I'd like to think so.

Oh, so very, very much in this world is cruel. But still, so much to savor. Yes, I'm in love. With life. Despite the fact that my dear Jeanne died seven years ago. Of complications from Alzheimer's. We were married for 38 years. Mostly very, very good years. Maybe Alzheimer's was a price to be paid. For me experiencing true love. As I reflect now, it was a price worth paying. Yes, it might have been nicer if Jeanne had died of a heart attack or a stroke, or even cancer. Or because of an accident. Or a devastating war. Or a plague. Not sure that there is a nice way to die. I'm going to die, too. But I'm imagining a better life. Maybe as a spirit. In a non-physical realm. I'm not religious. But I'm spiritual. A romantic idealist. A free-thinker. A political liberal. A lover. A dreamer. A writer. So many ways to fall in love. With life. Despite living in a sometimes cruel world. Anyway, I'm thankful. For having love in my life. I am now living with my Italian amore. Maybe my dear Jeanne arranged all this. From whatever realm in which she's residing. I'd like to think so. --Jim Broede

Life without limits.

Yes, I want life without limits. Equal footing. Equal rights. With my creator. Is that asking too much? --Jim Broede

Tricky me.

I have tricks. That help me get through life. But I try not to trick other people. Only myself. Sounds fair, doesn't it? --Jim Broede

It's downright embarrassing.

My true love has been with me for eight idyllic days now. Today we are going to an Olympic-size swimming pool. To cavort in the water. This will arouse curiosity. Because she's a mermaid. Takes naturally to the water. At home, she swims in the Mediterranean Sea. Of course, she can choose between Minnesota's 12,000-plus lakes. But she prefers swimming laps. In a swimming pool. Seems exhaustive to me. But mermaids have special abilities and high endurance. Shes trying to teach me to float on my back. But I tend to sink. Like a rock. It's downright embarrassing. I'm not a merman.--Jim Broede

Peculiar people.

Have to admit. That I am peculiar. But that's all right. Because I want to be peculiar. I'm a bit leery of people that lack peculiar ways. I'm fascinated by the peculiar. I go out of my way to meet peculiar people. If you aren't peculiar, I probably don't want to know you. --Jim Broede

A good starting point.

I especially like to listen to strangers. People I've never met before. I want an instant impression. Right off the bat. Often, my first impression is wrong. But that's all right. It's still a good starting point. --Jim Broede

Too many obligations.

I have close friends that started out as enemies, of sort. I disliked them initially. But goes to show that I have an open mind. All this can work in reverse, too. When a friend becomes less than a friend. Maybe not an enemy. But some friendships wane. For a variety of reasons. That doesn't faze me. One can have too many friends. Too many obligations.There's a danger of being spread too thin. --Jim Broede

For my day to end happily.

Twists and turns. Life is full of 'em. Especially in baseball. Happened last night. I went from feeling low. To exuberantly high. Because the Chicago Cubs toyed with me. In an effort to break out of a three-game losing streak. The Cubs trailed the Colorado Rockies early. But the Cubs rallied with a six-run fourth inning. And added another run later. To take a 7-4 lead. Looked like the Cubs had the game all wrapped up. Until the 9th inning. When Colorado rallied and took an 8-7 lead. I was depressed. But with two outs in the ninth inning, and a runner on base, the Cubs got a home run. And won the game 9-8. Lifting my spirits sky high. Yes, that's all it takes. For my day to end happily.  --Jim Broede

Life was meant to be savored.

I have plenty of stuff to lament about. Things that have gone wrong in my life. But hey, far more has gone right than wrong. So that's what I focus on. Because lamenting is mostly a waste of time. Better to relish life. My dear sweet wife Jeanne died in 2008. After a 13-year bout with Alzheimer's. I lamented the loss. For a while. But then I got on with what Jeanne would have had me do. Fell in love again. With my Italian amore. Yes, it's better to celebrate life. If one has to lament, let it be for relatively short periods. Life was meant to be savored. Not lamented. --Jim Broede

A good and well-written story.

No doubt about it. Sometimes I know. Beyond a doubt. About what's to happen next. Because I've lived the exact same moment before.  It's an amazing sense. Knowing that I've been here before. The same time. The same place. Once upon a time. That scared me. But no more. Proof. That I have an eternal life. I will go on. Forever and ever. Locked into the same routine. The same regimen. A little like reading the same book. The same novel. Which ain't bad. As long as it's a good and well-written story. --Jim Broede

The same everything.

I wonder. If I've already lived my future. Life merely being a re-run. Of what has happened. Over and  over. Eternal recurrence. Maybe that ain't bad. Because then I could wonder. About what to do different. A way to salvage. The rest of my life. So that I would be satisfied. And happy. After becoming aware. That I have to live. Over and over again. Endlessly. The same scenario. The same everything. --Jim Broede

       

Mountain climbing on Pluto.

Maybe I can learn. Ways. To prevent growing old. By pretending to be young. In convincing manner. Actually believing my lies. I do that now. By imagining what it must be like to be spirit. Free of physical limits.  No body aches and pains. I wonder. About spiritual pain. What it must feel like. Probably I can  handle spiritual pain far better/easier than physical pain. By moving about. Unimpeded. Able to travel. To peaceful and tranquil environs.  Into the sea. On to a mountain top.  Or floating on a passing cloud. Or yes, all the way to another planet. Another galaxy. Maybe I can hop aboard. That space probe. That soared past Pluto. And sent back pictures. Of 11,000-foot high mountains of ice. Yes, as spirit, I could go mountain-climbing. On Pluto. Indeed, a way to feel youthful and adventurous.  --Jim Broede

       

Surviving a sweaty night.

