Such as my friend Ron. When Ron becomes agitated, I divert him. Merely by grabbing him by the shoulders. Looking him straight in the eyes. And turning him in a different direction. I set him in motion. Ron likes to move. To ride in a car. Or in a wheelchair. That seems to sooth him. But not only Ron. I used to give my dear sweet Jeanne daily romps in a wheelchair. For miles and miles. Even in mid-winter. In Minnesota. The rides always put Jeanne at peace. Maybe it was the fresh air, too. Makes me wonder if motion and fresh air would be good therapy for all dementia patients. It’s worth a try.  –Jim Broede

My kind of deserved blessing.

I’m enjoying the World Series. Because I don’t really care which team wins. That makes me more relaxed. If I was a rabid fan of either San Francisco or Kansas City, I’d be more emotionally involved in the games. More partisan. More stressed.  Now I can watch the games for the pure pleasure of baseball. No chance for a heartbreaking loss. Unless my dear Chicago Cubs were in the series. Which would pose a risk of loss and subsequent sorrow. I could go into deep despair. Granted, there’s also a chance of the triumphal Cubs. And ecstasy. But I’d rather not be subjected to the emotional gamble. Better for me that the Cubs finished in last place. And haven’t been to the World Series since 1945. Call it my kind of deserved blessing. –Jim Broede

I set foot on Planet Mars.

I was to Mars today. Where I listened to the extraterrestrial sounds – mostly the winds -- originating from the surface of the Red Planet. All of this combined with the soothing music of Johann Sebastian Bach. Yes, a wonder brought to us by modern technology. With a big assist from a recording device in a weather station placed on Mars in July 1997 by the Pathfinder spacecraft. Also, my imagination played a role. In my jettisoned trip to Mars.  Believe me, it seemed real. When, for a thrilling magical moment, I set a spiritual foot on Mars. –Jim Broede

Love makes my day. Every day.

Always looking for something. To make my day. Doesn’t have to be much. A little thing will suffice. Being alive. Imagine that. Every day. For 79 years, and counting. Haven’t always been aware that I’ve been alive. Don’t even remember squeezing out of the womb. I wasn’t fully conscious yet. And perhaps there were years when I merely went through the motions.  Didn’t live memorable days. Indeed, that’s a shame. Maybe I wasn’t in love then. Come to think of it, maybe I’m not 79. Instead, much younger.  Because I wasn’t truly born or truly alive – until I fell in love. With life. Now love makes my day. Every day. –Jim Broede

I am listening. Raptly.

Joseph Haydn. Thank you. I’m listening. To your music. Mostly trios for piano, violin and cello. At my home. In the year 2014.  When you lived, in the 17th century, you never imagined this would be possible. Through the wonders of technology. You bring me so much joy. Through your creative genius. You are very much alive. Imagine that. You are talking to me. Directly. Tonight. I am listening. Raptly. –Jim Broede

Too busy to do a good job.

People who spread themselves thin. And try to do too much. I’m leery of ‘em  They’d be better off by focusing on fewer things. Setting priorities. Picking and choosing the truly meaningful/important stuff. Just received a campaign brochure. From a candidate for the local city council. And she lists an immense number of her political and civic activities. Far too many. It’s a turn off. I’m inclined to NOT vote for her. Because she’s too busy to do a good job. –Jim Broede

In the wonderful Alzheimer's world.

Alzheimer-riddled Ron was being ornery. And I couldn’t blame him. He was being roused from deep sleep. Late in the morning. Because I had come to visit. The nurses aides had a handful. Persuading him to get with it. I tried to imagine being Ron. Abruptly shaken from a sweet and pleasant and clear-headed dream. And then brought back to reality. In his dementia world. I’d be pissed, too. But the aides and I knew what to do. We cajoled Ron. We exuded good vibes. We treated Ron like a member of a close-knit family. Wasn’t long before Ron was smiling. And laughing. I looked Ron straight in the eyes. And told him he looked like a dapper Norwegian gentleman. There was good-nature banter. Back and forth. I pointed away. Asked Ron to look at the elephant on the other side of the room. As he saw me sneak a strawberry from his breakfast plate. Ron knew what I was up to. I keep putting his sense of humor to the test. A way of stimulating his mind. Others do it unknowingly. Like Norma, the one with Tourette’s Syndrome. 'I’m gawd-damn cold,’ she blurted. A signal for an attentive aide to bring her a black and white stripped shawl. ‘Look, look,’ I shouted. ‘A zebra.’ Ron caught on. He could see the transformation. Norma had become a zebra. In fact, the whole day had become a magical delight. Ron was having a rollicking good time. As I wheeled him out the door and down the ramp. Into the great outdoors.  Where we followed the paved trail. Deep into the primeval forest. We would see white-tailed deer. Maybe even a bear. That’s the way life should be. In the wonderful world of Alzheimer’s. –Jim Broede

We are all in this. Together.

