All I'm looking for in life.

Let the Middle East be the Middle East. Bad as it may be. No sense in trying to make the Middle East into the image of America. Or under the yoke of  America. That’s impossible.  Two different worlds. On the same planet. Nothing wrong with that. That is, if both worlds learn to co-exist. Better than fighting and killing each other. Where there’s a will, there’s a way. Republicans and Democrats can live with or next to each other. Same goes for communists and capitalists. Jews and Palestinians, too. Of course, that makes me a dreamer. A Pollyanna. A believer in peace and harmony. No more war. Let love prevail. Really. That’s all I’m looking for in life. Love, love and more love. –Jim Broede

If played by rules.

Don’t know if I’m a real sports fan. Because I’m not particularly in love with sports. I call myself a fan of the Cubs and the Bears. The Chicago baseball and football teams. But generally I don’t sit down and watch a baseball or football game. Unless the Cubs and Bears are playing.  Goes to show I’m more addicted/enthralled by specific teams. Rather than by the sport. In my younger days, I was a sportswriter. But I abandoned that pursuit. Thinking there were better things to write about. Such as politics. Which also seemed to be a game. Unfortunately, a dirty game. Played without rules. Maybe I should have stayed a sportswriter. Because sports are played with rules. Makes me wonder. If politics and life would be a better game. If played by rules.  –Jim Broede

A reminder: Time to shave.

I shave. Maybe twice a week. Years ago, I shaved daily. Now I’m often seen with stubble. Of course, I’ll never look like the novelist Leo Tolstoy. He had a long flowing beard. Looked more like an old man. Rather than a distinguished gentleman. I’ve never had a full-fledged beard or moustache. Don’t like a hairy face. It’s uncomfortable.  But doesn’t bother me to go four or five days without a shave. And when I do, there’s a reminder from by Italian true love. That it’s time to shave. –Jim Broede

Friends and acquaintances.

People are funny. Especially when they become serious. About funny stuff. That they don’t recognize as being funny. For instance, some of my friends tell me they don’t trust me. Because I’ll write about them. In my blog. Really, in most instances, it’s not about them. But about something they said. Such as, ‘I don’t trust you.’  That’s another way of saying, ‘You don’t do as I say. You don’t abide by my wishes.’  The truth be told. Sometimes I abide. Other times, I don’t.  Depends on my inclination. I’m not necessarily a people pleaser. I like people. Especially my friends. But I don’t cater to them 100 percent of the time. I dare to take issue with my friends. Take them to task.  Disagree. That’s a good thing. Some of my friends would like to make our friendship conditional. I generally steer clear of that sort of arrangement. Maybe that’s why I have far more acquaintances than genuine and true friends. –Jim Broede

The nosey Italians. They're okay.

I like nosey Italians. But my Italian true love doesn’t. That especially goes for an elderly couple. In her condominium. When my true love starts her car in the morning, they invariably come out on their balcony. To observe or spy on her. Or so she thinks. That bothers her. But I’m amused. I laugh. I like the couple. They’re funny. I call the woman the ‘crab lady.’ Because she complains. About lots of things.  When I’m there, I wave to the crab lady. And smile. Why not? I like nosey Italians. Because they are curious. They wonder about me. The strange Americano. Living with the most beautiful woman in Sardinia.  –Jim Broede

Making me feel good about life.

Spiritually, I believe what I want to believe. Without proof. Because when it comes to spiritual matters, no one can be absolutely certain. About the spiritual realm.  What it consists of. Or if it even exists. Of course, one can imagine. Almost anything. Therefore, I find pleasure in imagining a spiritual dimension.  Because I want to. I merely wish for the spiritual. And that’s good enough for me. Even if my wish doesn’t come true –  that’s all right. I still find solace. In wishing for what seems – in my heart, mind and gut -- like a nice form of existence. Making me feel good about life. –Jim Broede

It's all one and the same.

My friend Rick cautions against taking on the bureaucracy. That it’s a waste of time. That one has better things to do. Such as getting on with life. In positive ways. Rick may be correct. But still, that won’t stop me. From battling the enemy. The dispassionate  bureaucrat. I won’t take the guff. And sometimes I win. Not always. When I don’t. I follow Rick’s advice. And get on with life. The pursuit of love and happiness. It’s all one and the same. –Jim Broede

I am the mischievous devil.

I proceed with life in my own way. Not the way other people would have me operate. I’m a non-conformist. Which means doing pretty much as I please. Within certain limits, of course. I try to be respectful, and not overbearing.  Yes, I even act like a gentleman. But I also annoy people. Including my friends. That’s one of my favorite pastimes. Annoying people.  I especially annoy those who try to persuade me to change my ways. To become someone other than me. Another thing. I like people who disagree with me. About almost anything. Politics. Life. Love. Philosophy. Religion. That’s one way to stir and steer conversation. I love to debate. Virtually any issue. And to play the devil’s advocate. Come to think of it. I am the mischievous devil.  –Jim Broede

No thanks to a bureaucrat.

Lynn, a social worker at Bethesda Hospital in St. Paul, is a bureaucrat. That ain’t a compliment. It means that Lynn is rigid and inflexible. She  goes by the letter of the law/rule. No budging. It would be nice if Lynn were more accommodating. And made more effort to meet the needs/desires of patients and care-givers. Lynn announced last Wednesday night that my Alzheimer-riddled friend Ron was to be discharged Thursday morning from Bethesda’s rehab unit. But for Ron’s daughter Julie, that was going to pose difficulties. Because she had to make arrangements (completing paperwork) to get Ron enrolled at a nursing home. She might need an extra few hours. Maybe even an extra day. To manage the task. There were complications. And Julie was becoming a nervous wreck. Her husband Rick was out of town. And not due back for another day.  So I intervened. Phoned Lynn. And pleaded for understanding of Julie’s plight. But no, there was to be no extension. Bureaucratic rules are bureaucratic rules. Fortunately, I knew what to do. I entered the bureaucracy. Went to the higher-ups at Bethesda. And found another ally at Ron’s new nursing home. She intervened, too.  Turns out that we got a 24-hour extension. No thanks to bureaucrat Lynn.  –Jim Broede

Finally. Finally. Finally.

