A plot. To drive me crazy.

I like dealing directly. With real live human beings. One on one. But too often I'm shunted aside. Asked via a recording. To punch in numbers. And I'm channeled. From one robot to another and another. With no opportunity to talk to a real person. It's very frustrating. Because the robots too often aren't programmed to answer my legitimate inquiries/questions.  Occasionally, I'm given the option. To hang on. For an opportunity to speak to a living, breathing hombre. And I rejoice. But most times, that doesn't happen. I'm left in limbo. To cavort with inhumane robots. Programmed to annoy me. Maybe it's a plot. To drive me crazy. --Jim Broede

Beats being dead.

It's too easy. To find something. To worry about. Mostly by thinking ahead. Far, far ahead. Because that ultimately leads to one's demise. Also known as death.  I'm fortunate. In that's what it takes. Thinking about the end of life. For me to worry. Some of my friends. Have immediate problems.  That keep them worrying. Round the clock. I had a worrisome dream tonight. But got the problem solved. By waking up. Now I'm feeling better. More or less worry-free. Because I have decided to live the immediate moment. Without getting involved in the past or the future. By writing about the concept. Of don't worry. Be happy. Everyone can do it. If they try. That includes my most worrisome friends. Julie and Rick. Rick does a better job of finding happiness. Though far from perfect. As for his wife Julie, she's the queen of fret. Some days, she doesn't have a moment of happiness. Because she's in the deep throes of depression. And doesn't seek help. Instead, she wallows. Endlessly in doldrums. And goes to her stashes of red wine. In fruitless attempts to drown her sorrows. But the wine only drives Julie deeper into despair. She's trapped. And can't find her way out. To safety. And happiness. Indeed, that's a human tragedy. A living hell. Little wonder. That some people would rather be dead. Than alive. But I'm not one of 'em. I'd rather be alive and happy. Beats being dead.. --Jim Broede

The ideal vacation.

Just thinking. I'm living in such a manner. That I'm always on vacation. In that I'm flexible. Able to live at a leisurely pace. I'm retired. So I don't have to go to work. Though I still practice my craft. Writing. Mostly for pleasure. It really ain't work. I feel free. And independent. I perform housework. Cook sumptuous dinners. Go for long walks. Daily.  Stay in touch with a few friends. And do pretty much as I please. One might call it the ideal vacation. --Jim Broede

Like a meandering river.

Folks, you may not know it. So let me tell you. This is a very unique blog. No other blog in the world is quite like this. Maybe not even remotely so. Yes, Broede's Broodings is different. Over 8,000 musings. Also known as broodings. My random thoughts. Over a period of years. I've stopped counting. Better to live merely one day at a time. And speak my  piece. In blurbs. Short writings. A blend of consequential and inconsequential stuff. Reflections. On life. Literary quality doesn't matter. Better to let life flow. Naturally. Like a meandering river. --Jim Broede

Pretending. That I'm a happy hermit.

A hermit. I'd probably make a good one. Living in seclusion from society. Of course, I haven't done it. Because I'm in love. With my Italian amore. And with life. Hermits can be in love, too. With their way of life. Away from people. There's an advantage. To shutting one's self off from other people. One would still have the opportunity to focus on other things. Such as the natural environs. Hermits also could easily fall in love. With Mother Nature.  I'd love to meet some hermits. But I suspect they wouldn't want to meet me. I'd like to know if they live relatively low-stress lives. Because they may be oblivious of so much of the world's turmoil. Anyway, I occasionally put myself to the test. Withdrawing to my cocoon. For several days. Pretending. That I'm a happy hermit. --Jim Broede

A way to live forever. In denial.

Proper ways. To achieve a goal. I'm frequently told. This or that way. Is the proper way. Fortunately, I like to experiment. And take the 'improper' approach. Because it works. Not all the time. But frequently. Yes, there are many, many ways to solve a problem. Such as the bugaboo plaguing my dear friend Julie.  She's been in the throes of depression. And she's complicated the matter. With daily doses of alcohol. Plus an eating disorder. Which has her looking gaunt. These ungodly practices have been going on for several years. It's a wonder. That Julie has survived this long. Maybe she deserves a medal. For beating the odds. For beating death. Despite a wayward and improper lifestyle. Maybe Julie has discovered the secret of survival. Think about it. Julie used to have some friends and associates. That rigidly followed proper healthy regimens. Religiously. And they're dead. Julie. Julie. Maybe you are the genius who has found a way to live forever. Albeit, in denial. --Jim Broede

How to survive a frigid winter.