I force myself to think. Especially when my mind seems blank. Without a particular thought. I tell myself, ‘It’s time to think. Of something.’ Eureka! A thought comes to mind. That it’s a shame. To go through life. Without considerable thought. My favorite thought is a mere reminder. That I am alive. And conscious. I repeat it over and over. Makes me aware. That I am me. Gives me a pulsating sense of happiness. That I am in love. With blessed life. I am. I am. I am. And you are. You are. You are.  We are all in this. Together. Together. Together. –Jim Broede

Most meaningful at the moment.

I’ve been spending my life. Trying to communicate. Always. With a handful of people. And mostly with myself. Trying to understand. The nature of life.  What is it all about? What am I supposed to be doing?  Sometimes, I wonder if I’m merely marking time. Accomplishing nothing. Nothing significant. Maybe that’s all that we all ever do. A mass of insignificant stuff. Maybe that’s why I spend time trying to embellish my life. Trying to make it all feel glamorous and worthwhile. Like living in a novel. A work of literature. Anyway, I think it’s significant that I have an Italian true love. That’s most meaningful at the moment. --Jim Broede

Perpetual excruciating happiness.

I’d like to make unhappy people happy. To change their moods. In positive ways. Of course, some unhappy people would protest. Claiming that I’m trying to foist happiness on them. That they have an inalienable right to be sourpusses. And that I should mind my business. But I know what they are up to. They are trying to upset me, and thereby make me unhappy.  But I’m going to hold my ground. And stay happy. No matter what. I’ll continue to think positively. Maybe I’ll even cultivate a highly contagious virus that causes incurable happiness. Think of it. An epidemic of happiness. All over the world. Even those long-addicted to unhappiness would have to learn to live in a state of perpetual excruciating happiness. Until the day they die. –Jim Broede

A lousy care-giver. Really.

An overworked, hard-driven, guilt-ridden care-giver is a danger. Not only to the patient. But to herself. That’s my friend. She’s allowing her physical, mental and emotional health to deteriorate. She’s losing weight. Losing sleep. She’s in mental anguish. Does not exude good vibes. As a care-giver, she may be doing more harm than good. And she doesn’t recognize it. She’s a lovely and decent human being. But she’s losing control over her life. In my opinion, she’s headed for a nervous collapse, or worse. What good is she if that happens? Little wonder that some (too many) care-givers die before their patient. Care-giving, especially for Alzheimer’s, ain’t easy. It’s all right to admit defeat. And get help.  For one’s self.  That’s what she needs to do.  I want her around for the long haul. Alive and well. It’s time for an intervention. Time for her to see the light. I don’t want her to have the freedom to commit suicide. Of course, it won’t be called suicide. She’ll merely die of natural stress-related causes. Because she didn’t take care of herself. If that happens, she was a lousy care-giver. Really. -Jim Broede

...to save herself.

I have a friend. That I want to save. From herself. Nothing more difficult than that. I’ve written about her before. She’s been a care-giver. For a long time. Carrying a heavy burden of guilt. That she’s not doing enough. She won’t admit it. But she wants to make the ultimate sacrifice. Killing herself. In the care-giving process. Some might call her a saint. I call her stupid and crazy and reckless. In dire need of psychiatric help. I’d like to tell her that. But maybe she would take offense.  And break off the friendship. I’ve proposed rallying many of her closest friends.  For an intervention. Maybe if we come together. We can persuade her…to save herself. –Jim Broede

Resting for another fruitful day.

Being tired doesn’t bother me. Actually, it feels good. Because I’m a relaxed tired.  But I have a friend who complains about being tired. In an agitated way. She should take some tips from me.  I become tired after a day of mostly pleasure.  Pursuing activity that I enjoy. Puts me into a good frame of mind. When the day ends, I go to bed. Comfortably tired. Relishing the day. With peace of mind. Expecting sweet dreams.  As I rest for another fruitful day. –Jim Broede

A lovely heroine. In my storied life.

I’m trying to make sense of my life. By thinking of it as a continually unfolding story. Similar to living in a novel. I’m the protagonist. With the wherewithal to shape and interpret the story.  At my discretion. After all, I’m the author. I define the characters. Including me.  Almost feels like playing god. I’m cast as romantic idealist, spiritual free-thinker, political liberal, lover, dreamer. Writer, too.  Yes, the creator/interpreter of a story. Not only of my life, but the robust and fascinating events and people around me. But it’s no fantasy. It’s real. Especially my Italian true love. A very pivotal character. And I’m letting it all play out. Giving my true love immense freedom and independence. The opportunity to define herself. Though I wish she’d allow me to define her…as a lovely heroine. In my storied life. –Jim Broede

The end of civilization.

Enough. Enough. You Ebola alarmists. So we have one or two or three cases of Ebola in America. It ain’t the end of the world. That’s all I’m hearing on newscasts these days. Ebola. Ebola. Ebola. Congress is holding hearings. Trying to decide what to do about Ebola. As starters, let’s quit overreacting.  The news media are playing it up big.  TV. Radio. Newspapers.  It’s as if everyone is supposed to be fearful. That we’re all going to die. An agonizing death by Ebola. Worse than the Black Plague.  If I want to be fearful, I’ll lament over the possibility of the Republicans taking over the Senate and the presidency.   That thought scares the willies out of me. Ebola. Hell, that’s nothing. I can survive Ebola. By staying home. By avoiding human contact. That’s easy stuff. A Republican takeover. That’s a real concern for alarm. Could be the end of civilization  --Jim Broede

Amazing feats of survival.

