Life isn't so bad, after all.

My Italian true love and I have something in common. That pulled us together. The Alzheimer experience. We comforted our loved ones through Alzheimer’s. My dear sweet wife Jeanne. And her sweet mother Lucia. That’s what brought us together. On the Alzheimer’s message boards. If it had not been for Alzheimer’s in both of our lives, we would have never met.  More evidence. That there’s a chain reaction to life. Follow the chain. Link by link. And one discovers. That maybe life isn’t so bad, after all.  --Jim Broede

No complaining from me.

I flit back and forth. Between Minnesota and Sardinia/Italy. Yes, that’s another part of my life.  Two different worlds. It’s a nice arrangement. I like the differences. Between Italians and Americans.  For one thing, they speak different languages.  Though my Italian true love speaks both. In fact, she teaches English and English literature. She knows far more about Shakespeare than I do.  About other things, too. She’s well-versed. Of course, I know things she doesn’t know. More evidence that, as a couple, we balance each other. We thrive on our differences. Put it this way: We have helped each other become more whole.  Better human beings.  That’s the nature of true love. Anyway, here I come, Sardinia. My new-found second homeland. My wonderful escape. From Minnesota winter. The Sardinia natives complain. When overnight temperatures dip into the 40s. I have no complaint. For me, that’s a heat wave. –Jim Broede

Makes me a romantic idealist.

Imagining life. The way I want it to be. That’s one of my favorite pastimes.  It buoys my spirits. I take charge. Becoming life’s master designer. Usurping the creator himself.  Why not?  Doesn’t cause any harm. And does me good. Because I invariably take a romanticized approach. To life. I want to be able to slip back and forth. Between spiritual and physical existence. Living that way. Forever. When getting tired of  the physical realm, I want to ease into the spiritual dimension. And when getting bored with the spiritual grind, give me the option of returning to physical life.  I can savor ‘em both.  In fact, the contrast makes me more appreciative of life on both sides.  Similar to night and day. Can’t fully embrace one without a comparison to the other.  I have a desire. To always be. Alive and conscious. I’ll settle for either option. Physical or spiritual.  Of course, I also want to take rest breaks.  To fall asleep. Whenever I’m tired.  My assumption: Even spirits need sleep. Same goes for the creator. Pursuing full consciousness all the time – well, that would be too overwhelming. Maybe death is a form of sleep. The period of transition. When one passes from physical to spiritual. I can accept that. Makes me a romantic idealist. –Jim Broede

I dare. To be.

I suspect. That we all need to confess. To cleanse our souls. To walk naked into the world. Without fear and trepidation.  But we don’t. We are too cautious. Too fearful of each other.  Therefore, we hide. Behind facades.  But I dare. To be.  --Jim Broede

Things I could live without.

Really, I have more than meaningful stuff. Things I could live without.  More clothes than I need. More recorded music than I could possibly listen to in a lifetime. Two cars. When I could get by with one. More food than I need. More books than I can read. That’s just a start. The list could go on and on. The important thing. I have life. And consciousness. And appreciation of what I have. --Jim Broede

Caring: About right and wrong.

One can care too much.  Think about it. Caring can become overwhelming. Emotionally draining. More than one can handle. I know people that care too much. About too many friends and loved ones. And even about strangers.  About tragic happenings all over the world.  I limit my caring. To what I can handle.  Sometimes, I have to turn off the rest of the world. And focus on my narrow sphere. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be taking proper care. Of myself. And the few people that I truly care about. I’m not ashamed to say it. That I pick and chose. That I discriminate. Of course, I’m critical of other people. For doing the same thing. Republicans, for instance. Many of them favor rich people. And couldn’t care less about poor people. Guess that’s the nature, the essence of humankind.  Each one of us. Either cares too much, or too little. About the right and wrong things. –Jim Broede

Long live Ron!

Alzheimer-riddled Ron isn’t as riddled as he used to be. Indeed, an incredible achievement. Oh, Ron still has Alzheimer’s. And eventually it’ll claim his life. But Ron is getting better. In terms of quality of life. Because he’s getting better treatment. More humane care. More one-on-one physical and mental interaction and stimulation. From his care-givers. Used to be that Ron was in an institutional-type nursing home.  Now he’s in a five-bed residential care center. Staffed most of the time by four young nursing students. Makes Ron feel like he’s part of a family. In terms of treatment and setting. Ron’s daughter and son-in-law brought him home for Thanksgiving dinner. I was there, too. And it was wonderful. To see my friend Ron. And the dynamic gains he’s made. He’s happy. Contented. Talkative. Albeit, some of it gibberish. But he gets the gist of what’s going on. And man oh man, does he ever have an appetite. He downed two platefuls of Thanksgiving fare. Little wonder that Ron has put on six pounds in recent weeks. A real plus. Because he was looking gaunt after recovering from a broken neck. Sustained in a fall last summer. Which was reported here. The fracture was fused together. At the time, I thought that maybe Ron would be better off dead than alive. My mistake. Ron is a medical marvel. He has an innate sense for life. At age 86. I begin to wonder. If he might hang in for a few more years. Of course, he’s not the Ron that once was. An inventor/scientist at 3M Co. But he’s still got an amiable glint in his eyes.. Still able to salvage meaningful stuff. From life. He’s an inspiration. To family and friends. Long live Ron! –Jim Broede

A small (and wonderful) world.

I’ve been invited to Thanksgiving dinner. With the family of my Alzheimer-riddled friend Ron. Of course, Ron will be there, too. Home for Thanksgiving. Though Ron has multiple homes these days. His primary abode being a five-bed residential care place. Very, very nice. Not like an institutional-style nursing home. Anyway, I’ve promised to take Ron for a walk. Past our old haunts. He’ll like that. Not sure that Ron will remember everyone. But that doesn’t matter. He’s still sociable. Wonder if Ron will notice. That we aren’t having turkey. It’ll be steak and fish. That’s fine with me. Breaking with tradition. Or maybe one should call it creating a new tradition. My farewell dinner, too. I’m headed for Italy next week. But I’ll stay in touch. With everyone.  With regular postings. It’s really a small (and wonderful) world. –Jim Broede

Imagining. Being black-skinned.

If I were black instead of white. I mean, the same person. Except for a change in skin color. Thing is, I wouldn’t be the same person. Because my experiences would have been dramatically different. I would have been denied many, many opportunities. Only because of my skin color. That would have frustrated me.  Most likely, made me downright angry. To be denied so very much. Simply because of my skin color. My life was made easier. Because I’m white. There’s no denying it. Ever since I was a youngster, I’ve imagined. Being black. Right here in America. It’s unfair. The way black people have been treated. When I went to work in Florida. In the 1960s. I’d not have landed my job with the local newspaper. If I had been black. I’d not have been able to stay in a white motel. Or eat in a white restaurant.  Or swim at the white beach. Or drink out of the white fountain.  Even today, I’d feel discriminated against. Maybe in more subtle than overt ways. I’d sure as heck not want to live in Ferguson, Missouri.  In fact, I’d avoid a whole lot of places in the USA. That’s the way it is. When imagining. That I’m black-skinned. –Jim Broede

On becoming.

Once upon a time, I was unhappy. But pretended to be happy. Like a good actor. I lived the role. And became so proficient at it, that I actually became happy. Really, It was no longer pretend. I recommend that others try it. Tell yourselves, that you will become the best actor in the world. Playing the role of the person you want to be. To the utmost. Playing it so well. That you are no longer acting. You have become. –Jim Broede

The pursuit of life...in paradise.