Maybe it's because we are from different parts of the world. When it comes to the weather, my Italian amore can withstand all sorts of heat. But when it turns the least bit cold, she's a basket case. Goes nuts. On the other hand, I detest hot times. And have no trouble adapting to an arctic blast and cold, cold winters. I suspect it's how we were acclimated to weather. She on the balmy island of Sardinia in the Mediterranean Sea. Where she has seen snow only once in a lifetime. Meanwhile, I'm located in Minnesota. Where I'm subjected to sub-zero temperatures in the fall, winter and spring. With a possibility of frost before the end of summer. My amore has yet to experience Minnesota in winter. And she may never. Out of fear and common sense. I'm a more brave and accommodating soul. We traveled together. In Trieste. In the middle of a hellish heat wave. In a hotel room without functioning air-conditioning. Albeit, there was a ceiling fan. But we didn't use it. For two reasons. It was noisy and might hamper sleep. Plus the increased risk of catching a cold from a fan draft. But hey, I have no complaint. Because my amore was happy. And I survived the sweaty night. --Jim Broede

Time for more empathy.

I'm discovering. Slowly and surely. That there's no easy solution. To my friend Julie's mental illness. Depression and grieving. And all the other hang-ups that run deep.  They aren't easily uprooted and treated. Not so simple. For Julie to get well again.  She'll probably need psychotherapy and other kinds of treatment. For many years. Maybe for the rest of her life. I was a fool. To think that all Julie needed. Was a commitment. To quit drinking. To excess.  Maybe she will. Some day. But Julie has a gamut of serious psychological problems to address. Fortunately, she's making a gallant attempt. But it's going to take some luck, too. Or maybe even divine intervention. Anyway, I'm through calling Julie a semi-friend. She's a real friend. In dire need. And I'll stick by her. No matter what. Indeed, I have been too hard on Julie. It's time that I showed more empathy. --Jim Broede

In an upbeat mood.

When I'm unhappy. Over virtually anything. I sit down at my computer. And write. About putting life in proper perspective. Which means. Finding thoughts. That make me happy. Very simple. I refuse to let the negative feelings of life get me down.  Instead, I find ample reason to be happy. Despite everything. For instance, earlier today, the Chicago Cubs blew a lead in the 9th inning. And went on to lose in extra innings. That made me unhappy. So I pondered how silly it was to be unhappy over such a relatively trivial matter. And I automatically became happy again. So easy. That's all it took. There's a solution. For even the most serious of unhappy thoughts. Such as my death. Some day. I don't let it bother me. Because I imagine surviving. As a happy-go-lucky spirit. No longer shackled by a physical body. Puts me in an upbeat mood. Immediately. --Jim Broede

Overcoming our annoyances.

Yes, my amore will do things. That annoy me. Occasionally. But that's all right. I don't mind. Because she's merely being herself. That's what I want her to be. I can put up with annoyance. Because I truly love her. And accept her. Exactly as she is. I have no desire to change her.  Go ahead. Annoy me. If that's being herself, I tell her. Chances are, I annoy her, too. Occasionally. And she seems to put up with it. I'm beginning to think. That we are a perfect match. We both can be ourselves. In each others' company. We know how to overcome our annoyances. --Jim Broede

Very sure.

I have one living true friend. My Italian amore. Of course, I've had other true friends in the course of my life. But they've passed on.  Though I am still connected to their spirits.  I accept my true friends unconditionally.  They could do stuff of which I disapprove. But that doesn't matter. I accept them. And I suspect that they pretty much accept me. Without reservations. I have numerous other friends. But they don't quite fit into the 'true' category. They are my friends. With conditions attached. I'd probably stick by them in difficult times. Yes, maybe. Not for sure. But I am very sure of my amore. I trust her. Totally. Indeed, that's a nice feeling. --Jim Broede

My fine bungling.

I arrived late. When picking up my Italian amore. At the airport. Because I was overwhelmingly busy.  Preparing the house and stuff. Especially for her.  Sorry to say, I could have done a better job of it. She brings out my drive/quest  for perfection.  Won't ever achieve it. But hey, doesn't hurt to try. Just for kicks. Anyway, she probably isn't noticing all of my fine bungling. Because she's tired. There's a 7-hour time difference. She arrived here at 7 p.m. Which is 2 a.m. the next day in Italy. --Jim Broede

A peculiar way.

My Italian amore has arrived. Here in Minnesota. For most of the rest of summer.  Until she has to return. To Sardinia. Where she teaches English and English literature. Of course, she tries to teach me, too. Italian. Unfortunately, I'm a relatively slow learner. And I speak with a heavy American accent.  Though I have mastered 'ciao.' Without an accent. She tells me I could pass for Italian. If I only used the word 'ciao.' Anyway, she speaks English with a lovely, lilting accent. She also speaks Italian with a Sardinian accent.  Or so I'm told. I can't differentiate between any of the regional accents in Italy. It all sounds like plain Italian to me. Seems that everyone has an accent of one kind or another. No matter the language. Apparently, I have a distinctive voice modulation and way of talking. I rarely have to identify myself. Even when calling someone I haven't talked to in 10 years. Maybe it has something to do with my extraordinary big mouth. Actually, I have a peculiar way of writing, too. --Jim Broede

The lost art of listening.