I disagree. With all sorts of people. With organizations. With political parties. With religions. Even with my neighbors and friends and acquaintances. Yet, I find ways to co-exist.  To allow others to go their ways. While I go mine. Works fine most of the time. Even when there’s sharp disagreement.  I’m still able to get on with my own life. Of course, it helps that the Islamic State is on the other side of the world.  Helps, too, that I can ignore and hide from lunatic fringe Republicans. By retreating to my cocoon. I have all sorts methods/tricks. So that I can go on pursuing my reasonably happy life. Despite the numerous challenges and pitfalls. I make do. Because I’m a tolerant fellow. Adaptable, too. I’m learning to live in a world filled with mayhem and 7 billion people.  Yes, every day. I accomplish amazing feats of survival. Because I’m in love. With life. –Jim Broede

No fear in Paradise.

Fear, fear and more fear. That’s what I’m reading daily in the newspaper.  The media seems to be telling us that there’s much to fear. Fear of Ebola. Fear of a sharp drop in the stock market. Fear of the new Islamic state. We’re being told that things are in bad shape. Time to be fearful. But I’m balking. I refuse to be scared. I’m in love. With life.  To hell with all this fear stuff. I’m fleeing the land of fear. To spend the winter. In Sardinia. With my Italian true love. There is no fear in Paradise. –Jim Broede

In meaningful and loving ways.

Look at it this way. One doesn’t have to miss a loved one who has died. Because in true love, a loved one is always present. Yes, in memory. In spirit. Make that good enough. Because that’s the way it is. I find that connection becoming more solid, more divinely real. With the passage of time. When one gets on with life. The connection is always there. In meaningful and loving ways. --Jim Broede

Cherished. Forever.

The rough times don’t seem so rough anymore. When dear sweet Jeanne had Alzheimer’s. The 13-year siege. Plenty of lamenting. And anguish. But that’s in the past. And all that I remember are the good times. Even during the Alzheimer period. Precious moments surfaced. Often. Jeanne is remembered. Fondly. Lovingly. During our 38 years of marriage. Alzheimer’s was merely an incident in time. Love prevailed. Still does.  As a living memory.  Cherished. Forever. –Jim Broede

Makes me feel alive.

When I write. It becomes exposure. Of myself. Another step. Toward nakedness. Maybe that’s why I write. To venture. Into a strange and fascinating world. Of discovery. Saying. Here I am. Please tell me. Who you are.  Maybe that will give me a clue. About the nature of life. Seems that I have an imagination. That allows me to create. Something that gives a sense of reality. Yes, makes me feel alive.  –Jim Broede

When I forget about time.

I like waking up. Knowing it’s another day. Thursday. The day that follows Wednesday. But I wonder. If it really matters. Keeping track of days and weeks and months and years. Yes, everything seems to be measured. In time. Makes me wonder. If it’s possible to exist. Consciously. Outside of time. Of course, that would be another dimension. Maybe the same one called home. By the creator. Occasionally, I have the feeling of living in paradise. When I forget about time. –Jim Broede

The finer little things of life.

To become a true blue political power broker, it’d be necessary for me to become monetarily rich. It would help to be a billionaire. And then I’d have to work for my liberal/progressive agenda. Benefits for the poor and the middle class. Taking from the rich, and giving to the poor. But chances are, becoming a financial tycoon would have corrupted me. I would have adopted a rich man’s values. And a proclivity to manipulate the system. For my personal benefit. To make me richer and richer and richer. I would have pursued life with a self-defeating (and perhaps immoral) purpose. Better to shun the riches. And save my soul. Better to be in love with the finer little things of life. Rather than big money and political power. –Jim Broede

Theory versus practice.

I don’t have to be loved. Or liked, for that matter. That’s not the important thing in my life. I’m not on a quest to be loved. Instead, I want to be a lover. Of life. So far, I have pretty much accomplished that goal. I dislike certain things. Even certain people. Especially politicians. But I accept imperfections. After all, I have plenty of ‘em myself. That’s part of being a true lover. Unconditional love. Someone doesn’t have to like me. To be loved by me. That’s the nature of true love. Love doesn’t have to be a two-way street. That makes it possible to love one’s so-called enemy. Complete understanding. Complete forgiveness. Maybe that’s the most difficult task in life. But once accomplished, it has to seem easy. The natural thing to do. That’s my theory. Of course, there’s a difference between theory and practice. –Jim Broede

Why?

Making sense out of life. Occasionally, I think of that as my biggest challenge. Why am I here? An alive and conscious being. Maybe there isn’t a ‘why.’ If so, then I’m free to make one up. To use my imagination. So far, I’m leaning toward the assumption that I’m supposed to explore the notion of love. Because this strange and wonderful feeling makes me happy. The pursuit of happiness. That has become my mission. And it isn’t necessarily a selfish endeavor. Because when I love, it also seems to make other people happy. Maybe everyone wants to be loved. But I find greater satisfaction in being the lover rather than the loved one.  Why is that? –Jim Broede

A funny (and misunderstood) fool.