Maybe paradise is a state of mind. Which means, paradise can be any place.  Even in hell, I suppose. If one enters a spiritual realm. That transcends everything else. Certainly, I have found paradise here. On Mother Earth. In various places. That others might consider hell. For instance. Minnesota in the dead of winter. When it’s 30 below zero. And three feet of snow on the ground. But still, I’m able to savor it all. Because my mind is in the right place. Of course, it helps that I’m appropriately dressed for the occasion. Believe me. The wintry scenery in paradise is wonderful. Of course, I’m soon headed for Sardinia. Where there is no snow. Or freezing temperatures. Making it easier. To be in the proper frame of mind. For the pursuit of life. And happiness. In paradise.   –Jim Broede

A good idea.

Designated holidays. Don’t like ‘em. Not even Christmas. As a kid, I liked holidays. Mostly for selfish reasons. Got gifts. Or time off from school. Began to wonder. Why can’t every day be a holiday? A special day. Then there would be no need for designated holidays. Now I figure. Every day that I’m alive. And conscious. Aware. That’s sufficient reason to celebrate. To savor the day.  The precious moments. Therefore, designated holidays are no more special than every other day. Seems like a good idea. One I can embrace. –Jim Broede

The essence. Of Paradise.

When traveling. To Sardinia. I don’t mind staying in one place. For a long, long time. Don’t have to move about. To see the sites. I am with my true love. That’s good enough. For me. To savor another being. In a spiritual way. That’s true travel. An odyssey. Full of wonderful experience. The kind of life. To be savored.   Intimately. From within. Without having to move about. That is the essence. Of Paradise. –Jim Broede

Things. I don't like. About meanies.

An unarmed kid. Shot and killed. By a police officer. In a St. Louis suburb. Last summer. The officer fired his gun. Multiple times. Wounding the kid several times. The last bullet. In the head. That was the lethal one. You’d think that after the kid had been wounded. That the officer would figure. That’s enough. Let’s get the kid to a hospital.  No. No. Apparently he wanted to kill the kid. For having stolen cigars. And maybe for bad-mouthing/disrespecting the officer.  Or maybe it was because the kid was black. The officer white. That’s the way it is. In racist parts of America. A black life isn’t as precious as a white one. Little wonder. That tonight. A white grand jury. Coached by a white prosecutor. Exonerated the officer. Didn’t bring an indictment. That’s justice. The American white way. In St. Louis. And elsewhere, too. In far too many locales. Right here. In America. While so many of us white folks look away. And get on with our privileged white lives. Little wonder. That there are things. I don’t like. About mean people. –Jim Broede

Gotta draw a line. Somewhere.

Mean people. I know some. You know some. We all know some. Makes me wonder. Why are people mean? So much easier to be kind, isn’t it?  If given a choice, I’d opt for kind over mean 99 percent of the time.  Yes, I acknowledge. I can be mean. Once in a great while. Can’t resist. Being mean to the very, very mean. The most despicable. Usually, a politician. Please, forgive me. I know. I know. I should love everyone.  Even my worst enemy. But I refuse to love every last one of the mean people. Gotta draw a line. Somewhere.  –Jim Broede

Not so bad, after all.

I’d make a good teacher. Because I try to make people think. Isn’t that the mission of a teacher? I’ve had all sorts of teachers. Good and bad. But even the bad teachers taught me significant stuff. How to cope. With bad teachers. Therefore, I learned something. Which means that the bad teacher may not have been so bad, after all. –Jim Broede

Without even trying.

I’m drawn to people that waste time. That seem to be in no hurry. To get things done.  Which usually means. They’ll take time to converse. With me. Usually in a relaxed and meaningful manner. Better to waste one’s time with me.  Because in the end, it really won’t be a waste. I find ways to stimulate people. In my eccentric manner. It’s all right to be different. Unusual. To waste one’s time. In unexpectedly productive ways. Without even trying. –Jim Broede

More true dialogue.

Igniting dialogue. With total strangers. That’s one of my favorite pastimes. I’ll do it soon. While flying to Italy. I accept the challenge.  By turning to the passenger. The one next to me. Doesn’t matter whether it’s man, woman or beast. Even if we don’t speak the same language. I’ll give it a try. Rarely do I have passengers on both sides of me. I prefer aisle or window seats. Maybe I’ll start booking middle seats. Gives me more options. Tackling two strangers simultaneously.  It’s become almost a game. Getting to know a stranger. By getting him/her to talk about meaningful stuff.  More than small talk.  It’s more curiosity than anything. Anyway, that’s what the world needs. More true dialogue. –Jim Broede

Beyond the pale of understanding.

Learning a language. How does one go about it? Really, isn’t it by listening? My cats, for instance, have a distinct language. That I pick up. By listening. And observing. I’ll be living in Italy. Most of the winter. Though I’ll never be fluent in Italian. I often understand the gist of the conversation. By listening to the tone. And watching very animated gestures. And by picking up familiar and meaningful words. Doesn’t matter. Whether the language is French or German or Czech. Listening is the key.  One learns baby talk that way. Political speak, too. Which is harder to understand than dementia speak.  Political speak often makes absolutely no sense. Whether one listens, or not. Yes, beyond the pale of human understanding. –Jim Broede

A devotee of quiet solitude.

I wonder. What people think about. When they are alone. Do they think at all? Or do their minds go blank? It would be interesting. To find out. Maybe some people need interaction. With others. In order for the thinking process to be ignited. I do some of my most and best thinking. When I am alone.  Free from interruptions. I’m able to focus. That’s the way I write. In quiet solitude. Though not always. Sometimes I play music. String quartets. To stimulate my mind. In creative directions. I also know how to write in disruptive and noisy environs. And in a hurry. To meet deadlines. That was my life. In the newsroom. When I was a writer for newspapers.  I adapted. Had to. Makes me appreciate what I’ve become. A devotee of quiet solitude.  I care little about the news. Instead, I turn inward. And probe my soul. I’m far better at writing reflective love letters. Than mundane news stories.  –Jim Broede

Not so much. For an empty mind.

I have. Maybe 20 coats. To keep me warm. And well-decorated. Well-dressed. I have too many. Too much of everything. I could spare. A whole lot.  Makes me wonder. Is this a bad thing?  Imelda Marcos. She of the shoe collection. I am not. But still. I am a collector. Once upon a time. I had over 100 birdhouses. Very few occupied. But still, there’s something to be said. For an empty house. Hanging from a tree. But not so much. For an empty mind.  –Jim Broede

Savored, indeed.

Maybe I have lived. Without being cursed. Even once. The flow. It seems so natural. I am told. By others. That things could be better. But still. I accept. Life as it is. A journey. That never ends. That’s the joy. Always a new discovery. Therefore. It makes no sense. To swim against the flow. Just let things be. Life is meant. To be a blessing. Savored, indeed. –Jim Broede  

To smile.

I am able. To isolate myself. From life’s travails. That is a wonderful gift. To be able. To focus on the goodness. I am born. Into a world. Not of my making. But with the ability. To pick and choose. Between love and hate.  Between happiness and despair.  Between good and evil. I prefer a world with no hate, no despair, no evil. Even if I have to pretend.  To smile. --Jim

Transcending the physical.

I keep pondering. The difference between the physical and the spiritual. The spirit transcends the physical. Imaginatively.  With imagination, all things are possible.  Perhaps I am living. In the creator’s vivid and unbounded imagination. That makes me at One with the creator.   --Jim Broede 

Doing the noble thing.