Listening. That's the important first step. In communicating with each other. We carry on monologues. Rather than dialogues.  We don't listen to what others are saying.  I'm guilty, too often. I should be a much better listener. Doesn't matter if I'm a good talker. Or a good writer. Better to be a good listener.  First and foremost. Of course, I'm often dealing with bad listeners. But still, I have an obligation to listen. Even to incoherent thoughts. And only then find a way to cultivate a true dialogue. It's up to me. To take the initiative. By giving everyone the courtesy of being listened to. --Jim Broede

       

Good for my morale.

The Cubs lost last night. By a score of 5-4. That's all I want to know. Not the details. About how the Cubs lost. Because if they blew the game. After leading in the late innings.  I'd be bothered. And have difficulty falling asleep. So I won't check how the loss occurred. At least for several days. When the Cubs win. I always check the details. Immediately.  It's good for my morale. --Jim Broede

       

Saying 'no' can be a solution.

I have two friends. Trying to exceed their capabilities. By doing too much. For instance, one of 'em tries to grossly exceed her care-giving limits. And thereby works to exhaustion.  Mentally and physically. She never learned to pace herself. Or to get assistance. Another friend doesn't know how to say 'no.' And therefore ends up doing stuff she'd rather not do. Indeed, this is perplexing. All she needs do is say 'no.' --Jim Broede

       

Doing what I can do.

I always have more to do. Than time to do. But really, that doesn't bother me. Because I am doing something. And that's far better than doing nothing. I follow my instincts. In deciding what to do today and every day. Of course, not everything gets done. But there's tomorrow and next week and next month. And I will do what I can do. --Jim Broede

Don't give me the easy life.

I like my life. Makes me wonder how many people dislike their lives. And what, if anything, they plan to do about it. Even when things are going awry.  I really can't complain. Because most of the time things are going smoothly. Furthermore, I'm able to cope with personal setbacks and disappointments. All the more reason for me to like life. Gives me a sense of satisfaction when I solve a problem. Life is a challenge. And that's what I need. Challenges. I don't want life to be too easy. --Jim Broede

So be it.

To tell the truth, I'd rather be a care-giver. Than the guy riddled with dementia. Ain't easy being a care-giver. But far easier than being saddled with Alzheimer's. I spent 13 years tending to my dear sweet Jeanne. My wife for 38 years. We went through some very difficult times. More difficult for Jeanne. Than for me.  But still. Upon reflection. It wasn't all that bad. We had many, many good years together.  And there could have been a fate far worse than Alzheimer's. I could have never met Jeanne. If Alzheimer's was the price for true love, so be it. --Jim Broede

Nice. Nice. Nice. Love. Love. Love.

Life is good. Even when stuff goes wrong. It's still good. The difference, of course, is that one adapts to the life flow quite well. When in love. It's easier making the best of every situation. Years ago, when my dear sweet wife Jeanne had Alzheimer's. I had difficulty adjusting. Until reminding myself that I was in love with Jeanne. Now Jeanne is gone. But I've gotten on with life. And the pursuit of love. Nice. Nice. Nice. Just the way that Jeanne would have it. --Jim Broede

Good enough for me.

Be careful about getting too far ahead of one's self. That's what I keep muttering. When I start thinking about what might go wrong.  Better to deal with the moment. Though acknowledging that forethought can prevent trouble. But generally, it's wise to savor the moment. To be absorbed in the immediate event. If I get way, way ahead of myself, I ultimately end up being dead. I won't last forever. None of us do. The other day, Courtney, on the Alzheimer's message boards, lamented that she was losing her mother. To dementia. She was thinking about the future. When her mother would be gone. Courtney needs to remind herself. That her mother is still alive and reasonably well. With it. So focus on that. Eventually, everyone living on Planet Earth today will be long gone. So what? I'm here now. That's good enough for me. --Jim Broede

A Marshall Plan for the Greeks.

The Greeks deserve better. Than being relegated to a long, long life of austerity. There must be a better way of coping with a bereft economy. Perhaps more spending. In order to invigorate the Greek economy. So that it'll be an easier and more humane way to get the Greeks back on their feet again. The Germans say no. That the Greeks are responsible for their plight. And they should pay the piper. For not being as clever and frugal as the Germans. Ironic, isn't it?  When the Germans were defeated and beleaguered after World War II, they were bailed out. By the Marshall Plan. So much better than austerity. In essence, that's what the Greeks need.  A Marshall Plan, of sorts. Maybe instigated by the Germans. --Jim Broede

Never being in harm's way.

Nothing stops me from living an imaginary life. Even if it's not real. I can still pretend that it is. Similar to writing a work of fiction. A novel. Except, I'm allowed to live my imagined novel. As the protagonist.  Calling the shots. I choose to be a spirit. A non-physical being. Capable of going anywhere in the cosmos. I was a stowaway on the spacecraft that just zipped past the dwarf planet Pluto.  Yes, I really was aboard. In spirit form. It was an easy trip. Of 10 years. Not the least bit tiring. Because I didn't have to worry about any physical wear and tear. That's the primary advantage of being a spirit. Never being in harm's way. --Jim Broede

What is a true friend?