Really, I'm able to take winter in stride.  Even in the worst of times. In blustery and frigid Minnesota. Though admitting that most winters, I flee. For weeks and months.  To warmer climes. In Sardinia, the land of my Italian amore Cristina. But please don't get me wrong.  I love Minnesota. I'm capable of surviving a Minnesota winter, and loving it. Because that's my nature. I could even handle winter in Siberia. Or in the Arctic. Of course, I'd like my amore there, too. To help keep me warm.  --Jim Broede

A true act of friendship.

My dear friend Julie resists taking advice. Even from dear friends. That should come as no surprise. Because Julie is an alcoholic.  I'm told by the experts  that alcoholics strongly resist taking advice. From anyone. Because they are in denial.  Thinking they don't have a serious drinking problem. Therefore, I've been advised. Don't ever give Julie advice. Because Julie is likely to resist. Perhaps adamantly and angrily. Better, I'm told, to pose questions to Julie. About her situation. Thereby, allowing Julie to come up with her own answers. Some of which may be an admission that she's got a problem. And that maybe she should do something about it. Thing is. At the moment. I can see Julie's problem more clearly than Julie. And I'm feeling helpless. Maybe if Julie were a friend, she'd find a way to help me. Out of my dilemma. Not by giving me advice. But by changing her behavior. Indeed, that would be a true act of friendship.  --Jim Broede

My good fortune.

Even a relatively dull and uneventful day is a good day. For me, that is. Because I enjoy being alive and conscious. And in love. Even on so-called dull and uneventful days. I can settle for going for a walk and reading a book. Or merely musing about being blessed. In so many loving ways. --Jim Broede

       

Julie is running out of time.

Hard for me to understand. Why some people fall out of love. With life. For instance my dear friend Julie. She no longer seems to be in love. With anything. She's in depression. And she's become an alcoholic. The puzzling thing. She doesn't seem to want to do anything about it. Other than to languish in her misery.  If Julie were in love. With life. She'd probably find something to savor. That's what people in love tend to do. They practice being lovers. Of course, there's something that Julie loves. Her daily dose of red wine. Unfortunately, it's harmful. A destructive kind of love. One that may soon claim Julie's life. I repeatedly tell Julie that wine isn't worth dying for. Better to die for a noble cause. Husband Rick has made it clear. He doesn't want Julie to die. Much better for Julie to live. So she can learn to fall in love again. It ain't too late. But believe me. Julie is running out of time. --Jim Broede

       

The wherewithal to savor life.

Maybe I'm happy. Because I'm not overly ambitious. I define my own success. Rather than allowing others to define it for me. I live at my own pace. By my own standards. By my own rules. I know what's good for me. Mainly, the pursuit of happiness. And really, it doesn't take much for me to be happy. A loving relationship will suffice. I don't need many lovers. One is enough. For me to feel blessed.  As for money and material possessions. Give me enough to get by. Another thing. It helps to have good health. And a long life. Anyway, so far, so good.  Having everything I need. The wherewithal to savor life. --Jim Broede

Loverboy ain't a dumbbell.

My cat. Loverboy. Qualifies. As my closest daily companion. Perhaps more so. Than my beloved Italian amore.  Just so happens. That Loverboy is with me. Virtually every day. In the flesh. My amore, Cristina, and I, live together. Only several months out of the year. The rest of the time, we connect on Skype. Or by phone. I spend more direct time with Loverboy, than with Cristina. That seems acceptable to everyone. Fortunately, Cristina isn't jealous. She doesn't fret about playing second fiddle to a cat. Maybe it's that Loverboy has cozy-upped  to Cristina. In so many ways. Especially when Cristina is with me in Minnesota. But Loverboy also gets on Skype. And talks to Cristina. In Italian. In that respect, he outshines me. My Italian isn't all that good. Anyway, it's obvious. That Loverboy is an amazing and extraordinary cat. Almost human. We have a spiritual connection with each other. Reading each others' mindful thoughts.  He's sending me a message tonight.  Pleading. That he be allowed to accompany me. On my next trip to Sardinia. So that he can declare his love -- for Cristina and Italy. 'Get me out of Minnesota,' he pleads, 'before the snow and cold of winter sets in.' Another sign. That Loverboy ain't a dumbbell. --Jim Broede

For an endless journey. Into eternity.

So much to learn about the nature of life. Beyond mere scientific explanation. Things yet to be discovered. And I'll never know it all. As long as I reside in a three-dimensional world. I instinctively know, however. Of other dimensions. A fourth.  And surely multiple other dimensions. Far beyond what one can fully imagine or grasp.  Maybe not until one dies a physical death.  And frees one's spirit. From physical restraint. So one can move about. Like a vapor. Or a gentle breeze. I have probably evolved.  From one-dimensional. To two dimensional. To where I am now. In the fantastic third dimension. Nothing can stop me. From suddenly awakening. Some day. In the fourth dimension.  Where one will experience. A new and wondrous form of conscious and intelligent life. For an endless journey. Into eternity. --Jim Broede

Loving one's enemies.