The pursuit of happiness. I see it. Every day. Around me. And that makes me happy. People embracing the finer things of life. Such as being free. To live in America. The result of noble political action. I love it. When that happens. Makes me happy. When my government. Makes the pursuit of happiness easier. For undocumented immigrants. That’s what a decent government and political system should be all about. Contrast that with what happened in Nazi Germany. Or in modern day Syria. Where the only way to pursue happiness is to flee the country. Rather than flock in. That’s what I like about America. Where we occasionally do the noble thing. –Jim Broede

Makes my day.

Happy faces. Tears of joys. That’s what I’m seeing tonight. The result of Obama’s executive order. Allowing maybe as many as 5 million ‘illegal’ immigrants to stay in the U.S.  Of course, not everyone is happy about it. Particularly Republicans. Claiming Obama exceeded his authority. But that’s political poppycock.  Meanwhile, I’m happy. That Obama did the right thing. And I’m happy for the immigrants. Also, gives me reason to be proud of my country. As for Republicans, if they don’t like Obama’s action – well, then they can take their own action. To negate it. By passing a bill. A new immigration law. That suits Republicans. They’ve had ample opportunities to fix the immigration system. Or maybe they think the present system is all right. I don’t know. But hey, this is a free country. And Republicans have a majority in Congress. Gives them the power and the means. To make life more difficult. For Obama. For the immigrants. For their political foes. That’s the nature of the game. But for the moment, we have some mighty happy immigrants. Makes my day. Watching. Observing. All this incredible happiness. Brought about. By the mere stroke of presidential pen. –Jim Broede

Why Obama's a decent human being.

Yes, it’s incredible. Republicans being miffed. At Obama. For issuing an executive order. To refrain from deporting several million ‘illegal’ immigrants. The GOP’s anger, really, stems from Obama being too nice. Too charitable. To immigrants that technically broke immigration laws. By sneaking in. Doesn’t matter that they’re law-abiding,  and found work and peace and happiness in America. The so-called land of opportunity. Though not quite yet the land of compassion. Or the land of  forgiveness. Evidenced. By Republicans daily demonstrating America’s negative side.  By continuing to try to make Obama’s political life a living hell. Simply because he’s black, and not white. And he’s suspected (by a large percentage of Republicans) of being a Muslim. Born in Kenya, too.  Sad, isn’t it. They can’t accept the reality. That Obama is a legitimate president. Duly elected twice. And that he’s really a very decent human being. In part, because he ain't a Republican. And because he welcomes immigrants. –Jim Broede

To state my case. Appropriately.

People tell me I bring up inappropriate topics. That’s balderdash. I write about life. The very thing that I love. Maybe more than anything. I love/hate dealing with Alzheimer’s. Without having it. I have a love/hate relationship with politics. But mostly, I’m downright in love. With life. And I have no hesitancy. Proclaiming it.  Wherever I go. That’s appropriate. Might be inappropriate to tell me to shut up. Thing is, I don’t foist my views on anyone. Especially when I write. The reader can choose to ignore me. I don’t get up on a platform. In a theater. And shout. Instead, I speak quietly. With the written word. Sometimes in a poetic way.  It’s a take-it-or-leave-it proposition. One has a choice. To read or not to read. To agree or to disagree. To accept or to reject. Yes, words can be used as weapon. But words can be deflected. Easier than bullets. But I choose to use words to calm and to sooth and to savor. And to state my case.  Appropriately. –Jim Broede

It was no longer a task.

In some respects, I’m probably a better human being. For having been an Alzheimer care-giver. Initially, I thought it might be one of my life’s worst experiences. But now I rate it as one the best.  Because it was an education. From which I learned. To truly love being my dear sweet Jeanne’s care-giver. Right up to the end. I’d do it over again. I learned to deal with Alzheimer. In an understanding and unruffled way. Without losing my composure. Staying upbeat. Exuding good vibes. And not least, taking care of myself. With adequate respite. So that I would be up to the pleasure of care-giving. It was no longer a task. –Jim Broede

My planned escape.

I can’t master life as a physical being. Even if I’m given forever. It’s impossible. Because I am trapped. I’m more spirit than flesh. Imprisoned. In my own body. And I need to escape. In order to be truly free.  That will happen. Some day. Spirit will prevail. That is the natural way. Flesh and bones disintegrate. And will no longer be. But the spirit. Lives and thrives. Forever.  In the spiritual realm. –Jim Broede 

Drifting. In paradise.

I like to sleep. But not hibernate. Eight hours of daily sleep is enough. Sometimes, only snatches. Two or three hours. I awake. With ideas. To be jotted down. I record dreams, too. Makes me wonder. If I hibernated. Like a bear. Would I have long, sustained dreams?  Another thing. Do bears dream? Occasionally, I almost fall asleep while walking. Mesmerized. As if I’m drifting. On a puffy cloud.  In paradise. –Jim Broede

On dying without really dying.

I understand. Why some people get tired of life. Would just as soon fade away. Into oblivion. Into nothingness. They don’t fear death. They welcome it. Because they aren’t happy. They are pessimists. With no prospects for turning things around. I might feel that way. If I was in poor health. With no hope of recovery. Dying could be relief. Especially if I died without really dying. Into an afterlife. In which I shed my physical being. For a spiritual existence. Living in the physical realm can be enchanting. Pure pleasure, at times. But it also can be a drag. A burden. I’d be so much more free as a spirit. With no physical ills. No physical pain. But maybe spirits have to endure spiritual pain. Wonder if that’s worse than physical pain. I’d certainly like the opportunity to find out.  –Jim Broede

A story with no ending.

Maybe it’s that most of us don’t know what we want to be. Don’t have a mind or passion for anything in particular. So we drift through life. Which may be all right. By learning to adapt. To let things happen. And then either accepting our fate. Or maybe becoming angry and exasperated by it. Anyway, here’s the bottom line. I’ve decided to be happy. By assuming that I was meant to be. That it was no accident. Yes, I’m part of a grand scheme. A storybook life. Unfolding. A paragraph, a page, a chapter at a time. I’m the protagonist.  And the name of the enchanting novel-like story is ‘A Life: The Pursuit of Happiness.’ I’m anticipating a happy ending. At the very least. Better yet, a story with no ending. –Jim Broede

My credo: Live and let live.

Maybe the biggest mistake America ever made was invading Iraq. Going to war. On hindsight, America should have steered clear of the Arab world. And left Arabs to decide their own fate. Bloody as that may be.  If Arabs decide they want a blood bath – well, so be it. As long as it’s their own blood. Sure, it was Arabs that organized the 911 attack on America. But that probably would never had happened. If America had long ago kept its nose and interference out of the Middle East. America often acts like an imperial power. Like the boss and policeman of the world. Usually, for economic gain.  The time is long overdue for America to set an example for the rest of the world. My making America a thriving and honorable nation. Within its own borders. America doesn’t have to tell the rest of the world to be like us. Instead, tell the Arabs to find their own way. Suited for Arabs. Maybe that’s the way to get along with each other. Live and let live. –Jim Broede

Something better than a fur coat.

I understand why bears hibernate. Their way of escaping the bitter cold. They wear thick furry coats, of course. Which keep them warm. But they go to bed and probably dream. Warm and sweet dreams. Of rollicking through the woods. In the summertime. So very nice to escape into dreams. But for me, the dream will soon be real. Living the winter in a balmy Mediterranean island paradise. With no need for a fur coat. Instead, I’ll have my Italian true love to keep me warm. -- Jim Broede

Something to cherish and savor.

