Living. The way life should be lived.

I’ve been thinking. About forgiveness. And how I’m enthralled.  By people who truly practice forgiveness. Take, for instance, a Jew that spent time in a concentration camp. And lost family there.  But still finds reason to forgive the Germans. And then there’s the mother of a son that was murdered. And  she finds it in her heart to forgive the murderer. This stuff is real. It happens. Occasionally. Yes. Extraordinary acts of forgiveness. I suspect. That these are people at peace. With themselves. Living. The way life should be lived. --Jim Broede

What are we all waiting for?

It’s as if Julie can’t stop feeling bad about herself. That’s the nature of depression, I suppose. Julie has lost faith. In her own being. A total lack of confidence. And Julie doesn’t know how to be happy again. Julie becomes a recluse. Goes upstairs. To her bedroom. And stares out the window. Instead of seeing a beautiful lake, Julie sees a bleak and unsettled tomorrow. Seeking relief. In a wine bottle.  A depressant. Julie sinks deeper and deeper into the abyss of despair. And here we are. Her so-called friends.  Watching. Wishing we had the wherewithal. The means. The words. The knack. The power. To make for a happy ending to the story of Julie’s beleaguered life. I don’t get it. I’m stupefied.  What are we all waiting for? --Jim Broede

Whether she likes it or not.

The power of persuasion. I like to use it. To convince my sick friends. To get well. That especially goes for those with mental illness. I’m often told. That it’s best to listen to the mentally ill. Get them to talk. Openly. About their mental problems and hang-ups.  But I want to do more than listen.  I want to intercede. To be a friendly psychotherapist. That recommends concrete solutions. And coaxes.  The mentally disturbed. In a persuasive manner.  To seek the necessary help. Unfortunately, many are in no shape to recognize their need for help. Indeed, that’s sad. Especially so when their friends fail to come to the rescue. Little wonder. That I have no qualms about forcing the likes of my depressed alcoholic friend Julie into extended treatment.  Whether she likes it or not. --Jim Broede

In love. With life. And with today.

Taking life one day at a time. That’s one of the wisest moves I’ve ever made. Used to be. That I dwelt too much on the past. Or got too far ahead of myself.  It’s a lot more fun and more relaxing. When I focus on today. Living in the now. Giving it all I’ve got. And savoring the precious moments. Which I find almost every day. Because I’m focused. Not diverted thinking of yesterday or tomorrow.  I’m absorbed. In what I’m doing  Not merely going through the motions. I’m well aware. That I’m in love.  With life. And with today. --Jim Broede

That's the way it works.

My friend Julie doesn’t believe in herself. That’s the problem. I believe in Julie.  And so does her husband Rick. But that’s not good enough.  If Julie is to become a functioning human being again. She must begin to believe in herself. Now she’s on the road  to a slow, methodical suicide.  I wish Julie would decide to save herself. By seeking help. By going into psychotherapy. By throwing away her wine bottles.  By going on an anti-depressant. By falling in love. With life once again. Julie is on a steady decline. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. Won’t surprise me if she’s dead in a year or two. Or maybe next week or next month. All it would take is a bout of pneumonia.  Julie wouldn’t have the stamina (and maybe not even the desire) to fight it off. Of course, the death won’t be ruled a suicide.  But really, Julie had the option to save herself. And she didn’t choose to.  That’s the sad part. The survivors will lament. For a while. And then get on with their lives. That’s the way it works. --Jim Broede

A stupid and inferior species.

We humans think we know a lot.  That we are the most intelligent beings in the cosmos. And some of the religiously inclined, suggest that the creator singled us out as special. One of a kind species. With no equals in all of his creation.  I don’t buy into that stuff. Instead, I’m assuming that there are many, many other forms of intelligent life  Far superior to humans. I certainly hope so. Even if that qualifies me as a member of a relatively stupid and inferior species. --Jim Broede

Better to despise. Than to hate.

So very, very many Republicans hate Barack Obama. They want him to fail. At everything. They won’t even support Obama when he sides with Republicans on political issues. Yes, that’s how deep the hate runs. Makes me think it’s a racial thing. I’m convinced. That if Obama were white. The hate would change. To merely disliking Obama. Hate. Hate. I wonder if there’s anything worse than hate. However, I am unable to hate hateful Republicans. I try. To not hate anyone.  Better to despise. Than to hate. --Jim Broede

Wondering. About the nature of life.