I have something to say. Even when I don’t have something meaningful to say. Maybe that’s a sign that I like listening to me. That’s not a nice thing to say. Especially about me. But I say it anyway. Just to show that I don’t mind making a fool of myself. To prove a  point. I play the role of fool almost every day.  Look at it this way. Goes to show that I have a sense of humor. Albeit, an odd sense. One of these days, I will perfect my stand-up comic routine. As a funny (and misunderstood) fool. –Jim Broede

Goodbye America.

It’s terribly depressing news. With the midterm elections just three weeks away, polls show the Republicans are increasingly likely to gain control of the Senate, the New York Times reports. That’s hard to take. Especially for a political liberal, such as me. I despise Republicans. Especially the ultra-conservatives. Often referred to as the lunatic fringe. But then, I have a solution. To bad news. To bad events. I merely retreat to my cocoon. And go live with my Italian true love. In Sardinia. In Paradise.  Goodbye America. I have a better place to go. –Jim Broede

An ode to tulips.

I have brilliant yellow tulips. In a vase. On my desk. A gift. From my neighbor. I am counting the tulips. Yes, 10 tulips. I am absorbed. In the natural beauty. Of tulips. Indeed, it is a magical moment. Enhanced by music. A Bach violin sonata. Sounds like an ode to tulips. Makes me wonder. If Bach was being inspired. By tulips. –Jim Broede

If I had missed out on old age.

I try to not think of myself as old. But I’m reminded by others. Especially young people. That 79 is old. Of course, I dispute their assumption. Most of the time, I don’t give a thought to my age. Better to pursue life. In a reasonably happy manner. Involved in the moment. In today. I rarely stop to ponder my age. Because I’m occupied with other matters. Savoring whatever it is I’m doing. I’m not all that concerned about tomorrow. Or next week.  Every day, I’m in contact with my Italian true love. On Skype. Knowing, too, that I’ll be with her in the flesh most of the winter. In the Mediterranean island paradise Sardinia.  And that she’ll be with me. In another paradise, Minnesota. In the summer. That’s good enough for me. Yes, I have the good life. Because I’m fortunate. Indeed, it would have been a shame. If I had died young…and missed out on old age. –Jim Broede

Feeling alive.

Going for a walk. I look at it as more a mental workout than a physical thing. Takes me roughly three hours. For a relatively casual walk. And often, I lose myself. In thought. That prompts me to take a break or two. To write. About what’s on my mind.  I make it a posting. In my blog. Other times, I take a book, a magazine or newspaper. And read.  But I also focus on the rhythm of a walk. A steady pace. Ranging mostly between 13-minute and 17-minute miles.  In my younger days, I ran 7-minute miles. Those days are gone.  Never ran a marathon. Settling, instead, on a 13-mile run. On my own. Without competition. Because I always ran to relax. Not to win a race. Best to proceed at one’s own pace. Walking. Jogging. Running. And always thinking. Mostly pleasant thoughts. Feeling alive. –Jim Broede

Another precious moment.

I help Ron off with his jacket. After a two-mile outing. In a wheelchair. With opportunities, too, for Ron to get on his feet For short strolls. On a winding and hilly paved trail. In a heavily-wooded park. Only a quarter-mile up the road from his new five-bed dementia care center called Arthur’s Residence. Anyway, upon our return, it’s time for a celebration. For  Alzheimer’s-riddled Ron. For being stimulated. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. As his jacket comes off, Ron extends his arms outward. Raises them. Up and down. As if directing a symphony orchestra. I grasp Ron’s hands. And together, we go through the motions. Humming a joyful tune. “You are directing an  orchestra,’ I tell Ron. Ron speeds up the momentum.  He’s laughing. He’s happy. He’s going with the flow. Yes, Ron’s environs are permeated with a sense of joy. Of being alive. I call it good vibes therapy. Something that everyone with Alzheimer’s should be blessed with. Twenty-four hours a day. Even when they sleep. A little soft music doesn’t hurt. Perhaps an adagio. From Mozart. Or maybe Beethoven. I’m willing to try anything. To see if it works. In positive ways. Anyway, it wasn’t long ago. In July. That Ron was almost given up for dead. After he broke his neck in a fall. But surgeons fused the fracture together. And now it’s fully healed. Ron has recovered. Almost seems like a miracle. But there are other factors. Not the least being Ron’s new environs. An experimental way to treat those with dementia. Not only Ron, but the other patients. They’re all thriving.  But Ron is the star. He feels at home. Like he’s part of a congenial family. They’re all sitting around the dining room table now. Enjoying lunch. Enjoying their waning days. The way life was meant to be. Not in an institution. But a far more humane good vibes setting.  That genuinely feels like their home sweet home. Where Ron can salvage another precious moment. Directing the orchestra. In the Ode to Joy. –Jim Broede

A grand and wonderful illusion.