Gotta admit. I’m not always smiling. Especially when learning about world events. I’m saddened. By so very many of the wretched happenings. The wars. The senseless killings. The political rancor. Nothing I can do about it. Other than lament. For a while. Inevitably, I get on with the nicer aspects of life. And find reason to smile. Over little things. A walk in the woods. Or along a seashore. Camaraderie with a few friends.  Time with my Italian true love. I remain glum for only a short time. Always finding something wonderful about life -- to cherish and savor. –Jim Broede

Bringing government into the act.

Political liberals want more government. Conservatives prefer less government. Maybe even no government. Thinking that makes for more personal freedom. Allowing everyone to do as they please. Of course, as a liberal, I don’t buy into that. It allows for far too much exploitation. I want people to take the common good into consideration. Forming a society and government that takes care of the needy. Through private and public means. Watching out and caring for each other. Seems to me that if there were a religion that professed and truly practiced such an approach, I’d be a convert. But better yet, let’s bring government into the act. –Jim Broede

Winners and losers.

There’s a cruelty about spectator sports. I root for my team. To pull out a dramatic victory. With a storybook finish. Doesn’t matter that breaks the hearts of the opponent’s fans. They go home disappointed. Chagrined. In the doldrums. Meanwhile, I’m elated. Focused on my happiness. Hardly thinking of the sadness of others. A bit cruel, isn’t it? Downright inconsiderate.  But that’s the nature of life. And sports. Winners and losers. –Jim Broede

Mastering the art of listening.

Many years ago, I avoided visits to nursing homes. Especially to memory care units. It was depressing. Bad for my morale. A funny thing has happened over the years. Gradually. I became enchanted. By the communication skills of the dementia-riddled. I learned to listen. To understand and speak their multiple and unique languages. I have a little more difficulty with the first language of my Italian true love. I resort to English far too much. Since she speaks fluent English. I rely too much on her. But the dementia speakers rely on me. I have to put forth the effort. And that’s good. Really, we all need more effort. In learning how to communicate. With each other. Anyway, I’m fascinated. That I’ve learned the rudiments of a second language. Unexpectedly. Maybe it’s that I practice. Really, dementia has become a common language. It can be learned. Even by language dumbbells like me. All it takes is practice, practice and more practice. Believe me. Dementia is a beautiful language. Though maybe it’s that I have mastered the art of listening. --Jim Broede

Freedom: The true American way.

I’m for freedom. For everyone. But that takes personal sacrifice. A willingness for a society to provide basic necessities. For everyone. Such as universal health care. And a living wage. And education, Yes, for everyone. And for that to be possible, we have to make sacrifices. To distribute wealth in a way that makes those necessities affordable. For everyone. That means requiring some of us to put more into the public coffers than others. Yes, for the rich to subsidize the poor. To some reasonable extent. That’s how we move in the direction of bringing personal freedom to everyone. If one has the necessities of life, it’s more likely that one will be significantly free. That’s why I’m a political liberal. And a socialist sympathizer. I want freedom. Not only for myself. But for everyone.  That’s my perception of the true American way. –Jim Broede

The way to live. With Alzheimer's.

When visiting my Alzheimer-riddled friend Ron, I become effusive. Downright gregarious. It’s as if I’m taking full charge. Compelling Ron to get with it. The kind of good vibes that tend to stimulate Ron. I set the tone. The young student nurse. Helped put Ron in a wheelchair. Readying him for a ride. Outdoors. And when she started to zip up Ron’s jacket, she acted timidly. Too timidly. Ron resisted. Pushed her away. Acted like Mr. Tough Guy. I intervened.  Took charge. Took command. ‘Hey, Ron,’ I said firmly. ’Act like a Norwegian gentleman. Let me do this.’ I zipped up the jacket. Looking directly into Ron’s eyes. Ron got the message. I’m his friend. And he knew. We were going outdoors. He was about to be set in motion. Forward. Forward. Forward. I cajoled Ron. Reminded him. We were about to pursue one of his favorite pastimes. Sure, it was cold. About 10 degrees. A fluffy snow on the ground, too. Ron’s lap. Covered with soft, cushy blankets. A knit cap. .Drooped over his head. Mittens over his hands. And away we went. Up and down the snow-covered paved trail. Through the woods. A good workout. For me. A dazzling winter wonderland for Ron. I talked. Almost incessantly. Describing.  For Ron’s benefit. Everything that we were seeing. And experiencing. Ron was my captive audience. When we returned. To the warm comfort. of Ron’s cocoon. A five-bed residential home with no resemblance to a nursing home. It was obvious. Ron felt at ease. Laughing, Rollicking. Having a good time. No belligerence. Life. Flowing. Smoothly. Ron lifted himself. Out of the wheelchair. Walked to the dining table. About to savor.  A baked potato. With sour cream and chives. Melted cheese and broccoli, too. Everyone was happy. Ah, this is the way to live. With Alzheimer’s. –Jim Broede

Is it a grimace or a smile?

I’m smiling. Just because I feel like smiling. Not for any particular reason. Other than I’m happy. Smiling seems like the natural thing to do.  I notice people. As I walk about. And too many of them look glum. No smiles. Don’t know if that makes them unhappy. Maybe it’s that their minds have gone momentarily blank. Into neutral. But that shouldn’t account for their grim looks. I wonder. Should I stop total strangers. And ask why they aren’t smiling? Maybe that would make them angry. Enough to punch me in the nose. Wonder what I would do?  Maybe turn the other cheek. And fake it. By calling my grimace a smile. –Jim Broede  

I live. For another day. Blessed.

I want to be. To be able to thrive. In my own way. To be free. To choose my course. Without arbitrary rules. Imposed by politicians. Natural born dictators. Controllers. Manipulators. To achieve that. I’ve had to steer off the beaten tracks. And hide. Going underground. To find comrades. Friends. Fortunately, two enchanting true loves. Over the course of a wonderful lifetime. Knowing there’s always. More happiness. Coming. Knowing, too. I’ve avoided. Or coped. With the perils. Maybe by mere chance. A sign. That I live. For another and another and another day. Blessed. –Jim Broede 

Thank you, grandpa.

I’m proud of my paternal grandfather. For having become an illegal immigrant. He sneaked into the U.S. Around 1900. Looking for a better life. He was a German. And became an American by assimilation. Without my ‘illegal’ grandfather, I’d not be an American. In fact, I would not be. He would not have met my grandmother. They had three children. Including my father. Imagine that. I am thankful. That my grandfather did something illegal. I owe my life. To him. Yes, folks, it’s time to look at the big picture. Of life. In a kindly and appreciative and accepting way. --Jim Broede

Choosing America for good reason.

Little wonder. That I dislike Republicans. They’re hard-hearted. And downright mean. Wanting to deny illegal immigrants amnesty. The right to stay. And work. In the land that most of ‘em love. That’s why they came here. Albeit in illegal manner. Because life here is much better than in the countries they fled. Can’t blame them.  For seeking the good life and happiness. In the so-called land of opportunity.  These illegal immigrants are a good advertisement for America. I don’t see many of them flocking to Syria and other corners of the Middle East. They choose America for good reason. Unlike Republicans, I’ll roll out the welcome mat. A red carpet, too. Thank gawd. We have a president with a kind and warm heart. And a sense of decency. Willing to do the right thing. Over the political objections of conservatives. –Jim Broede

Grateful for the extra time.

Longevity. I like it. Because lasting for many, many years gives me a better chance of getting things right. Ideally, I need forever. But short of that, I’ll take whatever I can get. Meanwhile, I try to ignore statistics. That show I’m exceeding the normal lifespan for a humanoid. That’s a significant achievement. Beating the odds. Dying young would have made me feel cheated. Dying, period. May make me feel shortchanged, too. But not nearly as much as if I had died before turning ancient and decrepit. Of course, it could be that I’ll be reincarnated. And start life anew. Young again. As a somewhat different being. With little or no memory of my past life. I’d probably prefer being reincarnated as a spirit. Rather than a physical being. But maybe one doesn’t get promoted to spirit status until mastering the physical life. Haven’t got it mastered yet. So I’m grateful for the extra time. –Jim Broede

At One. With all of creation.