I like the feeling. Of being immersed. In a moment. Such as right now. Savoring a moment. That might otherwise be insignificant.  Because I’m not fully immersed. Merely going through motions instead. Anyway, at this very moment. I’m feeling alive. With it. Maybe not for any particular reason. Other than I am feeling extraordinarily alive. Aware of my existence. In an extraordinary world. I suspect. That I’m supposed to feel like this. All the time. But don’t. Makes me wonder. If I’m deprived. Or if this is the nature of human life. --Jim Broede

Can't live. Without being in love.

I keep reminding myself. That I’m a romantic idealist. Therefore, to prove it. I have to think and act like a romantic idealist.  Preferably, on a daily basis. Though I skip a day. Now and then. Just to feel what it’s like not to be a romantic idealist. That scares the heck out of  me. To the point that I find my romantic groove again.  Recognizing. That I can’t live. Without being in love. --Jim Broede

A less than perfect place.

I’m happy. Even when things could be better. After all, I stop to reflect. That matters also could be worse. Far worse. Therefore, it makes sense. To get on with life.  In a happy and productive manner. Which is a better option. Than lamenting and complaining.  Especially at bedtime. When I practice falling asleep. With a happy pondering. That I’ve had a relatively good day. Despite the flaws in design that make the world a less than perfect place. --Jim Broede

First and foremost. I'm a dreamer.

Indeed, it’s hard for me to fathom. But as a political liberal. If I had to endure a Republican in the White House. Better it be Donald Trump. Rather than the bevy of other potential closed-minded Republican aspirants for the job. Yes, it comes down to triumphal Trump being the lesser of the evils. Fortunately, I’ll have another choice. The Democratic nominee. Still, there’s no guarantee that I will have my way. But as a liberal and a political realist. I know full well. That more often than not, I don't come close to getting my most fervent wish. I’ve suffered and agonized mightily through conservative Republican administrations. Knowing full well. That I have no control over the political  fates. What will be, will be. Sometimes, I pray for only the lesser of the evils. After all, the state of American politic is inherently evil. Political goodness isn’t an option. Therefore, if it has to be a Republican president, give me Trump. Because the guy doesn’t fully know what he's doing. Or what he truly believes. He’s basically empty-headed.  A shallow intellect. But like virtually every politician, he has a gigantic ego. He’d want to be known as a successful  president. Which means. He’d probably  work with both liberals and conservatives. For the sake of getting things done.  He’s truly business-oriented. A robotic pragmatist  A deal-maker. He’ll make a deal with anyone. Even with the devil. But maybe even with the opposition. On the other side of the political aisle. Imagine that. Achieving the impossible. The end of political gridlock in Washington. Yes, goes to show. I’m more than a mere political liberal.  First and foremost. I’m an extraordinary dreamer. --Jim Broede

Endless thoughts.

Always, I have something to write about. A thought or two.  Random thoughts. That come out of the blue. So important. For me. To put thoughts into writing. Because written words tend to be more meaningful. Than spoken words. So much easier to ponder. And to edit. I speak to others. But I mainly write for myself. Thoughts. Thoughts. And more thoughts. Endless thoughts. --Jim Broede

Maybe I missed my calling.

I tend. To not worry. About what other people think. About me. They can think ill and bad. And I’m not bothered. Because I was meant to be misunderstood. I know me. I’m not bad. And that’s good enough for me. I sleep well at night. Because I have confidence. In me.  Really. Though I claim to be superior. I’m not. I only brag. With humorous intent. I like to play a role. Maybe I missed my calling. I should have become an actor. Capable of immersing myself. Into playing absurd roles. So that I can get the feel of random crass personalities. Such as politicians. --Jim Broede

Yes, I'm making progress.

I’m more conscious. Of who and what I am. At age 80. Than I was at 20 or 40 or 60. Not sure if that’s significant. But it’s comforting. Maybe that’s what so many unhappy souls are looking for. Comfort. Can’t say that I was ever uncomfortable. In my younger days, though, it was a different kind of comfort. Not as deep. Or penetrating. Still sensed that I was evolving. But there was no hurry. Time was on my side.  Now I’m running out of time. But no reason to panic. After all, I have more of a sense. Of who and what I am.  Yes, I’m making progress. --Jim Broede

Mostly for laughs.