I'm confused. Downright puzzled. Every time that I see/hear people who hate other people. For no coherent reason.  White people that hate black people. Conservative politicians that hate Hillary Clinton. Muslims that hate Jews. The refrain goes on and on. Endlessly. Every time I tune in Fox News or listen to partisan congressional hearings or political sound bites -- there they are. People who hate other people. Just for the sake of hating. It's crazy. Hating. Hating. Day in and day out.  Makes me wonder. Whatever happened to the notion of loving. Even one's enemies. --Jim Broede

On a slow train of thought.

I am in no hurry. To get things done. As long as I stay in motion. That's good enough. Physical motion. Mental motion. It's all the same. As long as I remain conscious. Aware. Reminding me. That I am alive. That's why I write. For proof. That I exist. In thought. As spirit. I can go anywhere. In the cosmos. By hitching a ride. On a slow train of thought. No need to travel at the speed of light. --Jim Broede

I won't have to worry anymore.

Yes, there's a distinct possibility of no afterlife. When I die, that's it. Fini. Kaput. Nothing. My life emerged from nothing. And it'll go back. To absolute nothingness. Of course, I don't want life to be that bleak. I prefer an everlasting life. In one form or another. Perhaps as spirit. But I may have no choice in the matter. And it's simply what it is. My protests to no avail. That's discouraging. If not downright depressing. That is, if I think about it that way. But upon further reflection, maybe nothingness is a good thing. I won't have to think, or even worry about life and death anymore. --Jim Broede

Blessed.

In many ways, I'm grateful. For having Alzheimer's Disease touch my life. Because as a care-giver, it opened me to new and fulfilling experiences. If nothing else, Alzheimer's put me to the test. Taught me to cope. With difficulties. Beyond my imagination. Taught me to be a true lover. In times of overwhelming adversities. Never thought I'd relish being a care-giver. But I did. I learned to love. With resolve. And without regrets. In fact, the experience has blossomed. Into a blessing. So much good has come from it. What once seemed like the worst possible experiences of my life have turned out to be the most gratifying. Maybe. Some day. Many despairing care-givers will feel the same way. Blessed. --Jim Broede

Making the best of it all.

Yes. Yes. Thank god. I am able to shut myself off. From the rest of the world. For a few hours. Virtually every day. I love life. But at times, I can't stand the world. And some of the mean-spirited inhabitants. I need a break. A retreat. To my protective cocoon.  For respite. For rejuvenation. So that I can venture out. And savor the good stuff. And the good people. Yes. Yes. The world ain't perfect. But I know how to make the best of imperfect situations. And to be happy in the process. --Jim Broede

At Julie's inevitable funeral.

My dear friend Julie is a tragedy. That has already happened. But it could get worse. Ending in her death. By accident.  A fall. A traffic crash. Or from a lethal dose of alcohol. If that happens, I’ll feel remorse and a little guilt. For not finding a way to save Julie. From herself. But there likely will be heavier guilt. On those closer to Julie. A spouse, perhaps. Or other close relatives. The ones that have the wherewithal to force Julie into treatment. For alcohol addiction. It's my opinion. Julie is mentally ill. Grossly incompetent. Unable to make rational decisions. I try to tell Julie the truth. Often. I try the power of persuasion. Pleading endlessly. For Julie to check herself in. Voluntarily. But to no avail. Now I am aiming my desperate pleas. At those with the authority. To force Julie into treatment. Over her protests. Believe me, I say, it’s the right thing to do. For Julie's sake. Anyway, I’ll give us all a stark reminder. At Julie’s inevitable funeral. --Jim Broede

The way a god operates.

I’m reluctant. About intervening. In other people’s lives. But that doesn’t stop me. From being curious about people. Especially strangers. I need to know. Something significant about someone I’ve just met. Give me 10 minutes. And I’ll find it. I’d use that. As a clue. For forming an impression. Doesn’t matter. Whether it’s right or wrong. I can clarify that later. If I so desire.  Often I don’t. Because most strangers come and go. Never to be encountered again.  But I owe it to them. And to myself. To have discovered something memorable. To file away. Often in writing. That allows me to form imaginary characters. Yes, I can give them lives. By creating a story. Without directly intervening in their real lives.  Maybe that’s the way a god operates. --Jim Broede

I've already forgotten.

I was unhappy a moment ago. Because my Chicago Cubs just got eliminated. In their quest to make it to the World Series. So, I decided to refocus. Immediately. On a thought that makes me joyful. Such as, that the Cubs came close.  By finishing as the second best team in the National League. Quite an achievement. Only a year after finishing in last place. Therefore, the Cubs overachieved. Really, the Cubs are an amazing team. Makes me happy. Merely being a Cubs fan.  I've already forgotten. That the Cubs just lost a big game. Really, it's inconsequential. In the grand scheme of baseball. And life, too. --Jim Broede

An occasional consolation prize.