Ron is enjoying life again. Despite his Alzheimer’s.  Because he’s in a good vibes environs. Where he truly feels at home.  The five-bed Arthur’s Residence. In an idyllic Twin Cities suburban residential neighborhood. He walks around the place. Into the living room, the kitchen, wherever he pleases. And cavorts with the staff. Usually, four young women. With happy-go-lucky attitudes. They exude good vibes virtually all of the time. In the  midst of being educated. Into the world of the dementia-riddled. At colleges and universities. But also on-the-job. It’s as if they’ve walked into Ron’s home. Ron’s world. That’s what they’ve helped create. Arthur’s Residence. But might just as well be called Ron’s Residence. Or Norma’s Residence. The names of any of the five residents. They have blended into a family. They all seem to feel that it’s their exclusive home. They are, indeed, a functioning family. Where they belong. One might say, it’s an illusion. But nothing wrong with that. That’s the best of life. A grand and wonderful illusion. That has become as real as real can be. –Jim Broede

Taking my good-nature time.

I procrastinate. Don’t get everything done that I should get done. For which I’m criticized. By friend and foe alike. But I don’t let that bother me. Because there’s too much to do. Therefore, I pick and choose. Let things slide. Put things off. It’s the only decent way to live. If I tried to do everything, I’d be exhausted. In a state of turmoil. Instead, I proceed at my own pace. Taking my good-nature time.  So that I can savor life. –Jim Broede

Only one thing scares me.

We Americans are supposed to be fearful. Of ebola. Of barbarous Muslims. Of progressives. Or so I’m told by Republicans. But Franklin Roosevelt claimed the only thing to fear is fear itself. I’ve decided to take his advise. And proceed with life. Fearlessly. That’s right. Nothing scares me. Except maybe an unleashed foaming-at-the-mouth Republican. –Jim Broede

Hoodwinked and bamboozled.

I’m being told to vote Republican. To cure everything that’s wrong with America. The GOP’s political ads tell me that America is in decline because of President Obama and the Democrats. Believe me, it isn’t that simple.  It would be far easier, and more accurate, to lay the blame on the Republicans. The champions of the rich. The enemy of the middle class and the poor.  Gullible and stupid Americans. That’s the real problem. Americans are easily sold a bill of goods. They have been hoodwinked. Bamboozled. By Republican propaganda. By sound bites. By lies. That’s the nature of politics. On both sides. But the worst of it comes from Republicans. The masters of deceit. Meanwhile, I try to ignore most of it. And get on with the rest of my life.  In my cocoon. In Minnesota. When I am in America. But alas, I have an escape, too. Every winter. When I flee to paradise. To Sardinia, an island in the Mediterranean Sea. To live with by Italian true love. Far, far away from the hell of American politics. –Jim Broede  

Yes, I'm the stupid one.

I know it’s wrong. Still, sometimes I judge people. Based on their physical looks. They look incompetent. Downright stupid. That was the case with the director of the Secret Service. The first time I saw her at the televised hearings, I mused, ‘She’s incompetent.’ Even before she uttered a word. The same goes for Mitch McConnell, the U.S. senator and minority leader. He looks stupid. Yes, I know that’s unfair. A hasty and often erroneous way to judge anyone. I try not to. But still I do. Yes, another of my bad habits. Really, I should be far less judgmental. I know that people are judgmental about me, too. In negative ways. But that doesn’t bother me too much. Instead, I’m bothered by my own judgmental incompetence. Hard to accept the fact. That sometimes other people are right. And I am wrong. Yes, I’m the stupid one. –Jim Broede

A need for periodic resuscitation.

I see benefits. In being anti-social. Though I wouldn’t call myself anti-social. I have friends. But always, there’s a danger of having too many friends. Which can lead to an inordinate number of social obligations. Maybe that’s what I dislike. Social obligations. Sometimes, I’d rather be reclusive. And stay home. In my cocoon. With very few friends. Or in complete isolation. In solitude. Closed off from the rest of the world. For periods that allow me to become resuscitated. So I can take on new challenges.  –Jim Broede 

A mindful life.

I like to know what’s on people’s minds. Mainly, out of curiosity. But also because it helps me understand motivation. Why people think the way they think. And do what they do. It would be wonderful if I could read a mind. But then, maybe not. Yes, it’s possible that one can know too much. I’d probably have to learn to keep secrets.  I’m not fearful of people reading my mind. But that might lead to confusion. Because I have a somewhat confused mind. A mind in a state of flux. Changing. Evolving. As my mind is fed with new information.  New perspectives are forming all the time.  Some days, my mind is in a clutter. But on good days, it’s relatively clear and reasonably organized.  I try to encourage my mind not to take itself too seriously. To merely go with the flow. And to be happy. And in love – with life and consciousness. –Jim Broede

Julie the Wonder Woman.

Doesn’t surprise me. That my friend Julie walked on a fractured knee for three months. Able to ignore the pain. And the limp. And get around. As a supplemental care-giver for her Alzheimer-riddled father Ron. Maybe that’s what care-givers do. Ignore pain. Mental and physical. In order to get the job done. Julie had steadfastly refused to go in for a physical exam. The last one was 13 years ago. Until husband Rick insisted that she get her three-month-long limp checked out. Lo and behold. A fractured knee.  She’s being fitted with a knee brace. Yes, so she can continue walking. And pursue life as a long-suffering and dedicated care-giver. I’ve long claimed that care-givers need to take care of themselves. First and foremost. In order to last. Now it’s time for that long overdue physical (and mental) exam.  Rick has proposed taking Julie to the nearby Mayo Clinic for a five-day check up. I have seconded the motion. –Jim Broede

Makes for a reasonably happy life.