Thank god. My Alzheimer-riddled friend Ron is out of Bethesda Hospital. A place that’s supposed to specialize in physical rehabilitation. And behavior modification, especially for dementia patients. It’ll be three months. On Oct. 10. Since Ron broke his neck in a fall. And had the fracture fused together again.  In intricate surgery. Then Ron was sent to Bethesda. For so-called rehab. I say so-called. Because I have doubts that Ron received true blue physical rehabilitation. The only time he got up and walked around was when son-in-law Rick visited him. And worked him out. With assisted walks. Up and down the corridors. That should have happened virtually every day. But seems to me that Ron was lost in the shuffle. In the bureaucratic mish-mash. Typical in hospitals, including Bethesda. I was unimpressed. Ron spent far too much time in a wheelchair or in bed. He needs to walk daily. In order to keep his agility. Walking therapy would be nice. Daily. Alzheimer patients, especially, need special one-on-one mental and physical stimulation. Daily. Fresh air, too. And most of ‘em don’t get it. Because most nursing homes and hospitals are grossly understaffed.  For a variety of reasons. Not the least being out-of-whack national priorities. Apparently, it's more important to spend on national defense. On wars. And to hell with the Alzheimer epidemic. Anyway, Ron has escaped Bethesda. He’s in a five-bed nursing home. In a nice residential home. It’s very, very expensive. But looks to me like Ron is finally getting the care he needs. Including real and genuine rehabilitation. I’m keeping a close watch. More reports to come.  –Jim Broede

Personal stuff.

I’ve been accused of writing secondhand thoughts. As if that’s a crime. That all of my thoughts should be original. Firsthand stuff. But to tell the truth, much of what I think and write about comes secondhand. Even thirdhand and fourthhand. Virtually everything I think of has been thought before. By someone. By others. Oh, I try to be different. Maybe in the way I present a thought.  But originality too often eludes me. So when I write letters and emails to my friends, I might get an occasional reply. From someone annoyed with me. For writing a repetitious secondhand thought. And even worse yet, I’m taken to task for making mention of it in my blog. Well, folks, that’s the nature of my somewhat unique and original blog. Sometimes, but not always, it gets more personal than my personal letters.  –Jim Broede

Too bad. The world ain't ideal.

An Alzheimer care-giver in sorrier shape than her patient. I know one. And I suspect there are many others. Overworked. Beleaguered. Stretched thin. To the breaking point. Of course,  the societal emphasis is on the Alzheimer epidemic.  That it's a shame. That so many of us have to endure declining years ravaged by dementia. But the most devastating toll from Alzheimer’s, may be in the ranks of care-givers.  Many die before their patients. From stress-related maladies. One of my best friends is on the road to an early death. Or at the very least, a complete nervous breakdown. She’s in dire need of psychotherapy. But refuses it. She hasn’t seen a doctor in 13 years. Doesn’t recognize that she’s in deep trouble. In my ideal world, she would be compelled to go into treatment. For her own sake. But we don’t live in an ideal world. –Jim Broede

Hoping to like what I see.

My Alzheimer-riddled friend Ron is in nursing home again. But this one is different than the others. In a semi-swank residential home. With five beds. In bigger and more swank nursing homes, Ron was lost in the shuffle  He received hardly any one-on-one mental and physical stimulation. Left pretty much to himself. Drugged into a stupor, too. A shame. A crime. I’m expecting humane treatment this time. At a place called Arthur’s Residence. In a Twin Cities suburb. Ron has been weaned off most of his medications. Making him a more alert dementia patient. Now it’s important that Arthur’s young and enthusiastic staff gets to know Ron. In unique and intimate ways. He’s reachable. But it takes gumption, aka effort. One must learn to speak Ron’s language. And enter his fanciful world. I’ll drop in often. To communicate with Ron. And to observe. Hoping to like what I see. --Jim Broede

Far better than lamenting.

I try not to lament. Over bad stuff. Such as war. Because it does me no good. To lament. Yes, I know that war is a pity. That thousands, even millions of people, suffer the horrid effects.  Needless loss of life. But even that may be better than having to survive and directly suffer the mental anguish and physical ravages of war. A civil war has already taken the lives of 200,000 Syrians. I’m fortunate. Because I’m not Syrian. And I live on the other side of the world. In relative safety. I’m philosophically opposed to war. Call me fortunate. Because I watch war from a distant sideline. In a sense, I don’t even watch. Instead, I read the accounts. Mostly sanitized stuff. And see videos of exploding missiles.  Minus the bodies. Obliterated. Or strewn in the rubble.  I don’t have to smell the stench of rotting flesh. Instead, I go for a stroll in my peaceful countryside. And commune with Mother Nature and my Italian true love.  Able to count my blessings. Far better than lamenting. Endlessly. –Jim Broede

Living in peace and paradise.