Well, maybe I can bear to watch, after all. Because I have become resigned. To the fact that the Chicago Cubs won't quite make it all the way to the World Series. At least not this year. But maybe still. In my lifetime. Another reason for me to try to live forever. To never die.  The Cubs are down. Three games to none. To the New York Mets. For the right to represent the National League in the World Series. One more loss. And it's all over for the Cubs. Of course, there's still a chance. For a miracle. With Cubs winning four straight. A perfect storybook ending. The kind of scenario I'd concoct. If I were a baseball god. Instead, I'm human. Lesser than a god.  But that ain't bad. Really. Being second best. Being subservient. Being respectful. Being accepting. Of life as it is. Maybe I'll watch the game tonight. On TV. And at least. Try to pretend. That I am a baseball god. Capable of manipulating the outcome. Of a sporting event. Salvaging a token meaningless win. For the Chicago Cubs. All I need in life. An occasional consolation prize. --Jim Broede

       

A tranquility almost beyond belief.

Just thinking. I have a neatness. An orderliness. To my life. Yes, there's turmoil. Going on. Near me. Around me. I have troubled friends. And I'm aware of an angry world. Politically. Socially. Feuds. Wars. Conflagrations. Human tragedies. But I have found ways to live in relative isolation. On a lake. In Minnesota. Yes, in a neat and orderly manner. With my books. And my music. In peace. And calm. I have an Italian amore. A beloved cat, too. Add it all up. Makes me wonder. If I'm the luckiest man in the world. For having found neatness and orderliness. A tranquility almost beyond belief. --Jim Broede

For daring a palace coup.

The baseball gods are toying with me. Trying to teach me a lesson. In humility. In acceptance. For daring a palace coup. For daring to even think. That I could usurp the divine authority of the baseball gods. By declaring myself the supreme ruler of baseball. That would allow me to write the script. For this year's World Series. With the Cubs going all the way. For the first time since 1908. Unfortunately, things ain't looking good. At the moment. The Cubs are down. Two games to none. Against the New York Mets. For the mere right to represent the National League. In pursuit of the Holy Grail. By tomorrow night. The Cubs could be swept. Out. Kaput. Finished. A storybook ending for Mets fans. A nightmare for Cubs fans. For daring a palace coup. --Jim Broede

It ain't a pretty picture.

The power of persuasion. That's what I'm trying to use. On my alcoholic friend Julie. And it's not working.  She steadfastly refuses to listen. To my pleas. To get help. To check into rehab. For treatment. I use logic. And sound arguments. But Julie thinks like a drunk. Irrationally. She's an entrenched addict. And desperately needs her almost daily fix. All she lives for. Cheap red wine. In small cartons. Rather than bottles. It's easier to hide. She has stashes. Hidden all over. In the house. Outdoors, too. Everywhere. She's become crazy Julie.  With split personalities. With slurred speech. I've seen her passed out. On the front stoop. Had to be carried. Up to bed. To sleep it off. The next day, she doesn't remember. She's becoming more and more forgetful. She's fallen. Gashed her head. Spent two weeks in the hospital. That was a momentary blessing. She sobered up. But upon returning home, the sobriety didn't last long. Yes, wish I had the power of persuasion. So I could convince Julie to do whatever it takes. To get well again. Yes, Julie, I'm trying to paint a picture. In words. This is what I'm seeing. And it ain't a pretty picture. Take a look at yourself. Weep, if you must. Then ask yourself. Is this what you want out of life? --Jim Broede

I'm ashamed. Of all of us.

Yes, I have launched a hard-hitting approach. To my dear friend Julie. Every day. I'm reminding her. She's an alcoholic. A drunk. That she seems to hate herself. So much so. That she doesn't give a damn. About her own life any more. Otherwise, she'd go in for treatment. She'd truly want to get better. She'd recognize her addiction. And get help. But Julie isn't quite desperate enough yet. To take the big step. Julie asked me. The other day. Whether I was disappointed in her. Yes, I had to tell her. Very disappointed. I am grieving. If she continues along this path.  She soon will be dead. Of complications from alcoholism. She's already more than halfway there. She has symptoms that mimic Alzheimer's. She's forgetful. Alcoholism does that to one's mind.  Can't even remember full days. A total blackout. And I. And everyone else around Julie. Allow this to happen. I'm ashamed. Of all of us. But I'm merely disappointed. In dear Julie. --Jim Broede

A darn good way to look at life.