I  used to lament losses by my favorite teams. The Chicago Cubs and the Chicago Bears. But I’ve learned to take defeat in stride. No big deal. Don’t lose any sleep. Just get on with the rest of my life. I reserve my time for celebration. When the Cubs and Bears win. Even though that may be only occasionally. Fact is. I want to feel good. Not glum. So I pick and choose the things that affect me. Focusing on the positives. Not the negatives. I refuse to be disappointed. In the Cubs or the Bears. I accept their ineptness.  And embrace their excellence. Makes for a reasonably happy life. –Jim Broede

I live to write. And write to live.

The greatest invention of all time. The written word. So easy to write. But once upon a time, people went through an entire life without a single written word.  Hard for me to imagine such a life. Of course, it was still possible to speak to each other. Before the written word.  Initially, writing was very difficult. A painstaking labor. On a cave wall. Messages that have lasted for eons. Now it’s possible to become addicted to writing. To become a writer. My favorite pastime. I live to write. And write to live. –Jim Broede

Maybe I'm not a loner, after all.

Come to think of it, though I spend time living alone, I hardly ever go a day without direct human contact. Even while residing in my cocoon. Because I have modern technology. A computer. And Skype. Therefore I’m connected with the world. But especially with my Italian true love. Even when I’m in Minnesota. And she in Sardinia. We see and talk to each other. Virtually every day. Of course, the contact is in the flesh. In most winters and summers. Indeed, a nice arrangement. A nice relationship. I can’t remember the last day that I didn’t have human contact. Maybe I’m not a loner, after all. –Jim Broede

Let's make it abundantly clear.

A president can take America to war. And get away with it. Barack Obama has done it. Without congressional approval. Without a full-fledged public debate. Yes, the very man that promised to get the United States out of war has dragged the nation into another potentially long-term and costly conflagration. Against the so-called Islamic State.  I don’t like war. But I dislike even less an undeclared war. Either get us into war the right way, or not at all.  If the American people want war, so be it. With a military draft. With a nationwide alert. But let’s not allow the president to make the decision for us.  We’re either at war or not at war. Let’s make it abundantly clear.  And official. –Jim Broede

To be frightened. Almost to death.

Getting absorbed in the moment. In what I’m doing now. Yes, I’ve learned to wear blinders. To not let outside events disrupt or bother me. Makes me feel good. To be focused on now. I find that helps me turn inward. Especially when I’m alone. An opportunity to collect my thoughts. Makes me think. That the mind is a wonderful thing. And to lose it must be awful. That’s happened. To my Alzheimer-riddled friend Ron. He used to be a brilliant scientist. At 3M Co. Invented the amalgam used to fill teeth. Anyway, somewhere along the line, Ron must have been aware that he was losing his extraordinary scientific mind. Maybe he still does know. And he doesn’t know what to do about it. But he’s aware. A little bit. Enough to be scared.  To be frightened. Almost to death. –Jim Broede

Reason to be a Bears fan.

I’m a Chicago Bears fan. In part, because many Bears players have the right attitude. That winning isn’t everything. There are more important things in life. Than simply winning a game. After all, football is merely a game. Not a life and death situation. It’s a nice way to make a living. Playing a game. And somebody has to lose.  And if it’s the Bears, so be it. No big deal. Losers can still go home. And enjoy life.  And still collect their fat paychecks.  Yes, the Bears have solid reason to be happy human beings. Despite losing most of their games. I consider that a positive attitude.  Good reason to be a Bears fan. –Jim Broede    

Happy with my thoughts.

Living alone ain’t a bad way to live.  Makes for silence. And solitude. Some people may complain that it’s a lonely existence. As if that’s a bad thing. But I find that feeling alone can be good. Of course, I like it when my Italian true love is with me. Either in Minnesota or Sardinia.  But often, it’s good enough just thinking of her. Indeed, a pleasant thought. That can make my day. It isn’t necessary to constantly be with someone to be happy. And contented. I am happy. With my thoughts. –Jim Broede

In so many wonderful ways.

The way I deal with people. There’s no one way. Everyone is an individual. Distinct. Unlike any other. Friends. Acquaintances. Strangers. They’re all different.  Some I know quite well. Others in a more casual manner. Some from afar. Strangers become acquaintances. I form first impressions. With some, I become curious. Wanting to learn more. Others, I simply write off. With hardly any impression.  Maybe never to see again. But there’s always a cast of characters with whom I’m close. And know in rather intimate ways. They are the ones to be treated with great respect. And always as special. True friends. Used to be that I boasted of having no friends. Only acquaintances. But that wasn’t true. I’ve always had friends. Of one sort or another. People I could rely on. And they, in turn, could rely on me.  I’ve also had two true loves. My dear wife Jeanne. Until she died over 7 years ago. Since then, I’ve cultivated my dear sweet Italian true love. Makes me think that I’ve been blessed. With true friends. In so many wonderful ways.   –Jim Broede

Making things right.