I have a friend. Allegedly lacking self-control. Seems like she can't resist taking a drink. Imbibing in alcoholic beverages. To excess. But I argue that she can take control. Others have done it. So can she. Therefore, I am tempted to give my friend an ultimatum. Stop drinking. Or lose my friendship. I leave no room for forgiveness. Makes me wonder. If I'm a true friend. If I don't forgive my friend's transgressions.  --Jim Broede

My conditions.

Friends. Friends. It’s not always easy having friends. Sometimes it’s easier dealing with an enemy. Than a friend. Particularly a friend that leaves me disappointed. Time after time. I expect to be disappointed in an enemy. But not in a friend. So when it happens, I am chagrined. Very, very disappointed. I’m supposed to stick by a friend. Even in the worst of times. But I can’t do it in this instance. Unless the friend acquiesces and meets my conditions for a sustaining friendship. --Jim Broede

Ignorant and happy.

I am fully able. To shut out the world. For a few hours. Or even for a day or two. A period of solitude. And sometimes I wonder. If I should try to live in solitude. For weeks or months or years. I'd probably be able to adjust to such a life. I'd probably find it comforting. Instead, I settle for a few hours of solitude. Here and there. And then return to the world. Even though my world is relatively small. And isolated.  Whether it be in Minnesota. Or in Sardinia. I try to live off the beaten track. Away from crowds. In quiet environs. I keep track of world events. Through the media. But I could easily choose to ignore the news. And cloister myself. Away from the rest of the world. Ignorant and happy. Maybe even in a state of bliss. --Jim Broede

The unencumbered spiritual journey.

My heroes. May well be ones willing to go on a suicide mission. To the planet Mars. Knowing that they would never return. Once on Mars, they would perish. But for them, that would be a price worth paying. For the sense of adventure. A sense of accomplishment. For setting foot on another planet. I'd not volunteer. Because I prefer waiting. Until the day I become a spirit. And can move about. Anywhere in the cosmos. Without boarding a space ship. I'll be ready for the unencumbered spiritual journey. --Jim Broede

Making the difference.

Attitude. Makes the difference. I have the attitude of a dreamer. Which makes everything possible. Because I create a dream world. I'm told by skeptics that dreams are dreams. Less than real. But I know better. When I dream. I am immersed. In my own reality. That's good enough for me. I have no need to share my dream reality with others. I merely shut out the rest of the world. And thrive. In my own paradise. Like the creator himself. --Jim Broede

Tell me if I'm wrong.

I have no problem. With world leaders. Striking an agreement. With Iran. To curb nuclear plans. And lifting sanctions. Because I'm instinctively trusting the Iranians. To be honorable. And to do the right thing. Yes, at some point. One must put faith and trust in one's adversaries.  That's certainly better than going to war. I'm for diplomacy. For talking to each other.  Personally, I like Iranians more than I like the American Republican Party. I would put far more faith and trust in Iranians than in Republicans. Who have pledged to kill the pact with the Iranians. Of course, I'm for diplomatic talks with Republicans. To try to sway them to a more conciliatory  position. But I have practically zero faith and trust in Republicans doing the right and honorable thing. Tell me if I'm wrong. --Jim Broede

My advice to Julie: Be honest.

My friend Julie amuses me. Because she goes out of her way to please people. Meanwhile, I have no qualms about displeasing people. Even some of my best friends. I was brought up. To please people. Particularly my parents. And teachers. But somewhere along the line, I began to rebel against pleasing everyone. I decided to be my own man. My true self. And that meant that I had to take umbrage with people.  Nowadays, I'm taking sharp issue with Julie.  For being too nice. Too pleasing. Too accommodating. I encourage Julie to tell off some of her friends. Because they deserve to be chastised. Be honest with them, I plead. Even if that means telling the likes of me to go to hell. --Jim Broede

Yes, I'm a party-pooper.

There's a move afoot. To throw a big birthday party for my Alzheimer-riddled friend Ron.  That's an absurd idea. Promoted by Ron's daughter Julie. I tell Julie that Ron doesn't need a gala party. He'll be confused by all the folderol. And may not even know it's his birthday. The last thing Ron needs is to be confused by well-wishing, well-meaning but inept  party-goers. Instead, Ron needs one-on-one stimulation. Mentally and physically.  Only a handful of elite friends know how to treat and stimulate Ron. During his birthday week, it'd be better if they visit Ron. One at a time. That would make for a meaningful birthday celebration. Yes, I'm a party-pooper. For Ron's sake. --Jim Broede

       

Life: An end or a continuum.

I'd love to have conversations. With my dead parents. So that I could learn. More about what made them tick. Maybe it's never too late.  That is. If they are still living. As spirits. That would be a nice format for life. To be able. Some day. To commune. In a spiritual realm. Able to ask questions. That I never asked. When they were living. Chances are. If I had asked. They might not have answered. Because it was too personal. But really, that's what life should be. A sharing of the very personal. Otherwise, we don't get to know each other. I have many friends and acquaintances that I probably barely know. Because they hide behind masks. Anyway, my father reached the point of not wanting to live. He committed suicide. A long time ago. When I was only 13. He was 38. I'd ask him. What were you feeling? On that last day? What put you over the edge?  And did you live reasonably happy most of your life? If so, what went wrong? As for my mother. She lived to 88. And I suspect she wanted to die. Because she despised the infirmities of old age. Didn't want to be a burden. So she surrendered. Simply decided it was time to die. After a reasonably happy life. Don't know if mom or dad had any inkling. That maybe death was a new beginning. Sort of a continuation of life. In a different form. --Jim Broede

Living life without regrets.