Occasionally, I forget. And get ahead of myself. Instead of taking life one day at a time. I lose track of today. And try to enter tomorrow before it’s really arrived. In fact, tomorrow never arrives. And the past is gone. But I forget that. And fool myself. And propel into a mythical future. That isn’t. I have only now. And that’s what I must grasp. And embrace. The living moment. Otherwise, I am not savoring life to the fullest. Because I’m too busy/too occupied trying to catapult myself into the future. Thereby, spreading myself thin. Trying to do two things at once. Yes, it’s complicated. True, too, that I’m affected by the past. And by my dreams of the future.  But I really can’t be in the past or the future. Maybe not until the day I die. When time stops. And I enter another dimension. Where there is no time. Maybe then, I will have been elevated. To a new plateau. Allowing me to be an observer. Of my complete life. Past. Present. Future.  All at once. Simultaneously. How wonderful it must be. Living outside of time. Outside of the physical world. As spirit.  At One. With all of creation. –Jim Broede

Politics ain't my abiding passion.

I've learned about politics. As an observer. Over the years. Much of it as a writer. For newspapers. Covering politics. Among other things.  Yes, happenstance stirred my interest in politics. I even ran for public office. For the school board. And got elected.  I’m a political liberal. Though that didn’t matter on the school board. I still pay attention to politics. But I avoid participating. Other than writing about politics. When I get a chance. Like here, for instance. I’m aware that I don’t have any significant impact on political matters.  I’m a lone voice in the wilderness. Preaching to squirrels and chipmunks and rabbits. I have better things to do. Than getting deeply involved in politics. My relationships with a few friends. And with my Italian true love. That’s the important stuff.  More important than which party controls congress or the presidency. Though I dislike Republicans. Especially conservatives. Still, I don’t let politics and Republicans affect me in negative ways. Better to just get on with my pursuit of happiness. Finding reasons. To be in love. With life. Politics ain’t one of the reasons. – Jim Broede

The art of fooling ourselves.

A consciousness. Far beyond the human consciousness. There must be such. Bringing forth a level of intelligence. Far beyond the capacity of the most extraordinary human brain. Beyond Einstein. Existing. In another dimension.  Where life is very different than ours. They can see us. But we can’t see them. Because we don’t have the required senses and knowledge.  It would be like an ant. Trying to grasp the nature and accomplishments of a human. We are massive beings. Compared to an ant. And the same sort of comparison may apply. To humans and far superior spiritual beings.  Of course, this makes me an inferior, less intelligent being. But that doesn’t bother me. I’m still happy. Being me. A lowly human. Able to occasionally pretend being of a higher and nobler species. Because we humans have mastered the art of fooling ourselves. –Jim Broede

The American dream. Fading away.

Politicians. Dressed in robes. Unfortunately, that’s what we have on the U.S. Supreme Court. And that should be a crime. But it isn’t. Because conservative politicians have no scruples. They’ve seen to it that four, and maybe five, conservative politicos are on the Supreme Court. They aren’t truly neutral and unbiased judges.  That spells doom for fairness. Makes me disappointed. And leaves me in a foul mood. That this could happen. In America. My homeland.  A corrupted Supreme Court. I was taught. When growing up. That the American judicial system would always be the last bastion of fairness. That the Supreme Court  was devoid of politics.  A separate and independent branch of government.  That Congress and the executive branch were the domains of politicians. I accept that. But I can’t accept the takeover of the Supreme Court. By highly partisan conservative politicians. Shameful. Shameful. Shameful. Something has to be done about it. To bring fairness back to America. But I ain't holding my breath waiting for it to happen. I see the American dream. Fading, fading, fading away. –Jim Broede

Really, nothing is something.

Doesn’t necessarily bother me. When I’m wasting time. More or less, doing nothing. Just sitting around. My cats spend most of the day. Doing nothing. Other than napping. And even when they are awake, they may be droopy-eyed. Makes me wonder if they have anything going through their minds. Other than being in a total state of relaxation. Which I don’t begrudge them. Maybe that’s what I mean. By wasting time. I could accuse the cats of being unproductive. Doing nothing. But that’s not true. Really, nothing is something. It’s a form of respite. A way to take time out. For one’s own personal benefit. –Jim Broede

Maybe it's already too late.

I was tempted. To stay home. And not vote in last week’s mid-term elections. Figuring my vote wouldn’t count. Wouldn’t decide the outcome. In any race. True. My vote didn’t have any effect. I could just as well have stayed home. Many of my choices were between bad and worse. So I wrote in my neighbor Rick’s name. Just for the heck of it. My way to protest. The lack of real choices on the ballot. Yes, I knowingly wasted my vote. Because it didn’t matter. We know our votes won’t really count. Because in the end, big money speaks louder than our votes. It’s all rigged. Maybe. Some day. We’ll get genuinely angry. After the middle class has been obliterated. And do something about it. By taking to the streets. To start a revolution. More meaningful than the one in 1776. Maybe we will have had enough. When in 2016, an ultra-conservative Republican becomes elected president of the United (Failed) States of America. Time to wake up, fellow Americans. Unfortunately, maybe it’s already too late. --Jim Broede

After all, it's my life.

I define myself. As a romantic idealist, a spiritual free-thinker, a political liberal, a lover, a dreamer.  Seems to me, that’s better than allowing others to define me. When I was a youngster, others did the defining. Mainly, my parents. And teachers. Then I took charge. Now, I’m in almost full control. Helps that I sort of isolate myself. Being close only to a few chosen friends and associates.  And I retreat to my cocoon.  Often. Of course, outsiders will try to define me. From a distance. As eccentric. And that’s all right. After all, I tend to deviate from the so-called norm. I’m different. And proud of it. And I like people that are different. They arouse my curiosity. Because they aren’t afraid to be. Themselves. Even if that means breaking societal rules. I violate rules, too. But mostly in harmless ways.  Such as breaking rules of grammar. Because that makes for an easier flow. And better understanding, really.  I like my own style. Of living. And loving. And writing. Even if others don’t. After all, it’s my life.–Jim Broede 

Soon. No more pretending.

I’m pretending. That it’s mid-January. Instead of mid-November. Here in Minnesota. That helps me accept the weather forecast. Highs remaining below freezing. Into next week. For January, that would be balmy. Almost suitable for shirtsleeve apparel.  I play these fanciful mental games. Helps me adjust. And to accept reality. On my terms. Anyway, I have an amazing reality. Coming. In three weeks. When I’ll be residing. With my Italian true love. In Sardinia. Where the natives complain. When the nighttime temperatures drop into the 40s and 50s. Doesn’t bother me. Because it’s warm enough most days for a stroll along a secluded beach and a dip in the Mediterranean Sea. And believe me. That’s no pretending. –Jim Broede

A total grasp of everything.

The assumption. The creator lives outside of time. Makes me wonder. If there can be true, conscious life. When time stops. Is that where one goes? After death. Into the same realm as the creator.  Makes me wonder. If one is experiencing True Oneness when living outside of time.  One is at One. With Everything. With creation. A total grasp of everything. That would make One at One with the creator. --Jim Broede

Questions. The essence of life.