I can’t control the world. But I can control my state of mind. Used to be that I got easily upset over events. Even over little and trivial happenings.  But now, here I am. A new man. I’ve learned to find humor in virtually everything. Yes, life is funny. Not to be taken too seriously. Could be that the creator was a natural born comedian. And he designed the world mostly for laughs. --Jim Broede

Believe me. It's no contest.

Classical music. Listening to it. That’s often my salvation. The other night. I turned off the political debates. And turned on classical music. Drifting. Drifting. Drifting into a state of rapture. Oh, such sweet bliss. Yes, I have a choice.  To listen to the politicians.  Or to Haydn, Mozart and Beethoven.  Believe me. It’s no contest. --Jim Broede

Embracing the goodness of life.

Depression runs in my family. Lots of it.  But I’m lucky. I’ve been a happy fella. Virtually my entire life. Even when things go wrong, I don’t stew for long. Focusing instead on the stuff that has gone right.  Such as falling in love. Not once. But twice. With goddesses.  Little wonder. That I’m also in love with life.  Could be that love is an antidote for depression. Maybe my dad was out of love. He committed suicide. When he was 38. Wish I could have counseled him then. But I was only 13 at the time. And not into counseling. Now I’d be capable of talking the likes of my dad into savoring and embracing the goodness of life.  --Jim Broede

The Julies of the world.

It’s a nice day. But my friend Julie probably doesn’t know it.  Because she’s in depression. Has been. For a long, long time. Oh, she occasionally has good days. Because she’s a manic-depressive. She has brief extraordinary highs. That make her long-term lows seem even lower.  Doesn’t help that she drinks too much. Julie used to be a happy, functional human being. Now she doesn’t even know enough to get help. To obtain readily available treatment for her depression. And for alcoholism. Julie’s husband tries to encourage Julie to go into psychotherapy. And to seek rehab. But she steadfastly refuses. He thinks the decision must be left to Julie. Or the cure won’t stick. Of course, I’d force Julie into treatment. But I don’t have the authority. So I sit on the sidelines. And try to use the power of persuasion. But it’s not working. I once knew the Julie of another, much better time. But it all changed. When Julie became a care-giver. Bringing both of her Alzheimer-riddled parents into her own home. For six years. Indeed, a gallant and unselfish endeavor.

Unfortunately, Julie forgot to take care of herself. First and foremost.  She became exhausted. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. Julie dropped into the abyss. And she hasn’t been able to climb out. So I watch. And tell Julie. Climb. Climb. Climb. I wish there was a way. To give Julie a ladder.  A way out. So that she didn’t have to do it all on her own. Anyway. To keep my sanity. I try to stay in love. With life. Despite seeing the languishing  misery of the Julies of the world. --Jim Broede

A thorough cleansing. Of my soul.

Don’t know why I pay attention to politics. Maybe because it’s such an evil and dirty game. Makes me wonder why people get into politics. Maybe it’s the evil and dirt that’s so attractive. I take an interest. As a sideline observer. Guess it’s that I have my own opinions. About the most nasty of the politicians. And so I voice ‘em. And make judgments. I’d never want to be a politician. Though sometimes I act like one. And it makes me feel evil and dirty. As if I need a thorough cleansing. Of my soul. --Jim Broede

The nicest consolation of all.

I suspect. That Barack Obama practices love. Far more than his politically conservative critics. Especially the ones that claim Obama was born in Kenya. And that he’s a secret Muslim. They say that stuff openly. But what they don’t openly confess, is that they can’t stand having a black in the White House. Wish I were wrong about that. But that’s the way it is. Tell me, please, that it really isn’t true. That people love other people. Some of them actually do. That’s the nicest consolation of all. --Jim Broede

Born to be happy.

It’s sort of nice. Not knowing about my future. Let it be a surprise. Don’t know, for instance, how long I’ll live. Just as well. Better not to know.  Maybe I’ll live to 100. Or be dead next year. Better to go on the assumption. That I’ll outlive many of my friends and acquaintances.  Anyway, I’ve always been able to cope with life. Even with the personal tragedies and setbacks. Because invariably life’s downturns transition into upturns. Maybe it’s that I have an insatiable desire to be happy. Therefore, I find happiness. Yes, it’s that simple. I’m a natural. I was born to be happy. Even when I complain about things. I’m a happy complainer. --Jim Broede

No more hate. Only love.