I tell my Italian amore. That it's very important. To live long enough. To retire. She's a teacher. Of English and English literature. Yes, a nice pastime. But still, it's work.  She reports. For work. Five days a week. She prepares lesson plans. And she has to put up with the politics and the bureaucracy of the Italian educational system. Ain't easy. Yes, there's some pleasure. But it's work, too. Sad. That not everyone lives long  enough to experience retirement. Used to be that I envied people younger than me. But not so much any more. Better to be old enough to retire. I'm busier. More occupied. But it's mostly pleasure. Living life the way it should be lived. At a relatively leisurely pace. Wasn't sure that I would enjoy retirement. Thought I might miss the work-a-day world.  But I have no regrets. Imagine that. Finding a way. To live life without regrets. --Jim Broede

Clear and fluid consciousness.

Fantastic. Incredible. Amazing. Beyond explanation. The fact that I'm alive. Conscious. Aware of my existence. Don't always stop to ponder this. But I should. More often than I do. In an effort to find meaning. To life. As I know it. In the beginning, I never asked. Why am I here?  And does there have to be a reason? Do I need a purpose? Especially if this is my one and only life? Makes me wonder if I always am. Living forever. With only intermittent instances of consciousness. Yes, maybe one needs prolonged breaks. From thinking. From consciousness. Sleep. Sleep. Restful sleep. A vital part of clear and fluid consciousness. --Jim Broede

The world's most greedy Cubs fan.

Greedy. Yes, I get greedy. In little ways. But meaningful and selfish ways. For me. In order to make me feel good. No finer example. Than the way I deal with the Chicago Cubs. The professional baseball team. That I've been addicted to. Since childhood. Of course, I want the Cubs to win. Always. But no baseball team that plays a 162-game schedule does that. Baseball teams have ups and downs. Teams win some. Lose some. It's a long season. I have no influence on whether the Cubs win or lose. Therefore, I should learn acceptance. Taking every loss, gracefully. Without bother or anguish. But I don't do that. Because I'm greedy. I want the Cubs to win, win, win. And when the Cubs lose in a particularly difficult way. It's upsetting. I become angry at the baseball gods. I bemoan the fact that the gods don't serve me. My every whim and wish.  I shout to Valhalla. Give the Cubs more wins. Catapult the Cubs into the World Series. Yes, as a Cubs fan, I'm greedy. I want everything. Nothing less than a world championship. And then I may not settle for that. I'll ask for a second, third and fourth repeat performance. Let's face it. I am the world's most greedy Cubs fan. Proud of it, too. --Jim Broede

Fact is. There's no hurry.

I'm satisfied. Maybe complacent. But reasonably happy. Of course, things could be better. But I have today. No guarantees of a tomorrow. But I like my chances.  Of seeing tomorrow. And next week and next month and next year. Therefore, I don't fret. Yes, I'm satisfied. With having today. I'll take what I have. And savor it. That's better than wishing for more. I can do that at another time.  Fact is. There's no hurry.  I like taking my time. On my journey through life. --Jim Broede

Yes, that's my fervent wish.

Wishful thinking. Don't sell it short. I use my imagination. Daily. To wish. To become a spirit some day. Free of physical limitations. Sure, my wish may be preposterous. And may never come true. But hey, that won't stop me from dreaming. From imagining. From wishing. The seemingly impossible. Because deep down, I truly believe. That anything imaginable is possible. Doesn't matter if it ultimately proves to be impossible. I refuse to rule out the probability. I want to be a body-less spirit. Fully alive and conscious. Capable of moving about. In the physical world. Without limitations. Able to go anywhere. To other planets. To other galaxies. And able to commune with other spirits. Yes, that's my fervent wish. --Jim Broede

For no reason at all.

When I'm unhappy, it's usually only momentarily.  Because I reflect on the cause of my unhappiness. And nine times out of 10, it's for trivial and nonsensical reasons. Therefore, it would be absurd to remain unhappy. I'm also capable of being happy for trivial and nonsensical reasons. But that's acceptable. Doesn't bother me one bit. I'm willing to be happy for no reason at all. --Jim Broede

One can be happily unhappy.

I have a happy imagination. Maybe that's the secret to happiness. Very, very easy for me to imagine being happy. Therefore, I am happy. Of course, I'm also capable of imagining being unhappy. But I find that very difficult. It's a strain. Hard work. A task. So I decide to take the easy alternative. Telling myself that I was born to be happy.  And in love. With life. Maybe others were born to be unhappy. And for them, that comes easy. Natural. To be forlorn and morose. Makes one wonder if that's an unusual but legitimate form of happiness. After all, they are being their true selves. Yes, I can imagine everyone being happy. In unique and upsidedown ways.  Think about it. One can be happily unhappy.  --Jim Broede

To Pluto and beyond.