In the human, does absolute/true love have to be both physical and spiritual? Or can it be one without the other? And is spiritual love the highest form of love? How do spirits make love? How does one enter the spiritual dimension?  Must one be totally free of physical existence in order to be fully in the spiritual realm? One question always leads to another question. Endless questions. That’s the essence of life, isn’t it? --Jim Broede

Does absolute and true love exist?

What does it mean to love? To be a lover. I believe in love. At least theoretically. But how does one go about loving?  Life itself.  Another thing. I’m told to love my enemy. Is that really possible? How can I do it? Is there an easy way? Is love supposed to be difficult?  I speculate. That love should be at the top of my priority/value list. Makes me wonder. About this thing called love. Does absolute and true love exist? --Jim Broede

No need for a creator.

I wonder. Why does there have to be a creator? Couldn’t creation have always existed?  Without a beginning. If that’s the case, there may never be an end. Because always is always. Of course, there’s speculation that everything began with a Big Bang. If so, that means the creator, sometimes referred to as god, must be the Big Bang. But that poses a question. Who created the Big Bang? And that leads to still another question. Who created the creator that created the Big Bang? Some religious folks assert that the creator always existed. Gets confusing, doesn’t it? It would be a lot simpler to merely believe that creation always existed. Therefore, no need for a creator. –Jim Broede

Too bad Obama ain't a salesman.

Barack Obama is a lousy salesman. He doesn’t know how to sell his policies.  And that makes him an ineffective president.  He’s been a disappointment. When Obama was first elected, I was elated. He ran a wonderful and idealistic campaign. He had, too. For a black man to get elected in racist America. Maybe Obama assumed that he had already accomplished the hard stuff.  By making it all the way to the White House. And now all he had to do was coast. Yes, a big mistake. He neglected selling and promoting his policies. Like a politician. He had to maneuver. And manipulate. And sell, sell, sell. Everything. In a brilliant and persuasive manner. At that, he has failed. Miserably.  Maybe he still can. In his final two years in office. But if he doesn’t, it’s his fault. And a dirty rotten shame. Especially if it opens the door to the White House, in 2016, to the Republicans. I can’t imagine a worse fate. For America. Obama must learn to act less like a college professor. And more like a salesman and shrewd politician. –Jim Broede

No more bare ground for awhile.

After two hours of shoveling snow. I’m taking a break. To savor. The first snowstorm of the season. Fortunately, the over one foot of snow has come three weeks before my departure. For Italy. I’d have felt cheated. If I went through an entire winter. Without once experiencing snow.  Imagine. There are people on Earth who have never seen or touched snow. Never made a snowball. Or a snowman. Never tasted freshly fallen snow. Here I am. In a winter wonderland.  Where the natives won’t see the bare ground again. Maybe not ‘til April. –Jim Broede

The real scary part. I'll be found.

I’m snowed in. Such a nice feeling. Oh, I could trudge and plod through the snow. But I’d rather think of myself as trapped. For a whole day. With no escape. No choice.  But solitary confinement. Means I’ll have to turn inward. And entertain myself. Can’t even go to town. For provisions. And company. But alas. I’m really not alone. My cats, Loverboy and Chenuska, are in their room. I can let them out. I also have the Internet and TV and radio and telephone. Heck, I’m not isolated. Far too easy. To reach civilization. That’s the real scary part. No escape. I’ll be found. –Jim Broede

Falling asleep. With peace of mind.

Maybe I don’t even have to pursue happiness. Instead, happiness comes to me. Naturally. I was born to be happy. Even when disgruntled, I’m happy. Because my inclination is to do something about it. Rather than remain out of sorts. This supports my notion that people often find happiness in unhappiness. In not being satisfied with the status quo. For example. I become ornery when seeing politicians pull shenanigans. But then I deal with it. One way or another.  Maybe by ignoring the problem. And getting on with something positive and productive. Thereby diverting myself into the happy lane of life. Virtually every night, I go to bed happy. Even when multiple things went wrong during the day. It helps. That I’m an adept and mindful fixer. Makes me relaxed. I fall asleep. With peace of mind. –Jim Broede

My life of deprivation.

Heavy snow is on the way. Or so I’m told. By the weatherman. Up to 12 inches by Monday night.   If I had to drive to work. That would be a problem. But I’m retired. And that gives me the option of staying home. Of course, I won’t complain if the snow doesn’t arrive. And the sun shines all day. I’ll take whatever happens. And make the best of it. My intent is to spend the day shoveling the driveway. Many, many times. I could use the upper body workout.  Because my usual form of exercise is walking. Anyway, I love the change of seasons. But I’m going to deny myself the pleasure of snow and sub-zero cold. This winter. By fleeing Minnesota. In three weeks. For Sardinia, the second largest island in the Mediterranean Sea. Of course, that means I’ll have to live in deprivation – with no snow and no freezing temperatures. But hey, one can’t have everything. I’ll just have to compromise. Settling for the seaside. And life with my Italian true love. –Jim Broede

All the meaningful stuff of life.

I’m a creature of habit. Yes, routine. I like to vary my day. But still, there are rituals. That I must follow. For the sake of peace and contentment. Such as walking. About 10 miles. Daily. Even on difficult and busy days, I generally find ways. To stick to my regimen. When I fly to Italy. In three weeks. I’ll start my day. With several miles of walking. Before and after my arrival at the airport in Minneapolis. And more walking. During layovers in Amsterdam and Rome. And when arriving on the doorstep of my Italian true love. In Sardinia. I’ll go for a stroll. Of course, I also write. Daily. Mostly, at my desk. On the computer. But I also travel with a laptop. And notebooks. And pens. I have not lost the craft of handwriting. Really, it’s more scribble. Than artful penmanship. In the sixth grade, I was singled out. For the best penmanship in the class. Those days are gone. Forever. But I’m alive and conscious and walking and writing. And I'm in love. Yes, I have all the meaningful stuff of life. –Jim Broede 

We're all 'valued' winners.

Doesn’t matter if we have different values. We can still love each other. East and West. I’m told there’s a split. That certain countries. Are abandoning Western values and tilting more toward Eastern values. Goes the other way, too. Some have decided to go from East to West. Some politicians have looked at the shifting. With askance. And alarm. Especially if their side looks like the loser. In this perceived game of shifting values. I see it differently. I abhor politics. I’ve learned to like the other guy’s values almost as much as mine. I co-exist. Happily. Willingly. The East tends to live in time. The West lives in space. One favors rest. The other activity. People choose between living in and living with nature. Often, the divide comes to freedom of speech and freedom of silence. Some cherish wisdom of years. Others cherish vitality of youth. Some ask whether it’s better to honor austerity or to honor achievement. On and on the list goes. Of the values. That are supposed to divide the East and the West. As for me, I like all these values. On both sides. Doesn’t matter whether any single value is linked more to the East or more to the West. They’re all good and decent values. They all represent ways to express one’s love. Of life. No side is better than the other. We’re all ‘valued’ winners. When we learn to love. Each other. –Jim Broede

A fanciful notion.

I’m a low-life. Relatively speaking. There are higher forms of life. Than humans. Difficult,  if not impossible, for me to comprehend my superiors. It would be like a fish in the sea, trying to grasp the profundity of human life. Because we exist in different dimensions. Water versus open air. A fish can’t survive out of water. Humans can’t survive outside of an atmosphere. My superiors can exist outside of an atmosphere. In space. In a vacuum. That makes it possible for them to traverse the vast cosmos. Because my superiors are non-physical. Probably spiritual in nature.  But more fully conscious than humans. We humans, however, can take solace in being more conscious than fish. Here’s my fanciful notion. There’s an afterlife. For us all. Fish. Humans. Everyone. After death, we enter a realm that allows us to advance to the next higher level of existence. The fish can become human. The human can become spirit. And the spirit may become something beyond the spiritual. This is fine with me. After all, I have no desire to remain a mere low-life. Please, give me a higher form of life. –Jim Broede

Mere pawns...in a fabulous game.