I create fanciful worlds. In which politicians. On the extremes of conservatism and liberalism. Find ways to get along. To cooperate. To work for the common good.  By compromising. Yes, old fashioned give and take. Setting aside their petty differences. In the spirit. Of love and gratitude. For each other. Dreams. Dreams. Dreams like this. Keep me going. I am the creator. The god of love.  There is no hate. In my fanciful world. Only love. --Jim Broede

In an imperfect but tolerable world.

Doesn’t really bother me. That I have no control over political events. In the USA. Or anywhere in the world. My vote. My presence. In this world. Is meaningless. When it comes to politics. What will happen politically, will happen. Whether I’m here or not. I’m resigned to that fact. I have to learn to adjust. And adapt. And accept it. I have no control over meaningful political outcomes. I can protest. Yell and scream. Which I do. To token degree. But it won’t really matter. For the most part, I try to ignore stuff that’s beyond my control. And focus instead, on things over which I can have a practical effect. Such as my personal relationships. I can decide to act kindly, or otherwise.  Generally, I try to make the most and best of situations. Sometimes to help others.  Other times, merely to suit me. And to make for a reasonably happy life. In an imperfect but tolerable world. --Jim Broede

Keeps me happy. And confident.

I have several friends and acquaintances. With low self-esteems. They lack confidence. In themselves. And that’s too bad. They’ve gotten that way, it seems to me, by focusing on their failures. Rather than on their successes. They don’t understand. That everyone fails. A natural part of life. Failure after failure. That’s how one learns to succeed. I’ve had so many, many failures. That I can’t even keep track of ‘em all. It’s an astronomical number.  But hey, every now and then, I succeed. Magnificently. That’s good enough for me. Keeps me happy. And confident.   --Jim Broede

The Scalia way.

If one has to die. One might as well go the way of Antonin Scalia. The Supreme Court justice. Found dead. In bed. On Saturday morning. Age 79  Several months younger than me. Anyway, Scalia didn’t have to suffer. Or lament over his pending death. He thought of himself as healthy.  And then. Boom. Suddenly the bottom drops out. He’s gone. Relatively quick and easy.  Several days earlier. My step son Jack died. Rather agonizing, lingering death. From lung cancer. That had spread to the rest of his body. He looked awful. Like he had just come out of Auschwitz. My wife Jeanne. Died a lingering, awful death. From Alzheimer’s. Don’t know for sure. Which way is the best to go. But I suspect it’s the Scalia way. --Jim Broede

My declaration of superiority.

I’m distinctive. Unique. The one and only Jim Broede. Little wonder. That people accuse me of being narcissistic. As if that’s a malady. A curse. Funny thing. I consider myself blessed. Because I am distinctive. Unique. Perhaps one of a kind. Oh. there are other beings. Very much like me. But I’m conscious. Of being me. A specific me. A romantic idealist. A spiritual free-thinker. A political liberal. A lover. A dreamer. A writer. Of course, I’m fully capable of being self-centered. At almost any time.  Oh, I take interest in other people. I even fall in love. With others. And I try to treat my fellow beings with the utmost respect. I’m willing to make self-sacrifices. To benefit others. Including society as a whole.  We are all in this world. Together. Therefore, it’s important to work for the common good. But hey, nothing wrong with working for my own good, too. Actually, I feel it benefits me. When I labor physically, mentally and emotionally for the common good. In my unique and distinctive ways. By falling in love. With life. With friends. With me, too Nothing wrong with me liking me.  Yes, I have rock solid self-esteem. With no qualms about declaring. That I’m a superior human being. And that one of the Great Lakes has been named after me. Lake Superior. –Narcissistic Jim.

A blessing for America.

I wonder. If the Republican Party is in its death throes. No longer facing decent, upstanding reality. Instead, infested almost entirely by selfish political obstructionists. Unwilling to compromise. On virtually anything. Even if that means the death of the party. Which would be a blessing for America and for human decency. --Jim Broede

I just go. On a whim.