I'm trying. To not be disappointed. If my darling Chicago Cubs. Don't make it to the World Series. Instead, I'm trying to be happy. And grateful.  And appreciative. If the Cubs come close. By having won 97 regular season games. Thereby qualifying for the playoffs. A season after finishing in last place. That's amazing. Really, a blessing. Beyond my expectations. When the season began last April. If you had told me then, that in October, the Cubs would be vying in a 7-game playoff for the right to advance to the World Series -- well, I'd have said that's a bit preposterous. But a dream come true.  And I'd still be happy. If the Cubs came ever so close. But still failed to make the final hurdle to the World Series. Yes, I don't need everything. I can settle for the Cubs being competitive. Being second or third best team in baseball. Rather than the worst.  Indeed, that's remarkable improvement. That ain't bad. Furthermore, it's a darn good way to look at baseball. And life, too. --Jim Broede

It's a crying shame.

I tell my friend Julie that she needs to fall in love. With herself. And a good start would be to stop drinking. To acknowledge that she's become an alcoholic. Because of her inability to cope with the rigors of caring for her dementia-riddled parents. They have both died. Which could be a blessing. For Julie. That is, if she got back to a normal way of living. Instead, Julie remains distraught and in depression. And continues to drink. It's a vicious circle.  The drinking drives her deeper into depression. And the depression prompts her to drink. Therefore, Julie's situation goes from bad to worse. Julie needs to go into rehab. For an extended period. But she refuses to go. My most fervent wish is that Julie be forced into treatment, By court order, if necessary. But that's not the way the system works. It's a crying shame. Julie will be allowed to drink herself to death. --Jim Broede

I'm in love --with written words.

I've made a living. As a writer. Of stories. For newspapers. Seems that I've always been in love. With the written word. As a youngster. I marveled. At being able to put words on paper. And actually see. Something meaningful. That I created. A stream of words. And then to get it published. That was a bonus. Very satisfying.  Writing still is my favorite pastime. Though I don't get paid any more. I'm unemployed. Retired. Now I merely write for my own pleasure. Without an editor looking over my shoulder. Real freedom. If others don't like what I write. That's fine. Because I'm in love. With my own words. My own thoughts. My own ways. --Jim Broede

Money, money and more money.

Baseball wasn't meant to be played while wearing ski masks. Yes, in weather so cold. That it affects the quality of the game. Tune in. The baseball playoffs. They run late into the season. With a distinct possibility. That there could be snow on the ground. If the World Series finishes in New York, Chicago or Toronto. Better weather for skiing. Not for baseball. But still, the baseball season is prolonged. For the sake of the baseball moguls. Out to make money. Of course, it would be better to play the pivotal games during the daytime. When the weather might be a little bit warmer. But no, the key games often are scheduled at frigid nighttime.  For the sake of TV ratings. In order to make money. The motivating force in our capitalist society. We don't play baseball any more in the best conditions conducive for baseball. Instead, it's for money, money and more money. --Jim Broede

Putting life in proper perspective.

Nothing is more difficult. Than having to rise above one's emotions. Specifically, my emotions. For instance. As a diehard Chicago Cubs fan. I emotionally want the Cubs to advance to the World Series. And win it all. This year. For the first time since 1908. But if the Cubs fall  short of such a goal. I have to learn and practice acceptance. There are other things in life I'd rather have. Such as a continuing loving relationship with my Italian amore. Another thing, I'd not trade a year or two, or even a day of my precious life, for a World Series title. Another thing. I'd rather see my dear friend Julie stop drinking. Once and for all. Yes, better to see Julie win. And the Cubs lose. On the other hand, I'd gladly give up some amount of money. For the Cubs to go all the way. Anyway, there's ample evidence. That I love certain personal and intimate commitments and attachments. Far more than I love the Chicago Cubs. Yes. Yes. Yes. That's what I'm doing. Putting the truly meaningful stuff of life in proper perspective. --Jim Broede

Doing my best.

I refuse to be unhappy. Even when stuff goes awry. Because I am often powerless. When it comes to controlling outcomes. Simply put. Stuff happens. As if fated. I can't do much about it. Other than cultivating an attitude of acceptance. And getting on with life. Doing my best. In positive and productive ways. With a beaming smile. While musing. That I'm happy. With the circumstances of my life. Despite occasional disappointments. --Jim Broede

Glimpses into the spiritual realm.

One isn't truly alive. Unless one learns to express one's self. In words. For me, preferably written words. That's my conclusion. As I reflect upon life. If one can't delve into intellectual and emotional thought, one might as well be dead. Anyway, seems that I've become a collection of thoughts. Of which I'm trying to make sense. Occasionally, I yell. 'Eureka, I've found it!'  Yes, a moment of bliss. Pure happiness. Knowledge. That I am truly alive. But I can't yet declare that it's more than momentary. I have these wonderful breakthroughs. For which I am grateful. Maybe I am catching glimpses into the spiritual realm. --Jim Broede

As alive as alive can be.