I'm convinced. There's life on the semi-planet Pluto. Not physical life. But spirits. That visit the distant place. Because spirits have the ability to move about. In the entire cosmos. In all of creation. That's the advantage of being a non-physical being.  One can move great distances. In an instant. Far faster than the speed of light. We physical beings are severely limited. Shackled in space. Of course, we've been able to send a space probe to Pluto. It's about to arrive. After a 7 year journey. Indeed, that's fascinating. The craft will send back pictures.  Of an icy and bereft planet. But we won't be able to see any of the inhabitants. Spirits can't be seen. Just as well. It's one way of escaping harm. And living in otherwise hostile conditions. Yes, give me the spiritual life. So that I can venture to Pluto and beyond. --Jim Broede

Unconditional status.

Wonder. Wonder. If I should be castigated. For writing off certain friends. If they don't comply with my wishes. To be happy. To fall in love with life.  I do it only with friends capable of falling in love. But don't. Because they are stubborn. I did it. With my own sister. For many years.  Until she gave up drinking and smoking. She finally met my terms. Not because I said she had to. But because she really wanted to fall in love with life once again. Of course, if I thought she wasn't capable of getting out of  her doldrums. It would have been a different situation. I'd probably have stuck by her. Anyway, she's my upstanding, good-standing sister again. Has been for 10 years now. Back in the family. Back in the fold. She knows how I operate. By establishing conditions of friendship. Not with everyone. But with a certain few. I would never have done that with Jeanne. During her 13-year bout with Alzheimer's. She was my unconditional love. For an entire lifetime. The same goes for my Italian amore. She's in solid. An elite.  With unconditional status. --Jim Broede

Show stoppers. One and all.

I see the funny side of life. No doubt about it. That may be our saving grace. The world is full of comedians. That don't know they are comedians. That gives me fresh material. For my stand-up comic schtick. I steal what I see. That's why it's easy for me to get on stage. Without a script. All I have to do. Is call attention to the audience. The people around me. They are hilarious.  Take the aspirants for the Republican nomination for president, for instance. Have you ever seen a more rollicking funny lot? They are show stoppers. All I have to do is react. To them. So funny. Endless funny. Yes, life is so very funny. Little wonder. We have comedians everywhere. The creator created a company of comedians. For his own entertainment. --Jim Broede

       

The way it is.

I more or less abandoned my good friend Julie for a while. Because I couldn't stand her constant emitting of bad vibes. Day in and day out. Every time I saw her. Bad vibes. Of course, I should have been more understanding.  After all, she was in depression. And exacerbated the depression by drinking wine. To excess.  And she rebuffed pleas from me and others to get help. So I declared, enough, enough, enough. That at the very most, she was merely a semi-friend. I hated to do that. But that's the kind of guy I am. A cad. A man capable of behaving crudely and irresponsibly toward bad-vibe-emitting women. On the other hand, I adore women who emit good vibes, such as my Italian amore. That's just the way it is. --Jim Broede

A waste of time.

Really, I see no valid reason to count the years. Life is life. Age doesn't and shouldn't matter. One should live in a way. That makes time become insignificant. I am at my happiest and blissful best when losing track of time. Why do we count the years? Only to mark time. And that's a waste of time. --Jim Broede

       

The ability to cavort.

Appreciating little things. That's what I try to do. Daily. Cavorting, for instance. With my fellow human beings. Especially my Italian amore. That's one of her attractions. She comes to cavorting naturally.  Such a lovely trait. The ability to cavort. --Jim

Welcome back, Julie.

My semi-friend Julie has graduated. From a two-week stay in a hospital. And she seems to be on the road to happiness. Yes, a dramatic change in her demeanor. Because she's received physical and psychotherapy. For depression. And for a drinking problem.  That means I'm treating Julie as a real true blue friend again. She's started to meet my qualifications/conditions for friendship. That's good enough for me. Welcome back, Julie. Into the realm of the truly living and loving beings. --Jim Broede

       

Come to me...for happiness.

Maybe we need happiness clinics. Where people go. To learn how to be happy. Seems to me that happiness is a craft. Maybe even an art. That can be taught. I encounter so very many unhappy people. And as an observer, I often see many reasons why they should be happy. But they aren't. They aren't necessarily in a depressed state. They get on with life. But in relatively unhappy ways. So much better if they actively pursued happiness.  And they don't. Maybe for some odd reason. Maybe some day I'll establish a happiness clinic. I'll get a medical degree. And happiness will be my specialty. I'll advertise. Come to me if you want to learn to be happy. --Jim Broede

No sense in staying unhappy forever.

Once upon a time, I found many reasons to be unhappy. Merely took something going awry. Even the outcome of a Chicago Cubs baseball game. Or a flat tire. Or catching a cold.  I stewed over this sort of stuff. Put me in a bad mood. Letting  it ruin my otherwise happy day. I focused on what went wrong. Rather than the many things that went right. Didn’t stop to count my blessings. Because I was busy trivializing. Over an event over which I had virtually no control. Of course, it wasn’t trivial when by wife Jeanne died of complications from Alzheimer’s. In 2008. I grieved. But I survived. Got over it. And got on with the main mission in my life. The pursuit of happiness. No matter what happens. No sense in staying unhappy forever. --Jim Broede

Can't live without my happiness 'fix'

Too many unhappy people. It's sad. That they don't find happiness. I try to be kind. And understanding. To the ones I know. Some intimately. But I seldom lament. For them. Because I don't like to lament. After all, lamenting is an expression of sadness. And I try to avoid being sad. Of course, it doesn't always work. I have my sad moments. But generally, I get on with the pursuit of happiness. And the positive aspects of my life.  I occasionally write off a friend that refuses treatment for deep depression.  Because I don't want to watch his/her ever-worsening condition. Better to have a few pangs of conscience. Rather than watch a human tragedy. Happiness. Happiness. Oh, grand and glorious happiness. I often have the power and wherewithal to choose. Between thoughts of happiness and sadness. To tell the truth, I'm addicted. I need my happiness fix. Daily. I can't live without it. --Jim Broede

A deal...for an extended lifetime.