A holy war. In the Middle East. And America smack in the middle of it. Thanks to Obama. And the political circumstances. As for me, I’m taking an indifferent stance. To the war.  Better to just get on with my life. As a lover and dreamer and writer. I’m in no position to control world events. They’ll happen. Whether I like it or not. I’m merely a spectator. Makes no difference whether it’s a baseball game or a war. Teams and nations win some, and lose some.  I’m always pulling for the Chicago Cubs.  The good guys over the bad guys. As for the war. I’ll follow Obama’s advice. And side with the good guys. His team. Meanwhile, I’m going to savor life. With my Italian true love. In Minnesota and Sardinia. Wishing for an early and happy ending to the war. So we all can live in peace and paradise. –Jim Broede

Love crazies vs. hate crazies.

I like crazy people. There’s good crazy. And bad crazy. I’m partial to good crazy. People that are daring. Capable of falling in love.  With life. Despite the pitfalls. They know that the only way to live is to be crazy. To be non-conformists. In essence, to be themselves. Yes, that will get them in trouble. Because they live in a world where conformity prevails. Fortunately, they are able to find communes/environs where eccentricity and quirkiness are more or less tolerated. Or they retreat to their cocoons. Anyway, I am fearful of the bad crazy people. They seem to be flocking. To Syria and Iraq. And now the Americans and their crazy monarchial allies are entering the fray. That’s a very, very bad omen. Taking on the bad crazies. In a war, of all things. Makes me wonder if the bad crazies will win. And inherit the Earth. It’s a clash worth watching. I knew it would come to this some day. Love crazies vs. hate crazies.  –Jim Broede  

I'm dancing on water, too.

People don’t believe me. When I tell them. I can dance on water. They want absolute proof. My word isn’t good enough. But doesn’t matter. Because I know. Beyond a doubt. That I can achieve the impossible. With the help of my blessed imagination. I imagine. Doing all sorts of things. And that’s good enough for me. I have the ability to make life real. Because I can feel. That I’m not only walking on water. I’m dancing on water, too. –Jim Broede

A good day to be alive.

Took my Alzheimer-riddled friend Ron for a wheelchair ride today. And that made me wonder. That maybe Ron is still capable of getting enjoyment from life. Despite his late-stage dementia.  Maybe Ron would rather be alive than dead. He looked happy. Smiled. Even laughed. And his dog Sasha walked ahead of us. With Ron holding her leash.  And the sun was shining. On a 75-degree day. –Jim Broede

Little wonder. I'm happy.

I’ve taken to eating supper. At my desk. While writing. On the computer. It’s a sign. That I’m relaxed. When writing. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be dining at the same time. I also think and walk. Simultaneously.  Because both endeavors put me at ease. That’s the nature of my life. The pursuit of relaxation. Little wonder. I’m happy. –Jim Broede

I'm willing to go.

I remember old-fashioned wars. When there was a draft. And I was in danger of having to serve my country. I say, let’s bring back the draft. As a ploy to avert war. Really, it’s the people that have to fight war that generally oppose war. Instead, the politicians that don’t have to fight – they're the ones clamoring for war. I want every politician that votes for war to be compelled to serve. To put their lives in peril. To demonstrate their patriotism. Thereby, setting a fine example for the rest of us. If they go, I’m willing to go. –Jim Broede

As if I've been in paradise.

Maybe the world isn’t in such a mess. It only seems that way. After all, I have a good life. Maybe because I’m lucky. Being in the right place at the right time. Maybe that’s the divide in our world. Lucky people and unlucky people. But then, what is luck? Maybe nothing more than a state of mind. An attitude. A poor man can be happy. And a rich man can be unhappy. I’m happiest. When I’m thinking. About life. When I’m conscious. Fully aware that I’m in love. But even in sleep, I’m profoundly happy. Upon awakening, it feels as if I’ve been in paradise. –Jim Broede

Life as a spectator sport.

I’m able to accept life. The good and the bad. Because I know when to be a spectator rather than a participant. I watch events occurring all around me. Over which I have little or no control. I’d like it if there wasn’t a civil war in Syria. And if America stayed out of the conflagration. I’d be gleeful if Republicans and Democrats cooperated with each other. And, hey, I’d be in a state of euphoria if the Chicago Cubs won all of their games. But I’m learning to accept the world as it is.  Because I can’t change most things. Instead, I have to get on with life. The best way I can. Which means more or less ignoring much of what’s gone wrong..   Focusing, instead, on whatever it is that makes me reasonably happy. –Jim Broede

Better to be consumed by life.

My friend Julie is consumed. By one thing. The plight of her Alzheimer-riddled father. He’s 86. And most likely won’t reach 87. Julie’s mind is occupied with how to deal with her father’s waning days. With his pending death. She probably will know no peace. Until her father dies. She doesn’t dare take time off. For a much-needed break. A respite. A vacation. Julie’s husband Rick knows better. He’s gone to France. For two weeks. For that necessary break. He’ll return Thursday. Refreshed. Relaxed. And able to assume his role as a dedicated supplemental care-giver. For his father-in-law. Rick wanted Julie to accompany him to France. But she insisted on staying home. So she could be consumed and anguished by her father’s plight.  I pleaded with Julie. Telling her go. That everyone would be better off. If she had taken time off. And gone to France. Yes, better to be consumed by life. Rather than by death. –Jim Broede

Life...for a millisecond.

Six weeks. An instant in time. In my life. I’m thinking about going away. On a trip. This winter. Time spent with my Italian true love. In Sardinia. And then again. In the spring. Another six weeks. And then she comes. To stay with me. In Minnesota.  That’s what I live for. Instants in time. My life is divided into precious moments. Today. We connect on Skype. For an hour or two. A blink of an  eye. When weighed against eternity.  But, oh, so wonderful. To experience love and life…for a millisecond. –Jim Broede

A drop of water in a giant sea.