I turn to quantum physics. Which I don't understand. Therefore, I fabricate. By devising my own imaginative interpretation. About so-called parallel universes. I'm living two lives. Simultaneously. Side by side, more or less. Could be that I was killed. This summer. In an automobile accident. But some how, I survived. In my parallel life. Yes. I was given a choice. An option. Live or die. And here I am. As alive as alive can be. --Jim Broede

By becoming a lover.

I'm fascinated. By life. And all the possibilities.  So many scenarios. Mostly, I'm a mere observer. With virtually no control. Over the happenings. In the wide world. In the cosmos. Maybe it's just as well. That I'm unaware of what's going on. It'd be cause for alarm. For undue stress. Better to let my imagination wander. And dream of good stuff. That makes me happy. Relaxed. Tranquil. And in love. With life. Of course, I see unhappy people. All around. But for the most part, that doesn't bother me. Because they can do something about it. By searching. For happiness. I have gone on the search. Many, many times. When I've been unhappy. And always, I find happiness. By becoming a lover. --Jim Broede

To live life over again.

Occasionally. I wonder if my life would be radically different. If I had decided to turn down a job offer in Minnesota. In 1965. And instead, had accepted another offer. In a different part of the country. I'd still be me. But maybe a very different me. I wouldn't have met the same cast of characters. And followed a different career path. And not married the same woman. Maybe I would have been killed. When still relatively young. By being in the wrong place at the wrong time. It would be interesting to know  What a difference it would have made. But then, maybe one's life is fated. One will never know. Unless. By some miraculous circumstance. One is allowed to turn back the clock. And live life over again.  To see what would have happened. If I had taken the other job. --Jim Broede

For the pleasure of feeling physical.

Maybe I am living in a virtual reality. In which the people in my life aren't real. Merely figments of my imagination. Yes, maybe the entire world ain't real. Could be that I'm not real. That I'm no more than a character in a dream. Of course, I feel genuinely real and alive. A living and conscious being. Maybe that's the way I'm supposed to feel. In a virtual reality world. Maybe I'm a spirit. And this is a virtual reality game. That I'm playing. For the pleasure of feeling physical. --Jim Broede

Insignificant in the scheme of life.

One can't live without some amount of stress and anxiety. But I'm good at managing much of it. No better example than how I cope. With my relentless longtime nerve-wracking addiction to the Chicago Cubs. Mostly, I refrain from watching or listening to the games.  Some friends tell me that's stupid. That I should get enjoyment from Cubs games. And I do. But often the pleasure comes after the game is over. And I've checked the score. When the Cubs win, I happily devour the details. When the Cubs lose, I'd rather not be bothered by the unsettling circumstances. Better to get on with the rest of my life. In relative ignorance of how the Cubs blew the game. Used to be, when I watched the Cubs lose, I'd be emotionally drained. Which was rather stupid. Now I refuse to allow myself to become overly upset.  By rising up. Above the fray. Muttering. 'Hey, Jim, it's only a mere baseball game. Insignificant in the grand scheme of life.' --Jim Broede

       

Making the most of it.

I'm blissfully happy. As the Cubs keep winning. As if it's a fairy tale. Coming true. It's been a wonderful season. Already. And the Cubs still have a way to go. To reach the World Series. But doesn't matter. I'm happy. Even coming close. That's good enough for me. I don't need everything out of life. A few choice morsels. At the feast. No need to be a glutton. Give me a small taste. A few crumbs. And I'll make the most of it. --Jim Broede

In ignorant bliss.

I am a complex being. As are others. Therefore, my mission is to understand the complexities of life. Which I do. Quite well. That's an attribute. But also a detriment. Because often it's better to get on with life.  Without grasping the complexities. Too much understanding can drive one wacky. Better to exist in ignorant bliss. --Jim Broede

Thereby avoiding disappointment.

I tend to guard. Against emotional disappointment. Better to play it safe. And be a little bit aloof. Rather than risk going off the deep end. And becoming emotionally entangled and estranged. In a cause. Or in a personal relationship. Better to rise above it all. And manage life. Without being overly-affected by events or circumstances. Over which I have no or little control. Such as the outcome of a baseball game or a personal rebuff. I have a certain bravado. That might be called a thick skin. But it's more a case of playing safe. By avoiding the stress and wear and tear that too often comes. In the form of emotional onslaught and turmoil. Better to distance one's self.  Maybe that's why I have become, essentially, a loner.  Dependent on myself. Rather than on others. Thereby avoiding disappointment. --Jim Broede

With the ability to love. Forever.