I'd like to live to the ripe age of 200. And still feel young. And healthy. I'd probably come out of retirement. And continue to be a writer. Maybe of fiction. I'd write a story. About a guy that lives to 300. Of course, I'd become a celebrity. I'd be famous. As the world's oldest living man. People would ask for my autograph. And I'd be interviewed. And asked to what I attribute my longevity. Probably my positive attitude. Plus a pact with the devil. Currently, I'm trying to negotiate a deal...for an extended lifetime. --Jim Broede

Pursuing her mission.

When I was a care-giver. Jeanne was my teacher. Indeed, an incredible feat. When I was doing things right, Jeanne responded. With good vibes. In essence, she was telling me. Treat me kindly. And lovingly.  Yes, she taught me. What I now call good vibes therapy. I listened. To dear sweet Jeanne. A natural born teacher. Pursuing her mission. Even when shackled with Alzheimer's. --Jim Broede

The natural elements of life.

As I see it, one has to learn to face the perils of life. By seeing it all as an adventure. Often with romantic overtones. That even goes for thunderstorms. Of course, there's a heightened chance of being struck by lightening. But it's worth the risk. To feel the brunt of a storm. Getting soaking wet. On a warm summer day. Even when Alzheimer-riddled Jeanne was confined to a wheelchair. We romped together. Never allowing the blustery conditions deter us. Jeanne sipped the rainwater dripping off the tip of her nose to welcoming lips and tongue. Unafraid. Able to savor the natural elements of life. Smiling all the way. --Jim Broede

Setting a good example.

Friend Julie's dog Sasha is a scaredy cat. Afraid of thunder, gun shots, fireworks and firecrackers. Therefore, the raucous Fourth of July holiday isn't her favorite. She'd rather stay in and celebrate by hiding under a bed or in a shower stall. But  I don't take 'no' for an answer. Trying instead to shame a cowardly dog. Sasha went out for her daily walks. Despite the fear and trepidation. I literally dragged her out. In a rigid sitting position. And told her. It's time to face life. With courage.  Sasha reluctantly agreed. Setting a good example for her beloved Julie. --Jim Broede

The good vibes difference.

I'd rather not be an Alzheimer care-giver. But that didn't stop me from learning to enjoy such a pastime. Making the most and best of it. When the patient was my dear sweet wife Jeanne. I confess, however,  that things didn't go well at the start. Especially during my tenure as a 24/7 care-giver. No surprise. After all, I wasn't taking care of myself. I became mentally and emotionally and physically exhausted. Causing me to exude bad vibes. Daily. With negative effects on Jeanne. But when Jeanne was placed in a nursing home for the last 38 months of her life,  I became a remarkably proficient care-giver. The provider of dazzling one-on-one supplemental care for Jeanne. There I was. With Jeanne. For eight to 10 hours every day. Allowing me to go home every night. For vital respite. So that I was mentally and physically ready to tackle the next day of care-giving. With emphasis on good vibes therapy. Yes, I finally learned to enjoy and savor my role as care-giver. Jeanne understood. She sensed it. And responded positively. The good vibes made the difference.  --Jim Broede

Settling for being near-perfect.

I'm an all-too-typical American. Wishing everyone spoke my language. English. Because that's the only language in which I am reasonably conversant. Of course, if I were a not-so-typical American, I would be speaking multiple languages. Maybe French and German and Italian and Spanish. That would be a good start. Perhaps followed by Chinese and Russian. I'm ashamed of myself. Having never become fluent in any language other than English. Fortunately, I'm acquainted with a fair number of English-speaking nationals from other countries. Indeed, that's an advantage. And a blessing. My Italian amore speaks beautiful English. With a charming accent. Anyway, I confess. I'm a failure. When it comes to mastery of other languages. But hey, I don't dwell on it. And don't really feel guilty. Because I can't be a master of everything. I'll just have to settle for being near-perfect. --Jim Broede

Curious people.

I'm in search. Of people. Who want to hear what I have to say. Yes, curious people. If you aren't curious. That's fine and dandy. That's your choice. I compel nobody to be curious. Go your way. I want to lure the elite. The magnificent. The incurably curious. The rest of you I don't care about. Because I can't be everything to everyone. I pick and choose my friends. My true compatriots. That's the way it is. Meanwhile, don't get me wrong. I'm a good listener. Because I'm naturally curious. About why some people aren't curious. I seek answers. And explanations about virtually everything. Even if I have to make it up. --Jim Broede

To satisfy my appetite.