I’m trying to figure out. How my mind works. Why does a conscious thought suddenly emerge?  Like now. It’s as if I’m on automatic pilot. Letting my mind flow. In any direction. I surrender control. But then, maybe I’ve never had control. It’s all been an illusion. I’m an automated computer. A robot. Placed on Planet Earth. By a very advanced technical civilization. That’s what we earthlings are slowly becoming. Technicians. Capable of sending automated probes to Mars. And into interstellar space.  Sending back signals. Pictures, too. Telling us what it sees. And feels. Much like a human. But I’m thinking. At the moment. That we aren’t human. Instead, no more than machines. Operating. By command. From our inventor/creator. Maybe we are the pawns. In his fabulous and entertaining game. –Jim Broede

Rather than dying young.

Maybe it’s because of medical marvels and miracles. Making us live into old age. A curse, sort of. Alzheimer’s is primarily a disease of old age. Used to be that we died. In our 50s and 60s and 70s. Of heart attacks. Strokes. Cancer. All sorts of diseases. Now we linger and linger and linger. Into our 80s and 90s. Buying us time. To experience not only more life. But dementia, too. Of course, in time. There will be prevention and cure. Progress. Then there was Methuselah. He was supposed to have lived. Not only into his 90s. But to 900 and something. Hard to believe, isn’t it?  Could be real. Could be a myth. Take your choice. Anyway, I’d rather live into very old age. And risk Alzheimer’s. Rather than dying young. –Jim Broede

I love going to bed.

I love going to bed. Going to sleep. At day’s end. When I am pleasantly tired. Maybe it’s my second favorite time. Next to waking. Refreshed. Occasionally, I doze off. At my computer. After I’ve written my Italian true love a love letter. So she’ll have it in the morning. But even when I’m with her. I’ve been known to write a love letter. I should do it more often. But then, it’s easier to commune. With spoken words. And I’m told. My spoken words sound very much like my written words. I’m in the mood to compose tonight. In my dreams. A sweet love song. Little wonder. I love going to bed. –Jim Broede

More stinker than thinker.

I’m thinking more. When alone. Than with people. Maybe it’s easier being a solitary thinker. Fewer interruptions. I sit down. At my computer. And write. Alone. The peace. The quiet. The tranquility. Spurs my thinking apparatus. Out in the woods, too. Alone. I become one with nature. That stirs thought. Of course, I think out loud. When I’m with people. It’s called thought sharing. I try to be more listener. Than talker. But can’t help thinking. Silently. How to frame my next thought.  Letting everyone know. That I can be more stinker than thinker. –Jim Broede

Please, don't send me to Texas.

I could adjust. To life. In almost any country. Russia. Iran. India. Cuba. Nigeria. China. Because I would be fascinated. By the environs. And the people. Of course, there would be language barriers. But still, I’d find ways to adapt. Interesting, isn’t it? Because there’s one place in the world where I wouldn’t want to be. Texas. The political and social climate scares me. I’ve been to Texas. Several times. Yes, I should have known better. But give me credit. I wasted no time fleeing. I’d rather be in Hell. Come to think of it, maybe Texas is Hell. The ultra-conservative U.S. senator, Ted Cruz, hails from Texas. He’s a reflection of Texas. Imagine, hordes of Texans flocking to the polls. To elect and support Cruz. Scary. Scary. Scary. I’d rather be anywhere else in the world, but Texas. –Jim Broede

Getting on with the rest of life.

My message to Alzheimer care-givers. It’s nice to muse. Sometimes about matters unrelated to Alzheimer’s.  Care-givers need diversions. Thoughts. About life. Beyond dementia. Beyond care-giving. That was my form of respite. When I was at my best. As a care-giver. After 8 or 10 hours at the nursing home, I went home. To my cocoon. And shut out care-giving and Alzheimer’s for a few hours.  Thinking about the positive wonders of life. Thinking funny things. Going for a moonlight walk. Sleeping undisturbed.  Waking. Refreshed. Anyway, that’s why. In the Alzheimer musings forum. Half the time, I don’t directly touch on care-giving and Alzheimer issues. Better to get on with the rest of life. Mostly things that make us happy. And contented. Time off. For respite.  Time to fall in love. With life. --Jim Broede

Joyous jaunts.

It’s so important, care-givers, to keep the Alzheimer-riddled physically active. Get them up. Walking. Preferably outdoors. Daily. And if they can’t walk. Put them in a wheelchair. Or in a car. Give them a sense of motion. Movement, movement and more movement. I’ve experimented with such therapy. And it works. Wonderfully. Physical exercise stimulates the mind. Really in everyone. But more importantly, it's vital for those with dementia.  My greatest dread. Isn’t dying. But lingering on without being able to go for long daily walks. To move about. To breathe fresh air. To commune with Mother Nature. That’s the way to make life a little easier. For those with Alzheimer’s.The injection of a dose of pleasure. Into a fading mind. Make me king. And I’d immediately decree that all dementia patients be given daily exercise And abundant whiffs of fresh air. Won’t be a cure for dementia. But it'll bring pleasure. A fundamental ingredient. Of the good life. I saw to it. With my dear sweet Jeanne. Especially in the last three years of her life. Put her in a wheelchair. Even in mid-winter in cold and blustery Minnesota. Wrapped in a thermal sleeping bag. And away we went. For joyous jaunts of up to 10 miles most days. Making for a better life. For Jeanne. For me. Now I do the same for my friend Ron. Always. When I visit. Ron ambles with me. On foot. Or in his wheelchair. See to it, my fellow care-givers.  Exercise and motion. On a sustained basis. Natural stimulants. For the good life. –Jim Broede

Everyone can be reached.

My friend Ron has Alzheimer’s. In advanced stage. He’s 86. And sometimes, I wonder if he would be better off dead. But not always. Because I, and others, interact with Ron. One-on-one. We bring him pleasure. By taking his arm. And strolling. In the great outdoors. Other times, I push his wheelchair. For miles and miles. Along a paved trail. In an idyllic woods. I talk to Ron. And describe what we are seeing. I can tell. Ron feels pleasure. Later, he won’t remember any of it. But for a few minutes, Ron has a sense of being alive. Ron was a brilliant scientist. Not so brilliant any more. But still, he experiences moments of calm and tranquility. I talk to Ron in a soothing voice. Touching his shoulder. Ron feels the good vibes. He knows I’m his friend. Everyone with Alzheimer’s can be reached. Even the deaf and blind lady in a nursing home. Sobbing. Sobbing. I touch her shoulder. That’s all she needs. Reassurance. Knowing that she isn't alone.  --Jim Broede

Warm comfort.

All sorts of friends. A wide variety. I have ‘em all. The most baffling. The ones that disappear. From my life. Because they are annoyed. With me. I don’t live by their lofty standards. By their bidding. I still consider them true friends. Accepting them. In an unconditional way.  Yes, friendship (and love, too) can be pursued. On a one-way street. There can be give. And no take. The other way, too. Take. And no give. I am fascinated. By the dimension of friendship (and love.)  It runs profoundly deep. I have yet to reach the bottom. Or the top. I am immersed. Maybe there is no top or bottom. Just as well. That’s sufficient. To give me warm comfort. –Jim Broede

For which I give thanks.