So very many forms of life. That I am unable to comprehend. Because I have only relatively few senses. Seeing and hearing help me. But the blind and deaf are handicapped. Limited. Restricted. I need extra senses. To comprehend other forms of life. Teeming. Teeming. Teeming everywhere. Around me. Maybe even spirits. Could be that spirits live in physically inhospitable environs. Places. Such as Mars and Venus and Mercury. Maybe even on Jupiter and Neptune. And in other solar systems.  Perhaps I am encased in a relatively small universe. And that beyond are many, many dimensions.  And my/our cosmos is only a drop of water in a giant sea. –Jim Broede

I don't miss the whining.

Never been big on Broede family gatherings. Especially on holidays. I’d rather spend time alone. Or with my true love. Or with a friend or two.  Really, I’ve never liked family gatherings. I didn’t mind one-on-one with my mother. Or with my sister or my brother. But not a big reunion. Where the entire clan shows up. Maybe because there was too much bickering and lamenting. Too much focus on the unpleasant past. Rather than focus on how nice it was that we (most certainly me) had become independent beings. Gone our own ways. In the pursuit of happiness. That’s where the emphasis should be.  On our new and wonderful lives. Instead of whining about past wrongs. –Jim Broede

The end of one's thoughtful life.

I complain. In writing. But I also console others. And myself. In writing. I exercise my mind. In writing. And I cultivate my thoughts. By reading. The writing of others. Maybe that’s my greatest discovery. Ever. The written word.   More so than the spoken word. I am in love. With the tangible written word. Gives me the opportunity to define my consciousness. To see and savor a thought. To store a thought. A spoken thought too easily disappears. Evaporates. Becomes forgotten.  A written thought. Proves that I existed. That I was real. But eventually written words will vanish. Marking the end of one's thoughtful life. –Jim Broede

Overloaded lives.

I can handle only so many friends. Because true friendship often takes time. And energy. Real involvement. Furthermore, I’d not want to be obligated to many, many people. Because that would spread me thin. I wouldn’t have time for everyone. I’d have to pick and choose. Or ration my time. That would be very frustrating. I suspect that many people have overloaded lives. They take on too much. That may go especially for some doctors and clergymen. They have too many patients or parishioners. And can’t serve them well. I’d rather focus fully on a few. Rather than scantily on many. –Jim Broede

The preferable alternative.

Baffles me. Why the very religious, the people who believe in an afterlife, take extraordinary and heroic measures to extend the lives of their grievously ill loved ones. Even those in the late stages of Alzheimer’s. Doesn’t make sense. The kind thing, it seems to me, would be to whisper in their ear, ‘It’s all right to let go.’ And to be joyful when the suffering comes to an end. Peace finally. Transition to a better form of life. Of course, if one is a non-believer. Convinced that an afterlife is no more than a fairy tale. Maybe then the prolonged suffering is a price worth paying. But I don’t think so. Nothingness remains the preferable alternative. –Jim Broede

Maybe I won't die.

I’m trying to learn to accept death. Of others. But not necessarily my own death. It’s inevitable, I'm told. Accept the fact that everyone dies. Just a matter of time. I’ve learned to accept death of others. As for my own demise – well, I keep wondering. Will it really happen some day? Maybe that’s why I try to live one day at a time. And not get too far ahead of myself. That way, I don’t have to think about running out of time.  Because my focus is on now.  The immediate. Today. Not tomorrow. I’d rather savor life. Than to think about death. Meanwhile, I like to speculate. That maybe I won’t die. That death may be no more than an illusion. Or a  transition. To another form of life. In a spiritual dimension. I can imagine it. That’s good enough for me. Could be that all of life is imagined.  Death, too. –Jim Broede

My doctor: A stroll away.

I have a new primary care doctor. For the first time in 30-some years. My longtime physician. Retired. I was momentarily at a loss. Where do I find another reliable and competent doctor? Lo and behold. I didn’t have to look far.  Joe and Erin walk their beautiful Samoyed dogs past my house. Almost daily. They’re a married couple. Both doctors. In the same clinic. Not far away. And I’m acquainted with them. I’ve dreamed of having an easily accessible doctor. One I could chat with. For more than 15 minutes. One that I knew. And knew me, too. It became apparent. We were suited for each other. Joe has become my doctor. And if and when he’s unavailable, I’m welcome to see Erin.  And talk about convenience.   Any day I have a question. About anything. Need only go for a walk. I’m likely to meet Joe and Erin. And their dogs, too.  Had my first office visit with Joe. On Tuesday. A 4 p.m. appointment. We greeted each other. By first names. Joe warned me ahead of time. He ‘runs late.’ Didn’t show up until 4:45. Joe apologized. But didn’t have to. Because he gives each patient his undivided time and attention. No rush. No hurry. We chatted. For 90 minutes. About everything that was pertinent. And more. We set a fine example. For a doctor/patient relationship. And if I forgot to ask something. Chances are. I can corner Joe. On our daily strolls. –Jim Broede  

While living the good life.

Really. We Americans are getting into a war. With the so-called Islamic State. Primarily because two American journalists were beheaded.  Had that not happened, there would not be public support for what the Obama administration is calling a war. It’s an emotional thing. And when emotions rule, it usually results in overreaction. One doesn’t stop to think about the long-term dire consequences. That’s how America got caught up in the Iraq War in the first place. And how America got mired in a war on terror. Costly on both sides. Over 600,000 deaths in Iraq. Including American soldiers. But mostly civilians. Measure that against two decapitated journalists. Is that a price worth paying? Certainly not another unnecessary and costly and ill-conceived war. Chances are the world would be a better place today. If Saddam Hussein had been left to rule…with an iron fist. Instead, we have religious fanatics and barbaric thugs running rampant. Killing each other. And America contributes to the endless slaughter. With bombs and more bombs. Yes, killing some bad guys. But how many innocents? It’s a dirty rotten shame.  Meanwhile, I’m trying to hide my head in the sand. Pretending. Pretending. Pretending that the world isn’t such a bad place. While living the good life. –Jim Broede

Time for the USA to mend its ways.