I’m not sure if it’s Alzheimer-riddled Ron being put to a test – or the professional care-givers at his new residence. Turns out, Ron has the so-called sundowners effect. Late afternoons. He tends to become a little bit belligerent. Tougher to manage.  Nursing homes tend to respond. With medications. In the past, Ron has been quelled that way. Which I consider a crime. But now Ron is in a five-bed care center called Arthur’s Residence. Where he’s supposed to get more direct personal one-on-one care, and less drugs. The idea is to try to stimulate Ron. In positive ways. Not to put him into a stupor. And placed in front of a TV set. There are far better ways. Ones I’ve experimented with. By engaging Ron. Face to face. Talking to him. In a soft and soothing voice. By touch, too. Making him relax. With a shoulder or foot massage.  Or by taking him for a walk. Or a wheelchair ride. Yes, fresh air stimulation. I’m going to start visiting Ron. At sundowner time. To observe. To see what’s happening.  And if necessary, I’ll intervene. And  demonstrate. How to make things right. –Jim Broede

No heartbreak for me.

I watched a baseball game sporadically tonight. Went into extra innings, and lasted for 6½ hours. Incredibly long. It was a play-off game between San Francisco and Washington – teams that play in the same league as my dear Chicago Cubs. So many tense moments for diehard fans of either team. Anyway, it made me appreciate that the Cubs didn’t make it to the playoffs. If they had been one of those two teams, I’d have been a nervous wreck. And if the Cubs had lost, I’d be in the doldrums. Better that the Washington fans feel bad. They lost a heartbreaker, 2-1, in 18 innings. Of course, it didn’t break my heart. I didn’t care which team won. I just enjoyed the game of baseball, minus the Cubs. No heartbreak for me. --Jim Broede

Having fun deciding what's right.

Doing the right thing. That’s what I’m supposed to do. But what is the right thing? Not an easy question to answer. But I’m asking it. Of myself. Virtually every day. Of course, I could rely on others for the answers. But that’s the easy way out. I’d rather find my own answers. By probing. Deep within. Sometimes I’m right. Other times I’m wrong. But believe me. I’m having fun. Deciding. –Jim Broede

Maybe I tell/care too much.

I have a friend. She occasionally writes to me. Wish she’d write more often. Because I like to hear from her. After all, she’s a dear friend. But I can’t compel her to do anything. Anyway, when she does write, she often starts her letter with a complaint. About what she doesn’t like about me. Something I do. Like what I’m doing now. Writing about her. In a public forum.  Oh, she remains anonymous. Don’t dare use her name. Out of respect. If I wrote a novel, she’d be in it. A variation of her real self. I’d make her into a heroine, of sorts. She might detest me for it. Though maybe not. Because if we are dear and true friends, we’d accept each other. Unconditionally. Even the blemishes. She tells me she doesn’t completely trust me. Because of what I’m doing now. Writing about her. Thing is, I tell her this stuff directly, too. In personal letters. But I don’t stop there. Because I’m a writer, and a former journalist. That’s my way. I write about the meaningful stuff of life. Yes, that I have this dear friend. That sometimes contemplates taking her own life.  She’s an advocate of suicide. Under the right circumstances.  I tell her that I am personally in love with life. And that I’m worried about her. Because she has bouts of depression. She might do it. Some day. Maybe she’s doing it now. In slow and methodical fashion.  Smoking herself to death. I’ve tried to persuade her to stop smoking. For the sake of life. But smoking is one of her pleasures. In a sense, it keeps her out of depression. And alive. Maybe smoking does her more good than harm.  Meanwhile, I’m hopeful that I’m doing my friend far more good than harm. Sometimes, it’s hard to tell.  Maybe I tell/care too much. –Jim Broede

S(no)w reason to panic.

It’s really nice that we have true changes of seasons in Minnesota. With snow expected tonight (Oct. 3). Of course, it won’t accumulate. Nothing to measure. But white flakes in the air make it look like we may be in for a long, long winter. All the more reason for me to be excited about the prospect of fleeing to Sardinia. To be with my Italian true love.  Sooner rather than later. We’ll see. I’m not about to panic.  We are still likely to have some summer-like days. My neighbors tell me it’s unbearably cold. But that’s crazy talk. As long as the temperature stays above freezing – that’s relatively warm.  Still very tolerable. Anyway, it’s nice and cozy and warm. Indoors, at least. I’m happy to be alive. And in Minnesota. That’s good enough for me. --Jim Broede

A foundation of ignorance.

It’s not a good thing. That’s my judgmental opinion. The ever-widening gap between the rich and poor in the United States of America. Almost as bad as when the American economy was based largely on slave labor.  The top 10 percent receive almost half of all the income and own 75 percent of the nation’s wealth. And another interesting statistic. Today's chief executives earn about 300 times as much as the ordinary worker.  I gleaned this information from economist Paul Krugman’s recent column in the New York Times. Krugman concluded that today’s political balance rests on a foundation of ignorance, in which the public has no idea what our society is really like. –Jim Broede

Dancing endlessly.