I’m a world traveler. Even when I stay at home. Because I am constantly exploring the cosmos. Worlds far beyond my physical reach. Instead, I am able to make spiritual journeys. To other planets. In our solar system. But I also head out to other galaxies. Even to colliding black holes. One billion light years away.  All it takes is a little imagination. I don’t even have to pack my bags. Don’t have to book a passage ahead of time. I just go. On a whim. --Jim Broede

Crazy. In wonderful ways.

Used to be. That I pursued life by putting intellect ahead of emotion. Always. But as I age, my emotions are holding more and more sway. Maybe the transition started when I fell in love. For the first time.  That opened a floodgate of emotions that overwhelmed my intellect and drove me crazy. In wonderful ways. --Jim Broede

In grand and glorious ways.

When a loved one dies. I don’t grieve for long. Because I’m a blessed survivor. Ready to get on with life. Thing is.  I really haven’t lost the loved one. I still have his/her spirit. Which is virtually as good as physical presence. Because I’m able to commune with spirits. In grand and glorious ways. --Jim Broede

Now that's being unfair.

Fairness. It’s so hard to define. What does it mean to be fair? Especially in dealing with other people.  With friends and associates. With ourselves, too. I start with a negative. By identifying the people that I perceive as being unfair. To me. Or to others.  Possibly to society as a whole. That’s why I’m a political liberal. And down on conservative Republicans. But still, I try to be fair. To everyone. Even to the so-called unfair. The people I dislike. Often for social, political or economic reasons. For being grossly unfair. Sometimes, I allow myself to be unfair to the unfair. Because I think of them as mean-spirited. As downright selfish beings. As opponents of the common good. They probably treat me the same way. For the same reasons. Tit for tat. We can’t ever agree on what’s fair. To everyone. Maybe that means fairness is an impossibility. Therefore, we have winners and losers. The prevailing attitude. Not everyone can win. But I’m not so sure about that. I’m willing to compromise. For the sake of fairness. But I can’t seem to get the other side to meet me halfway.  So I offer to give 70 percent. And to take only 30 percent. But still, they demand. That I give 100 percent. Now that’s being unfair. --Jim Broede

Fantastic stuff coming true.

As a kid. I wanted to become an astronomer. Not knowing what that all entailed. Turned out. That I wasn’t too good at math.  Or the fine detail work required for a career in astronomy. So I took the easy way out. And became a writer. With a vivid imagination. About the stars. And the cosmos. Turns out. I can concoct science fiction. And see all that fantastic stuff coming true. --Jim Broede

Because I have the good life.

I try not to lament. Over anything. Of course, I don’t always succeed. But at least I don’t lament for a long time. Best to get over it. And I do. By focusing on the fact that I’m in love. With someone. And with life. Sure, stuff doesn’t always go my way. But still, I am alive and conscious and healthy. And able to stop lamenting. In short order. Because I have the good life. --Jim Broede

In no hurry to die.

Friend Julie was on her exceptionally good behavior on Thursday. But on Friday, she disappeared. Into her bedroom. Spent the whole day there. Drunk. It’s hard for me to fathom. But that’s the peril of alcohol. A poison. That makes one addicted. Maybe the most devastating drug in the drug arsenal. Funny thing though. I’ll find reason to be happy. If I live long enough to see Julie die. I’d rather outlast all of my friends and acquaintances. I’m in no hurry to die. --Jim Broede

Of truth more fantastic than fiction.

I believe in the impossible. Because virtually anything can be. If our cosmos exists. In the magnitude and dimension described by physicists and astronomers. Including the late Albert Einstein.  Here we are. On a tiny speck of a planet. In the Milky Way galaxy. Containing billions of stars (suns). So vast a galaxy, I’m told, that it would take 50,000 light years (traveling at 186,000 miles per second)  to cross. Furthermore, in this cosmos, there are billions of other galaxies.  Plus things called black holes. Which suck up parts of creation that get too close. With gravity so forceful. That nothing escapes. Not even light. Now I read. In the lead story of today’s New York Times, that scientists have proof. From captured gravitational waves. That two black holes have collided. But fear not. Because this is supposed to have occurred in a place some billion light years away. I’m flabbergasted. Just trying to imagine. The vastness of creation. Makes me wonder. How the heck we earthlings can be sure. Of truth more fantastic than fiction. --Jim Broede

Too many don't have a clue.