I’d rather be a humble American than a proud American. Seems to me, there are far too many proud Americans. Proud for the wrong reasons. Because they think America is the greatest nation on Earth. Mostly, that’s what they’ve been told. By ultraconservative politicians. Liars. Truth-avoiders. Oh, America is all right. But there are many other countries equally good. Maybe even better than America.  I can think of a few. Norway. Iceland. New Zealand. On the top of my list is the Italian state of Sardinia, my winter haven and the home of my Italian true love. One thing I like about the Sardos. They tend to mind their own business when it comes to world affairs.  The city where I live has a communist on the city council.  That’s a plus. Because I’m an open-minded liberal when it comes to politics. I like a nice blend of persuasions and personalities running the political show. Reasonable people tolerant of each other. That’s one of America’s glaring shortcomings. Intolerance. Especially in the political arena. I can do without the arrogance. Meanwhile, I ain’t exactly humble. Personally, that is. Because I was brought up to think too much like an American.  But I’m trying to mend my ways. Wish America would do the same. –Jim Broede

I find real truth in fiction.

I’m getting rid of books. Boxes and boxes. Maybe 1,000 books. From my non-fiction collection.  I have far too much stuff. Including too many books. They overflow. To shelves in the garage. Where they collect dust. Decided it’s worth keeping only novels and short stories. I have more books than I can read in two lifetimes. They give me comfort. Even the unread books. Many of the non-fiction books are outdated. Because facts tend to change. Or they really weren’t facts in the first place. Only lies and distortions. I find many of life’s truths. In fiction, of all places.  –Jim Broede

About the significance of life.

I like cats and dogs. All kinds of animals. Maybe more than I like people. Not supposed to say that. Doesn’t sound good. I talk to my cats. Every day. They talk to me, too. We know how to communicate. To speak each others’ language. I’m also capable of talking to chipmunks, squirrels and rabbits. They all abound in my yard. I feed them nuts and carrots. I’ve neglected the birds a little bit. But I’m trying to do better. After a hummingbird hovered for a minute outside my studio window.  He was speaking to me. Told me it’s time to hang up a hummingbird feeder. Promised I would. Used to have dogs. But not in recent years. But I walk the neighbor’s dog. Daily. We chat. In dog language. About the significance of life. –Jim Broede

I find ways to make do.

I’m in love. With life. But not necessarily with the world. With what we humans have done. To screw things up. Terrible things. To each other. I’d just as soon isolate myself. From the rest of the teeming world. Live underground. Or in a primeval forest. Or on a mountain top.  Away from people. Other than my true love. And a few friends. Maybe I could even live without other people. Though that would be difficult. If not impossible. I’d have to forage for myself. But really, there are escapes. Places I can live. Amongst people. Where I can thrive. And be happy. I am there now. In Minnesota. And by winter, I’ll be with my true love and her Italian compatriots. In Sardinia. An idyllic island in the Mediterranean Sea. So really, I have no valid complaints about life. And the world.  I find ways to make do. –Jim Broede

For the sake of finding happiness.

Keeping life simple. And uncomplicated. That’s my goal. Mostly achieved by living one day at a time. By not getting too far ahead of myself. If I start planning for tomorrow and next week and next month and next year – well, it’s too easy to lose track of today. Some of my best days are the unplanned ones. When I just let things happen. And go with the flow. I have friends that pursue well-planned lives. Even when they go on vacation. They live by a rigid schedule. Not me. I’m flexible. Willing to adapt. For the sake of finding happiness. –Jim Broede

Just a matter of focus.

I’m happy. Because the Chicago Bears won in dramatic fashion in San Francisco. Beat a good football team last night. The Bears were losing 17-0 just before halftime. But scored 21 points in the 4th quarter. To win 28-20. Nice thing about life. It doesn’t take much to make me happy. A win by the Bears. Or the Chicago Cubs. Or a smile from my Italian true love.  I know how to savor life. To make a big thing out of a little thing. Just a matter of focus.  –Jim Broede

A perfect world.

Pretending. That I am god. Yes, that’s my way. To try to understand god. By walking in his shoes. I’d allow everyone to become god. So that there would be limitless gods. Millions. Billions. Trillions.  Gods are perfect beings. So they can co-exist. Each god would have his own universe. His own independent cosmos.  But there would be no conflict. Because every god is perfect. Therefore, every cosmos would be perfect. Full of love. Or whatever it is that’s perfect. Maybe it could be argued that the cosmos we are living in is far from perfect. But that’s only our imperfect perception of perfection. We are incapable of recognizing perfection. Which is the way a perfect god would want it. He doesn’t want us to know that when we die, we will become spirits. Capable of finally recognizing. A state of true and total love. Which elevates us to the status of a god. Yes, exactly what a perfect god wanted all along. A perfect world. In which everyone eventually becomes god. –Jim Broede

Where pure and total love abounds.

The contemplative life. I like it. To be able to think. A thought. Especially about love. True love becomes spiritual. Because lovers die. They leave the physical realm. That raises a question. How does a spirit make love?  Perhaps in a contemplative way.  One enters another dimension. Beyond time. Beyond the physical. Into a new beginning. Without an end. Where pure and total love abounds. –Jim Broede

My most wonderful experience.