I am preoccupied with writing. Have been. For a long, long time.  Don't know whether that's a good or bad thing. Maybe it doesn't matter. But it's probably good. From my perspective. Because writing helps me to relax.  It's pleasure. Enjoyment. Because I write whatever comes to mind. Might call it a form of  psychotherapy. A release. Getting to the heart of  my soul. A way of talking to myself. Honestly. Or in a way that makes me feel good. Perhaps I lie to myself.  So that I can pretend. Being anything. Anyone. That's what I'm doing now. Just before dawn. In the middle of my night. I get up. After a few hours of restless sleep. And shuffle to my computer. To write this. A reflection of my mind. Maybe this sounds crazy. But that doesn't matter.  Because crazy feels good. I'm going to take a break. And go to the kitchen. To fetch a raspberry croissant. And a glass of milk.  To satisfy my appetite. --Jim Broede

       

The predominant American way.

Funny thing about being 'retired.' I'm more active and rambunctious than before so-called retirement. I used to write for newspapers. Now I'm writing more. But it isn't work anymore. Now I write strictly for pleasure.  Writing what I want to write. Without nudging from a boss or an editor. I used to write for money. To make a living. Now I have social security and a pension. And that pretty much gets me by. Of course, I could still work. If I wanted to. As an employed writer. But why do that? When I don't need to. I have friends and acquaintances. With a primary goal/mission to make money.  They never have enough. They seek more and more and more. A few of them are having a good time. Making money. That's their source of pleasure and fulfillment.  But some of 'em are working themselves to physical and mental exhaustion. Maybe to death. When they don't have to. Because they already have more than enough money. To live comfortably. For the rest of their lives. But still, they crave for more money and material stuff. That's their religion. They worship money. Makes me wonder. If that has become the predominant American way. --Jim Broede

In the grand scheme of life.

Fantastic. Just being alive. And aware. That I exist. At this very moment. Yes, it's fantastic. But even more fantastic. I may be a form of lower life. Most likely. There's far more intelligent and perceptive life existing now.  All around me. But I'm unable to perceive it. Because I'm relatively stupid. And ill-equipped physically and mentally to grasp life in a fourth, fifth or sixth dimension. But I still find solace. In my beloved pet cat Loverboy. Because I'm smarter than him. I can outfox him. Because he's a mere cat. He can't even look in a mirror. And tell me that reflection is really him. He's not smart enough to know. That he's a fantastic form of life.  At least, I know. I'm fantastic. And a low-life, too. In the grand scheme of life. --Jim Broede

My recommendation.

We all climb out of a womb. And begin to wake up. In a physical world. And hardly have an idea of what to do next. No conscious idea. Of what we have to do. In order to survive. Survival isn't yet a conscious thought. Fortunately, we soon discover. That we have a care-giver or two. Guiding us. Abiding by us. As for me, I'm still trying to make sense of it all. I'm far more aware of my existence than when first arriving on Mother Earth.  In fact, maybe that's the greatest discovery of all. That I'm residing in a vast cosmos. Composed of billions of galaxies.  In limitless space. Whether this is real or imagined, Hard to say. People called theologians tell me this was all created. By a god. Maybe even by a one and only god.  And that I should be grateful. And bow down and worship this creator. But I don't. Instead, I worship the life force. The fact that I am alive and conscious. Aware. That I'm on a journey. Of discovery. And alas, the most thrilling discovery of all. The ability to fall in love. With life. With someone.  Of course, my vivid imagination has a lot to do with it. I have unshackled my imagination. In order to be happy. I highly recommend this approach to life. For everyone. --Jim Broede

Let's hope. For Julie's sake.

I blame me. And everyone close to Julie. Her friends and associates. Even her de facto husband, Rick. For not forcing Julie into treatment. Long, long ago. For depression. And alcoholism. Wasn't until Rick came home from a business trip. That he discovered Julie. In a pool of blood. After she had fallen. In the bathroom. And gashed the back of her head. Wasn't a pretty sight. We all should have seen this coming. Fortunately, this latest calamity may turn out to be a blessing. Because it finally brought Julie into an emergency room. For treatment. She's been in the hospital for nine days, and counting. And she may be in a rehab center for months. For much-needed and long overdue medical treatment and psychotherapy. Julie came within a whisker of dying. After having lost lots of blood.  I'll spare you many of the gruesome details. Other than Julie was on the decline for a long time. Mentally and emotionally and physically exhausted. From caring for her dementia-riddled parents. In her own home. For over six years. Her mother died two years ago. Her 86-year-old father is living in a 5-bed residential nursing care home. Doing reasonably well. In some ways, better than Julie.  How's that for a twist of irony? Anyway, I had long advocated. Right here.  Forcing Julie into treatment. But I felt helpless. Powerless. Because of a health care system often rigged against the severely mentally ill. They are allowed to remain untreated. Even homeless. The likes of Julie are allowed to look like undernourished inmates from concentration camps. Before they get help. Often too late. Let's hope that's not the case with Julie. --Jim Broede

A missed opportunity.

I picked up the phone. On the first ring. It was a telemarketer.  She asked, "How are you?' I replied. 'Superior. Better than you. They have even named a lake in Minnesota after me. Lake Superior.' She paused. Maybe flabbergasted. I asked, 'Do you believe me?' She  declared, 'No.' I inquired, 'What do you want to tell or sell me?'  She hung up. Missing the opportunity for an amiable and delightful chat. --Jim Broede