Turning negatives into positives. It’s a good thing to practice. Like when my dear sweet wife Jeanne became riddled with Alzheimer’s. Initially, it was a negative. An unexpected pitfall. A disaster. A setback. Why Jeanne? My beloved. Took a while for me to adjust. For Jeanne to adapt, too. But together. We were able. To salvage positives. From the experience. Meaningful cumulative stuff. Even eight years after Jeanne’s physical demise. Yes, Jeanne’s still very much alive. We’re able to converse. In spiritual ways. Helping each other. To feel life's amazing twists and pulse beats. To care. About life. What can be more positive than that? To survive. As spirits. With the ability to love. Forever. --Jim Broede

Percolated words.

I collect my thoughts. By writing. It's not enough. To merely think. I have to put thoughts in writing. Before they become meaningful. I have to see words.  Written words. That give me the opportunity to ponder. To reflect. To maybe even find better words. I listen to other people's words. When they speak. But I prefer to read their words. At a leisurely pace. Maybe over and over again. And then come back to those words. Maybe a day or a week or a month later.  It's important. To allow words to percolate. --Jim Broede

A risk. That comes. With life.

Some people don't like me. Because I rub them the wrong way. Maybe it's an attitude thing. They accuse me of being condescending. Could be that I come across that way. I don't mean to be. It's merely my innate way. Often, it's my sense of humor. Because I'm trying to be funny. By pretending I'm egotistical. When I'm not. I abhor taking life too seriously. Therefore, I poke fun. At myself. At others, too. That can be misconstrued. As insult. When it ain't. Like I've said. Many times. I'm misunderstood. That's a risk. That comes. With life. --Jim Broede

Win or lose. I remain in love.

My father was a gambler. Habitual. Addicted. Some say that gamblers have a death wish. They love to take risks. That was my father. He committed suicide. After running up immense gambling debts. I'm different from my father. I never gamble for money. Instead, I gamble my emotions. By wishing for outcomes. If I lose, it's merely a disappointment. An emotional setback. And I've learned to deal with that. For instance, I bet my emotions on the Chicago Cubs. When they lose, I may be glum for a little while. When they win, I'm blissfully happy.  Yes, I can handle the ups and downs of life. Without becoming suicidal. I have learned to fall in love. With life. And with the Chicago Cubs, too. Win or lose. I remain in love. --Jim Broede

I ain't greedy.

I'm at ease. When it comes to the Chicago Cubs. For the remainder of the play-offs. Because I'm satisfied. By the Cubs even reaching the play-offs. That's an amazing feat. All by itself.   Going from a last place finish in 2014, to the play-offs this year. I don't want to be greedy. By demanding that the baseball gods arrange for the Cubs to win the World Series this year. That would be like wishing for $2 million, when one already has $1 million.  It's still a blessing. To have what one already has. If the Cubs don't make it all the way, I can wait. For another time. Another year. I have many other things to be grateful about. Such as being alive and healthy and in love. If that ain't everything, it's still pretty close. Baseball and the Cubs are secondary. I'm happy. Even if the Cubs come up a little bit short.. --Jim Broede

For the sake of getting along.

For the sake of getting along. I can tolerate compromise. Give and take. Over just about anything. Even politics. I lean to the left. But I'm willing to try making peace and even friendship with those on the right. But hey, there's gotta be movement. On both sides. I used to think that was the inherent nature of politics. Solving problems in compromising ways. Based on good faith. Unfortunately, that's not the way it's happening any more. Politicians tend to draw hard and fast lines. Especially on the right. Seems to me, that goes contrary to the decent and common good. Yes, getting everything that I want is impractical. And probably unfair to other people. Therefore, I have to leave room for the common good. Which means making some personal sacrifices. For the sake of getting along. --Jim Broede

Can't bear to watch.

I'm an avid lifetime Chicago Cubs fan. But last night, I couldn't bring myself to watch the Cubs playoff game against the Pittsburgh Pirates. Because of the stress and tension. I'd have become a nervous wreck. That comes with my desire to have the Cubs win. If they blew the game, I might go into depression. For a day or two or three. I'd come out of it, of course.  By focusing on the fact that the Cubs had a pretty good season. Jumping from a last-place finish a year ago, to the playoffs. Yes, I'd still have plenty to savor. My sister, plus a neighbor friend, called me during the game. To tell me the good news. That the Cubs were winning. And that I should tune in the game. Because the Cubs looked unbeatable. But still, I played it safe. The TV remained off. When I was sure that the Cubs had won, I turned on the post game festivities. And watched the highlights. Relaxed. And joyful. Next, the Cubs play the St. Louis Cardinals. On Friday night. I probably won't watch.  So I don't jinx the Cubs. --Jim Broede

Why I need forever.