Don’t know if there’s a right and proper way to write and speak, Instead, I merely forge ahead. Do whatever seems natural. Even if my many, many ways seem unnatural to others. I like to dabble. When it comes to communication. Trying  this and that. Experimenting. Used to be that I was shy. Was born that way.  Now I’m a unique blend of shyness and boldness.  Doing whatever it takes. To reach certain people. Don’t know if that would make me a good diplomat. Instead, I became a good interviewer. A writer. I’m supposed to be retired. But really, I’m not. I write more now than when I was employed as a writer. I don’t write for money. Or to make a living. But I write to stay alive. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. I’m in love. With words. Mostly English. I know some French, Italian, German, Spanish. But very little.  Not nearly enough to carry on a decent, in depth conversation.  That’s one of my biggest regrets. That I didn’t become multilingual. But I seek out foreigners that speak English. Many of ‘em are my heroes.  Because they set a fine example. For me. They have accomplished what I should have accomplished. That includes my Italian true love. Had she not become bilingual, I’d have missed out on the most wonderful experience of my life. –Jim Broede

The safety of my cocoon.

My cocoon. My haven. That’s where I am tonight. My little spot on Planet Earth. Alone.  There’s no other place I’d rather be. I’m isolated. From all the other happenings in the world. Yes, there’s bad stuff. Strife. Wars. Murders. Disasters. Suffering.  But I’m safe. And at peace. Thankful. That I can escape to the safety of my cocoon. My haven.  And pretend. That life is good. Not for everyone, of course. But for me.  --Jim Broede

Running out of reasons to live.

My favorites. Among the Alzheimer-riddled. Are guys like my friend Ron. He of the broken neck. Incurred. When he fell. While walking. The break has been fused. By surgery. But looks like Ron will never regain his balance.  Therefore, he will be unable to walk. Sad, indeed. Because Ron is addicted. To walking. To exercise. To being in constant motion. He’s used to walking. Non-stop. For hours and hours. Maybe even in his  dreams. Walking/motion gives Ron a sense of being alive. Makes one wonder. If Ron is running out of reasons to live. –Jim Broede

For precious moments of true love.

I wish for forever.  Seems impossible. So I wish for the next best thing. Love. And it is granted. Maybe that makes everything worthwhile.  Even nothingness. For precious moments of true love.  --Jim Broede

The proper way to love.

A woman on the Alzheimer message board told me she is in love with everything and nothing. Think about it. I’d have difficulty being in love with everything and nothing. It’s necessary for me to single out. One thing to savor.  Today.  And maybe something else tomorrow. That’s the proper way to love. Not to spread one’s self too thin.  I love to savor moments. A single moment often makes my day.  --Jim Broede

Proceeding...because I am in love.

I can’t change others. Only myself. Because change has to come from within. From inside. I have control. Over my soul. Not others.  I may try to convince another to change. But the ultimate decision is from within. From inside one’s own soul. We’re islands. Each of us. Free. And independent. If we choose to be. Of course, that’s too scary. For the weak-hearted. For the weak-minded. But I am unafraid. Proceeding…because I am in love. With life. –Jim Broede

Better to change ourselves.

Meddling. Meddling. In the Middle East. That’s America. It’s an obsession. I wish America would stay out. Stay home. And tend to its own domestic business.  And let those in Iraq and Syria and the entire Middle East tend to theirs.  If they want to kill each other, fine. Better that Americans not be drawn into their barbaric conflicts. But no, Americans seem compelled to choose up sides.  Choosing one bad guy over another bad guy. In hell, they’re all bad. It’s only a matter of degree.  I’m for making America a great nation.  From within. Let’s make a better life. By spending money and effort on domestic programs. On doing the right things. Without wasting time. And money. Meddling. Meddling. Meddling. Trying to change the world.  Better to change ourselves. –Jim Broede

Love makes my world go around.

Occasionally, I forget. That I’m in love. With life. Maybe it slips my mind once every six months. But I’m quickly on track again. Anyway, goes to show that I’m not in love all of the time. There’s a momentary lapse. Which serves as a reminder. That there’s no better way to live. Than in love. Even when stuff goes wrong. I stay in love. Of course, I recognize that life ain’t perfect. But that’s what makes life interesting. The imperfections. Gives me something to do. To make things better. Usually, by countering the actions of hateful people. The ones that are out of love. Another thing. I’m not perfect. Never will be. Never want to be. Actually, I relish making mistakes. Gives me the opportunity to learn. The nicest lesson of all. Love makes my world go around. –Jim Broede

Time to become truly civilized.

Americans, and especially Texans, accept lethal injection as a proper way to execute people. But chopping one’s head off – well, that’s considered unacceptable and barbaric.  Seems to me that the one-time most popular method of execution in the U.S. – the electric chair --  was even more cruel (and painful) than beheading. Personally, I’m opposed to capital punishment. Period. By any method. Two American journalists have been beheaded. In public. By a radical Islamist group. And that’s raised the ire of President Obama and politicians and the American public. Enough to go to war, sort of. Americans are horrified. Not only by the killing of the journalists. But by the grisly method used. Beheading. Americans find it easier to accept lethal injections. As a more civilized way to execute people. Makes me wonder. If we’ll ever become truly civilized. –Jim Broede

Please accept me as I am.

When  people criticize me, I generally take it in stride. With good humor. Even if it’s an insult. I make no big deal of it. But when I respond with a slight insult, they may take umbrage. They ain’t laughing. Anyway, I’m a much better communicator than most people. Because I tell what’s on my mind.  I hold back maybe 10 percent, just to be kind. I put up with crap that I shouldn’t have to put up with. I am much more tolerant of misbehavior than they are. I accept them  as they are. The bad with the good. That’s why I am forgiving. Because most people are predominantly good. I don’t require anyone to be perfect. But I’ve had a critic or two expecting me to be perfect. I tell them, please accept me as I am. --Jim

For the sake of self-respect.