It’s a very windy day. Downright blustery. The fir tree branches are performing. Before my eyes. A frolicsome dance. I don’t dance. In the traditional sense. Lacking the physical aptitude.  But I make up for it. With an unleashed imagination. Feeling the rhythm of the dance. In my soul.  I’ve embraced the fir trees. I’m whirling. Whirling. Dancing. Dancing endlessly.  –Jim Broede

Where I am sovereign ruler.

I like to set the rules. My rules. Of course, I can’t always get away with it. But when I live alone and away from people, it’s easier. I have more control. Doing pretty much as I please. Because I’m not harming anyone. With my rules. I’m able to sit down at my computer. And write. To my heart’s content.  I pen a love letter, too. And I go for a walk. And get lost. In the primeval forest. Then I return home. And savor the solitude. In my own world. My cocoon. Where I am sovereign ruler. –Jim Broede

Far beyond the horizon.

Some people drag me into their worlds. Such as my Alzheimer-riddled friend Ron. And when that happens, I’m grateful. I willingly enter fanciful worlds. My own. And others, too. I like that. Of course, not everyone wants me to enter their world. They prefer being reclusive. That forces me to make difficult decisions. I have the annoying habit of entering their world. Regardless of their desires.  Because I’m curious. And naturally annoying, too.  Makes me an amateur psychoanalyst. And maybe that’s a pursuit best left to the professionals. But still, I proceed. There’s no stopping me. Because I’m an amateur at the meaningful stuff of life. Don’t pursue life for the primary sake of making money. I’d rather make an acquaintance.  Or a friend.  Satisfying my curiosity. I’m an amateur explorer, too.  With a specialty. The exploration of worlds far beyond the horizon. –Jim Broede

Another reason to learn Italian.

Several years ago. I was in an olive grove. With my Italian true love. Sitting beneath a 600-year-old olive tree. Relaxing. Taking in the wonders of nature. On a sunny day. And an old hunch-backed woman. Dressed in peasant-style apparel.  Was collecting olives from the ground. I imagined. She’d take the olives home. And put them to good use. Maybe even have me over as a guest. To sample the olives. With a glass of wine. And bread. The woman approached us. And talked to my true love. In Italian. I didn’t understand. So I asked my true love to translate. Apparently, the woman was inquisitive. She wanted to know if we were married. My true love thought that wasn’t any of her business. And cut off the conversation. I objected. Wanting to know more about the woman. I had in mind that she might invite us to her place. And that soon I’d know more about the woman than she would know about us. The woman wandered away. While I tried to persuade my true love to allow me to pursue the conversation. With her as translator.  But my true love refused. Thinking it was best to protect everyone's privacy. That saddened me. A little bit. Because I’m a curious fellow.  Capable of saying to hell with privacy. Wanting to cultivate strangers. Including that curious woman in the olive grove. Yes, I still lament that lost opportunity. Anyway, it's another reason for me to learn Italian. –Jim Broede

Shared thoughts.

Some friends don’t like it. When I write about them. In my blog. Oh, I don’t mention them by name. But they recognize themselves. Mostly, I refer to them in complimentary ways. Not always, of course. Other times. They may have raised a subject. And I expound on it. Recently, a friend told me she still believes in suicide as a viable alternative. But that she also was instrumental in convincing someone who attempted suicide to seek help. By pointing out that their situation was transient and would improve. I like to share thoughts that come from friends. Especially the provocative ones. I annoy some friends. By sharing their thoughts with others. I like the idea of shared thoughts. That’s far better than unshared thoughts. –Jim Broede

The way things should be.

So far, so good. With Alzheimer-riddled Ron. In his new environs. He feels at home. Literally. He’s relaxed. And no longer agitated. Ron is immersed in good vibes. Gets plenty of fresh air. Lots of mental and physical stimulation. And very minimal medication. Exactly what I have long theorized. That this is the way to treat people with Alzheimer’s and other dementia. I’m amazed. But not all that surprised. Nursing homes should operate this way. Even the big nursing homes. They should divide their residents into manageable modules. Maybe five to a module. And assign 3 to 5 well-trained care-givers to each module. So that there can be lots of one-on-one interaction. Stimulation. That’s the key. Human contact. In a positive and loving and easy-going manner. Where everyone is at ease. The residents. The staff. That’s what I see happening at the five-bed care center called Arthur’s Residence. Where Ron has been living for a week. In an idyllic residential neighborhood in a Twin Cities suburb. Anyway, it’s expensive. Running close to $10,000 a month. But still, that’s less than what it cost at swank and big nursing home chains run by big profit-minded corporations. Where Ron’s care was lousy. What a contrast. Now he’s getting superb care. Maybe even stellar. I’ll keep close watch. So will Ron’s daughter and son-in-law. We are operating as a team. With enthusiastic and dedicated professionals. Mostly young people. That’s the way things should be.  Everywhere. Stay tuned. More reports to come. –Jim Broede