I almost always prepare myself for defeat and disappointment. By focusing on what I've already got. Life. Consciousness. And love. That makes all things possible. Even if I don't have everything. In terms of desires and wishes. Instead, I am sufficiently happy. By merely being a seeker. And by savoring what I already have. It is the quest. That is most fulfilling. Not necessarily the achievement. Because there is always more to be achieved.  Give me endless quest. That is why I need forever. --Jim Broede

Hurrah for the new majority.

I love life. Despite the pitfalls. Despite being surrounded by disenchanted Republicans. Yes, Republicans seem to be eternally unhappy. Because demographics are changing. White people are becoming the minority. And the longtime minorities are becoming the majority. I'm white. And not a Republican. I love becoming a white minority. Because I'm more in tune with the ways and the values of the new majority. Because they know what it was like. To have been a minority. To be discriminated against. For so very long. They have a keener sense of fairness. Thereby working for the common good. For the good of society as a whole. Not merely for the rich and privileged. --Jim Broede

The best part of all.

Life is a spectator sport. Here I am. Sitting on the sidelines. Watching life unfold. Much the same. As a game. An athletic event. Over which I have virtually no control. I'm no god. I can't pick the winners or the losers. Other than siding. With one side or another. Emotionally. Hoping. Pulling. Praying. For a particular outcome. The same way. I'll be rooting for the Chicago Cubs. On Wednesday night. To defeat the Pittsburgh Pirates. In a one-game 'wild card' play-off baseball game. For the right to advance to a five-game play-off against the St. Louis Cardinals. And then for still another play-off series. This one for up to 7 games. For the right to play in the World Series. All these games should be inconsequential. Not all that important. In the grand scheme of life. But hey, I choose to make Chicago Cubs baseball games an important part of my life. A form of entertainment. Watching. Wishing. In a way that affects my mood. I want and desire an outcome. That makes me happiest. With the Chicago Cubs. Being declared. The world champions. For the first time since 1908. But I could be happy. In so many other ways, too. If friend Julie quits drinking. If my Italian amore Cristina is with me. If I have forever. To determine my fate. Perhaps as a conscious and functioning spirit. Capable of mingling with other souls. And capable of being a spectator. Watching. Focusing. On whatever makes me happy. Win. Lose. Or draw. So far. It's been nice. Merely being alive. That's been the best part of all. --Jim Broede

A dream? Or is it a nightmare?

I have dreams. About having to write about stuff. That I don’t want to write about. That happens. When one writes for newspapers. Which I did. For many years. I had one of those dreams tonight. Seemed more like a nightmare than a dream. Because I was on an assignment. From an editor. To track down information. For a story. And I couldn’t find the place. Where I was supposed to go. And it became terribly frustrating. I stopped. To ask people for directions. And they gave me complicated routes. That made it seem impossible. As if they were leading me. Into a labyrinth. From which I’d never emerge. Finally, I woke up. Feeling stressed and tense. But to start feeling good and relaxed again. I got up. And here I am. Writing about stuff. That I can’t decide yet. Whether to call a dream. Or a too frequent bothersome nightmare. --Jim Broede

The way it should be.

I sat down. Yesterday. And chatted with seven troubled women. Troubled because they are living with alcoholics. Husbands and boy friends. And it made me think. That I would never want to live with an alcoholic. That is, for a sustained period. Instead, I'd insist on rehab. On recovery.  I would much rather live with an Alzheimer-riddled wife. To the end of life. To guide her through to a spiritual realm. I would love her true.  It'd be far easier for me to write off the alcoholic. Yes, alcoholism is a disease. But it can be managed. By a willing victim.  Almost cured, in a sense. But that ain't so with Alzheimer's. The dementia is going to get worse and worse. That's the nature of the disease.  No cure yet. I've had the good fortune of having never lived with an alcoholic. Always was at a reasonably safe distance. At arm's length. Meanwhile, I've been blessed. By having been care-giver for dear sweet Jeanne. Right up to the end. The way it should be. --Jim Broede

When I know no bounds.

When I stay home. And spurn travel. It's my way of being lazy. Which ain't all bad. Some forms of laziness are beneficial. To my psyche. And to my physical being, too. A form of rest. I'm occasionally self-prodded into travel. Because it's the adventuresome thing to do. But there are negatives. Such as the stress. Of things going wrong. With trying to do too much. And thereby becoming tired and out of sorts. Staying home can be safer and more tranquil. Anyway, my best travel adventures have been in my mind. When I venture out. Into the far reaches of the cosmos. To other galaxies. Even into other dimensions. Into black holes. Yes, that's possible. When one becomes spirit. And my imagination knows no bounds. --Jim Broede