A little too much. That’s the degree of my admiration of Barack Obama. A little too much. I like it that he’s a cool cat. Doesn’t let things bother him. Which gives him the air of a nice guy. Because he doesn’t hold grudges. Unfortunately, that means he gets pushed around. By his political foes. I’ve tried to model my life along similar lines. Hold no grudges. Turn the other cheek. Give in to the wishes of others. Forgive and forget. Even when I’m insulted. But unlike Obama, I’ve decided to be ungentlemanly. To take off the gloves. For the sake of self-respect. Too bad Obama doesn’t do the same. –Jim Broede

Please don't mother me.

I loved my mother. Despite her faults. The worst one. She’d try to browbeat me. Dominate me. In other words, she’d try to act too much like a mother. And too often not allow me to be me. Of course, I forgave her for that. And did pretty much as I pleased. Didn’t always follow her motherly advice. Meanwhile, I allowed mother to be mother. Even to this day, I rebel if a friend tries to ‘mother’ me. The last thing I need is to be mothered. –Jim Broede

I'm the 'annoying' winner.

I annoy people. Even when I don’t try. It comes naturally.  Maybe it’s that other people are annoying. And I tend to respond in like manner. Figuring it’s all right to reciprocate. Even my best friends can be very annoying. Fortunately, that doesn’t hurt our friendship. Because I accept friends unconditionally. They are allowed to be their annoying selves. Of course, that means I’m allowed to be annoying, too.  I get a big kick out of out-annoying some of my friends. It’s sort of a game. To see who can be most annoying. More often than not, I’m the annoying winner. –Jim Broede

We all could use self-analysis.

My friend Julie has decided to keep a journal. A daily recording of what’s on her mind. Of course, she won’t put down everything. Maybe just what’s most important. To her. I will encourage Julie to be brutally honest. And to make the journal public. For most anyone to read. Especially for her husband Rick and a few close friends. Julie needs a psychoanalysis. But she won’t go to a psychiatrist.  The next best thing is a self-analysis. We all could use one. –Jim Broede

Maybe I missed my true calling.

I am rested. And waiting patiently. Today. Saturday. For my biggest challenge. In recent weeks. Yes. For delivery of four new stately bookshelves. From Ikea. The shelves will line a wall. In my newly painted studio/den.  The challenge, of course. Is the assembly. I am to put the shelves together. I used to summon a handyman. To do it all. But I have decided to accept the challenge. On my own. I am not skilled at furniture assembly. At piecing anything together. Easier for me to write a treatise on why I never became a mechanic or a carpenter or a plumber.  Indeed, a pity. A downright shame.  But I have decided to take the risk. Of failure. Because I want to show the world. And myself.  That maybe I missed my true calling – that of handyman. –Jim Broede

Living deprived. Ain't so bad.

Hints of autumn. A change of seasons. That’s what I like. About living in Minnesota. Distinct changes. Of course, I could take year-long summer, too. I’m flexible.  But best to savor life. No matter the climate. Anyway, winter is inevitable. For me, fortunately, it will be winter in Sardinia. With my Italian true love. No freezing temperatures. No snow. But I can adjust. And live deprived. Happily.  –Jim Broede 

More amazing. Than walking on H20.

I wonder. If longevity has anything to do with one’s state of mind. My assumption.  Happy people tend to live longer than unhappy people.  Don’t know for sure. If that’s true. Because I don’t know that many people.  I’ve survived into my late 70s. Might make it to 80. Perhaps that’s a factor. In making me happy.  I’m a survivor.  Of course, I could lament. That I’m nearing the end. But then I take solace. In the fact that I haven’t been cheated. I’m not going to die young. Better to die an old man. But best of all. To not die at all. To live happy and healthy forever. That’s the ultimate achievement.  More profound. Than walking on water. –Jim Broede

No reason for a nervous breakdown.

Nervous breakdowns. People have ‘em. But maybe I’m immune to such a cataclysm. Because I refuse to become nervous. To the point of a breakdown. I get a hold of myself. Quickly. By analyzing the cause of my nervousness.  And that allows me to elevate my emotions. Thereby giving me some semblance of self-control.  A friend of a friend had a nervous breakdown the other day. A pity.  She apparently was overcome by grief. With the death of her mother. With whom she lived.  I can understand the depth of grief. But I’ve learned to accept death. Of loved ones. By recognizing that I haven’t lost them. They remain with me. In spirit. Meanwhile, I recognize that I’m still an alive and conscious being. Able to grapple with life. No reason for a nervous breakdown. –Jim Broede

The practicing of true love.

I was asked today. If I was sad. Because my Italian true love flew back to Italy The answer, of course. I’m not sad. Indeed, I’m quite happy. Because we are always together. If not in the flesh. In the spirit. That’s one of the benefits of true love. We pursue separate lives. But we also have a daily life together. We are independent beings. That have blended our lives. In meaningful and loving ways.  We embrace each other. Without being possessive. I have no desire to change my true love. I accept her. As she is. And we have something in common. A quest for happiness. For ourselves. Together. And for each other. Separately. And we are in touch. Every day. One way or another. Physically. Spiritually. Emotionally. That’s how we practice true love.  –Jim Broede

I'm the alone ranger.

Alone time. I need it. Every day. To always be with someone is stifling. Of course, I like being with people, too. Especially my Italian true love. But still, I treasure the moments of being alone. A total break from other people. Gives me the opportunity to turn inward. To think. Uninterrupted. Every day. I go for walks. Alone. I dine. Alone. I do household chores. Alone.  Tonight I’m at my computer. Writing. Alone. And I’ll go to sleep. Alone. Little wonder. I revere life. Even when I’m alone. –Jim Broede

A fine example. For everyone.