I’m in love. With life. But I can imagine. A time. When I may not be. So enamored. If I were dreadfully ill. It’s easy. Being in love. When one is blessed with good health. It also helps. When one lives beyond the world’s turmoil. Rather than in the midst. For which I give thanks. I’ve been mostly in the right place at the right time. But even when I’m not. I am able to cope. And survive. At the moment. I have everything. Yes, life. The good life. –Jim Broede

My 'disappointing' confession.

Disappointment. That’s a prominent word in my vocabulary. I use it often. To describe how I feel. About things. But I have learned to accept things that I can’t change. Otherwise I wouldn’t be happy. After a disappointment, I usually get on with life. Knowing, too, that there will be other setbacks. That leave me chagrined. For a while. Disappointment has always been a part of my life. Always will be. Because I have high expectations. Of people. Allow me to confess, too. Sometimes, I even disappoint myself. –Jim Broede

Despite everything.

When hearing the news last night. That Republicans have taken control of the U.S. Senate. And widened their majority in the House. My initial reaction was alarm.  Immense sadness, too. Worse yet. Fear. That the Republicans may even win the presidency in 2016. But a few hours later, I gained control. Of myself. Now I’m laughing. And cheerful. Because I refuse to be a pessimist. After all, I’m a natural born optimist. Always in pursuit of happiness. I’m putting it all in proper perspective. Ain’t a matter of death. I’ll go on living. That’s the important thing. I’ll adjust. One way or another. Did so. Even when it was death. Of my dear sweet Jeanne. From Alzheimer’s. Almost 8 years ago.  I rallied. And learned to savor life. Even more. Because there’s so much to love. Despite Alzheimer’s. Despite Republicans. Despite everything. –Jim Broede

On my own time. Forever.

Haven’t bothered turning my clocks back an hour. Puts be an hour ahead of the rest of you. I know. I know. Daylight saving time went off Sunday morning. And I’m supposed to adjust to the change. Like everyone else. Well, I have a better idea. To make life easier. Especially when running late for an appointment. I suddenly realize, it’s no big deal. Because other people are operating on the new time – an hour behind me. Therefore, I slow down. And allow others to catch up. While I proceed at a leisurely and stress-free pace. Maybe I’ll stay on my own time. Forever. –Jim Broede

The substantial zombie-vote.

Voting. I’ll do it. Today. Because I’d rather have a Democratic senator and governor. Than a Republican. But I’m not an enthusiastic voter. Never have participated in an election yet. Where my single vote made a difference. The results would have been no different. If I had stayed home. Makes me wonder. If nobody showed up at the polls on election day. A boycott. Or voter apathy. For the hell of it, I wouldn’t mind if Americans were required to vote. They do it in Australia. Don’t vote, and you get fined. It’s only a misdemeanor. Ought to be a felony. Of course, that means multitudes of poorly informed voters turn out. But that happens now. In America. Zombies are allowed to vote. Little wonder that Republicans keep winning some elections. They’ve lured the substantial zombie-vote. –Jim Broede

My favorite little idyllic niche.

I live in idyllic little niches. Isolated from the rest of the world. Away from the hustle and bustle. I do that. To avoid turmoil. In order to survive. And to be happy.  By doing pretty much as I please. I’m retired. Which means I don’t have to work. I’ve become a gentleman of leisure. For many years, I was a writer. For newspapers. Now, I write far more than when gainfully employed. But it feels different. Because I have no bosses. No editors. To put it another way. I’m my own boss, my own editor. Free. Independent. Another thing. I’m a lover. A dreamer, too. Because I choose to be. Comes naturally. Anyway, by the time December rolls around, I’ll flee Minnesota. And be off. To paradise. Sardinia, the second largest island in the Mediterranean Sea. Living with my Italian true love. For the winter. Yes, living. Life the way it should be lived. In my favorite little idyllic niche. –Jim Broede

The coming of fairness.

Can’t prove it. But I suspect. That Obama achieved far less than he expected. As president. Because he’s black. Had he been white. His agenda would have been much better received.  Obama has opponents. Mostly Republicans. Who look on him with disdain. Solely because he’s black. No, they won’t admit it. They don’t want to be tagged racist. Better to hide racism. If one can. White racists are somewhat shameful of it. Which is a good thing. But others don’t feel the least bit of shame. They believe in white supremacy. Meanwhile, the white power structure frets. More and more. As America becomes less and less white. White will soon be the minority. Hallelujah! It’s about time. Yes, time for adjustment. Time for power sharing. A racial mix is wonderful. So is the ebbing of white power. Of course, that scares the white racist element. They’ve already swung into action. Looking for devious ways to retain power. But change will come. Even if it takes a revolution. White power is on the wane. And as a white man, I’m celebrating. The coming of fairness. –Jim Broede

My gullible neighbor.

My politically conservative neighbor believes some strange tales. I told her. With a straight face. That I trained a dog. To poop daily in a certain neighbor’s yard.  Because he happens to be my political opponent –a zany conservative Republican. Turns out the neighbor believed my tongue-in-cheek story. Figuring I’d actually do something like that. ‘I’m joking,’ I declared. ‘I’m joking.’ Still, she doubted me. Knowing I’m the mischievous sort. An untrustworthy liberal and socialist sympathizer, too. Gets me little respect in my staunchly Republican neighborhood. Meanwhile, I’m wondering. If my neighbor believes that Obama is a secret Muslim. Born in Kenya.  Strange, isn’t it?  The gullibility of some conservative political zealots. –Jim Broede

No longer cursed.

Being born. Coming alive.  Once upon a time, I considered that a curse. Having learned. That some day I was destined to die. That was a big concern.  Because I wanted to live. Forever.  And it pissed me off. That I wouldn’t be granted my fervent wish.  Maybe it would have been better if I hadn’t been born. Then I wouldn’t have to fret about dying. Indeed, that’s a funny perspective. On life. Better to not have lived. But I’ve changed my mind. By falling in love. With life. Even if life doesn’t last forever. Even if. After death. There is absolute nothingness. Maybe it’s that I’ve learned to live one day at a time.  To cherish now. To savor the moment. Not to get ahead of myself. Not to worry about tomorrow. In the process, I’ve become a romantic idealist. A free-thinker, too. That’s good. When it comes to spiritual matters, I simply believe what I want to believe.  No proof necessary. Scientific, or otherwise. I hereby declare unequivocal belief in an afterlife. Makes me feel blessed and happy. No longer cursed. –Jim Broede

Good enough. For now.

I’m in love. With life. And with my Italian true love. But not with politicians. Nor with my homeland, the United States of America. Don’t know what that makes me. Maybe a little picky and choosey. And unpatriotic. Thing is. I can be in love. Without having to be in love with everything. It’s good enough that I can pursue love. And happiness. In my own inimitable way. Without having to love politicians and my country. I believe in honesty. Therefore, I admit that there are some things beyond the reach of my love. Of course, I keep an open mind. And some day I may learn to genuinely love America. But as for politicians – no way. Meanwhile, I’ll love life and my dear sweetheart. Yes, that’s good enough. For now. –Jim Broede

P.S. I like many things about America. But it ain't a love affair.

Is there a reason? For anything.

My place in the universe. Billions of galaxies.  Billions of suns. Imagine the endless possibilities of solar systems. Of Earth-like planets. Fascinating stuff. Here I am. In something  called the Milky Way galaxy. How have we figured this out? That it would take over 50,000 years, traveling at the speed of light (186,000 miles per second) to cut across our galaxy.  And here I am. Trying to grasp the significance of it all. In love. With life. Maybe that’s it. Makes me wonder. How did all this wonderful creation happen? And why am I here? At this moment. Is there a reason? For anything.  --Jim Broede