Rising above one’s emotions. That’s what I try to do. By elevating myself. Looking at the situation objectively. Not allowing myself to be carried away. By my emotions. No doubt. I’m an emotional being. I fall in love. I believe in true love. And I practice it. Love is a positive emotion. But hate isn’t.  Hate is an emotion that needs to be controlled. To be restrained. Because I hate someone – that isn’t valid reason to kill.  To murder. When a Muslim beheads an American. Out of hate. My inclination would be to retaliate. In an effective way.  And that doesn’t mean going on a hateful killing rampage. I have to rise above my emotions. That’s one thing I like about Barack Obama. He tends not to overreact. He stays cool. At least on the surface.  He quells his emotional side.  I still see Obama as a very emotional being. But he manages to keep his emotions in tow.  He sets a fine example. For me. For everyone. –Jim Broede

Better off dead.

My friend Ron is still alive. But he’s really not Ron anymore. He’s  been robbed of himself. By advanced Alzheimer’s. Didn’t help that he fell a few weeks ago, and broke his neck. Maybe it would have been best if he was left to die. But his life was saved. By heroic measures. Surgery. That fused the break together. And Ron is healing. Don’t know if that’s a blessing or a curse. Ron’s useful life is over. Those close to him wish for him to linger on.  But I have a different attitude. I’d not grieve if Ron died tomorrow. A time comes when death is better than life. It’s come for Ron. Though his daughter Julie and son-in-law Rick, his primary care-givers, won’t ever wish for Ron’s death.  It goes against their grain. Can’t say that I wish for his death. But I suspect death would come as a tremendous relief. For Ron.  And hey, death may bring a bonus. An afterlife. So-called ‘believers’ believe it. Makes one think they’d welcome death. Instead, they often fear death. Can’t say I’m a true believer. Few people are. Or so I suspect. But in my role as a romantic idealist, I want to believe. Because that would affirm my romantic notions. But hey, whether there’s an afterlife or not, Ron would be better off dead. Than living with Alzheimer’s. –Jim Broede

My design for the world.

Living alone ain’t so bad.  Means one doesn’t have to consider another. Maybe that sounds selfish. But hey, it’s a way of taking care of one’s self.  Of course, maybe it’ll be me. Someday. That needs care. But I don’t worry about that.  No sense in getting ahead of myself.  If I become incapacitated, put me away. Take my assets to cover the costs. And if that’s not enough, qualify me for welfare. Or just let me die. It’s a situation that many people face. They have no one to come to their aid or rescue.  Unless they live in a compassionate society. Of which I am for. That’s the way I would design the world. But I’m a mere sideline observer. With no authority/power to design anything. –Jim Broede

Remembering. Does it really matter?

Nothing is more amazing. Than me. Being alive. And aware of it.  Sure, this life of mine may be a dream.  Nothing more. Nothing less.  But still, in this dream I feel very much alive. And with it. Let’s say it’s a dream. And that there’s a decent chance that I’m the dreamer. And it’s only a matter of time before I awaken.  Which means I’ll discover my true identity. Maybe I’m a god. That dreams of other existences. And events. That really don’t happen. Instead, they are mere dreams. But for a god, that’s tantamount to reality. The way a god creates. Makes me wonder if a god remembers his dreams.  And does it really matter? –Jim Broede

Far beyond the religious fanatics.

I believe in the preposterous. The impossible. The absurdity of life. Seems like everyone else does. So, why not me?  Look around. At the religious fanatics. The creationists. That believe that life here on Earth was created by a god some 6,000 years ago. To hell with the scientific evidence.  Of course, I don’t buy into this stuff. Don’t believe it for a minute. I  can form my own uneducated and fanciful opinions. About anything.  Merely because I want to. Despite the total lack of evidence. If I choose, I can be a Pollyanna. And look at life positively. Telling myself that I’ll live forever. Happily. In love. With life. And always with a true love. Yes, life is idyllic.  Doesn’t matter if that sounds preposterous and impossible and absurd.  I’m far beyond the religious fanatics. Thank god.  –Jim Broede

Curiosity trumps privacy.

My Italian true love respects the privacy of others. Especially strangers. I don’t. Because I’m curious.  But my true love puts privacy ahead of curiosity. Happened this past weekend. When she flew back to Italy. And sat next to a woman and her young son. They spoke a strange language. One she was unfamiliar with.  But she didn’t inquire. To this day, she doesn’t know their nationality. Or their country. If I had been with my true love, that mother and son would no longer be strangers. I’d know significant stuff about them. And they’d know about me, too.  Curiosity trumps privacy. –Jim Broede

Makes me happy.

My studio. My den. My computer room. My library. Don’t know what to call it. Perhaps I will devise a unique name. It’s where I write. My blog. And love letters. My many daily thoughts. too. Windows. Looking south. And a sliding glass door on the west. With a view of Forest Lake. A double-mirrored  door on the closet. It’s all in the process of being revamped. Remodeled. At the behest of my Italian true love. She’s a teacher. Of English and English literature. Intelligent. Beautiful.  A natural born interior decorator, too. She comes with an abundance of talent. And ideas. She’s adding color to my life. My studio used to be white. Now it’s pale green. I used to have makeshift bookshelves. Now I’m getting white bookshelves. Swedish design. From IKEA. They’ll be delivered Saturday.  They must be assembled. By me. That will be a real challenge. Assembling stuff ain’t my forte. Other than assembling words. That’s my craft. My art. Writing. About love. And life.  Makes me happy. –Jim Broede