It’s nice. To define one’s self. Much better. Than letting others do it for you. I even have a printed calling card.  That defines me. It’s always the start of a good discussion. Especially when I follow up. And ask others to define themselves. Too many don’t have a clue. They know little more. Than their own name. And some aren’t even sure of that. --Jim Broede

To come out rejuvenated.

Getting involved in other people’s lives. There’s nothing more destructive. In my life. Than that. But at the same time, there’s a positive offsetting factor. To deep involvement. It’s the reason I’ve fallen in love. Yes, there’s a delicate balance to life. It ain’t perfect. But over all, life is beautiful. I’ve concluded. It’s dangerous. To care too much. There are times when one must remain aloof. Above the fray. For one’s own safety. And sanity. That’s why I’ve built a cocoon. A place where I can withdraw.  For respite. And to come out rejuvenated. --Jim Broede

In riotously funny ways.

Life may not be fair. But it’s certainly funny. I find. That the more I laugh. The more I can adjust to the unfairness. Thing is. I have to admit. That mostly I’m treated fairly. And I take it as a political, social and economic responsibility to correct the unfairness. And I have a good time in the process. Often finding reason to fall in love with life. In riotously funny ways. --Jim Broede

An advantage. To being a nobody.

I wonder. If one’s role or status makes a difference. Let’s say. That I’m the president. A celebrity, of sorts.  Presumably, I’d get more attention. People would more likely take me seriously.  For my pretentious comments. I could give advice. And be listened to. Just because. I’d be more influential. Especially if I had money. Because money talks. Doesn’t it? People might cling to me. For no earthly reason. Other than that I’m famous. Wouldn’t matter. That I sold my soul. Just to get where I am. Yes, maybe there’s an advantage. To being a nobody. --Jim Broede

The practical wiser choice.

My dilemma. Don’t know whether to support Hillary Clinton or Bernie Sanders. For president. Really, I prefer Sanders. Because he’s a true socialist. And more of an idealist than Clinton. But I’m afraid that Sanders won’t get elected. And that would mean a Republican would likely end up in the White House.  Yes, a political disaster. Clinton has a better chance of winning. Therefore, she may be the practical wiser choice. --Jim Broede

I'd offer brotherly advice.

Told my troubled friend Julie today. That I wish she was my sister. Of course, we don’t pick our blood-related brothers or sisters. They just happen. And  that’s it. Doesn’t matter whether we like ‘em or not. Too bad we aren’t allowed to choose our own siblings. Then we would have better matches. I don’t hold it against Julie. That she drinks too much. And doesn’t deal effectively with her clinical depression. I still respect her. She’s the kind of decent human being that I’d like to have – as my sister. Maybe then she’d take some brotherly advice. --Jim Broede

Life ain't always fair.

At our family reunions. My sister Babs always griped. About me being mother’s favorite.  And that she and brother Bruce. Were relegated to a lesser status. Of course, I laughed. Even though Babs was being serious. Hey, if there was a sibling ranking, I liked the idea of being No. 1. I told Babs, with a straight face and tongue-in-cheek, that I deserved to be mother’s favorite. That I was superior.  And that Lake Superior was named after me. Babs, at the time, didn’t see the humor in my bragging.  Now she does.  Truth be told. We were not necessarily treated equally. That’s the nature of things. Life ain’t always fair --Jim Broede

Finally being truly and fully alive.

Jack passed on last night. I refuse to acknowledge that he died. After all, I sense that he didn’t want to die. So he found an alternative course.  A new form of life. I wish Jack could tell me the details. But doesn’t matter. Because I have an imagination. And that’s good enough for me. Jack can be whatever he truly wants. Could be a thinking, living spirit. Or even another form of physical life. Maybe his mission hasn’t been fully accomplished yet. It’s in the process. Doesn’t matter. Jack exists. Outside of time. Which must be a neat experience. With no past. No future. Only now. A holding pattern. While he was a physical pulsating Jack. Here on Earth. Jack often dwelt on the past and the future. No reason to do that any more. Instead, Jack can focus his entire being. On a moment of eternal bliss.  Finally being truly and fully alive. --Jim Broede

Things that I tell myself.

I’d rather live than die.  That’s my conclusion. Every time I visit a dying person. I leave. With a greater resolve. To make the most of my remaining days. Which means. Finding ways to be reasonably happy and content. With life.  Also. I tell myself to not be in a hurry.  To slow down. To take my time. To proceed at a leisurely pace. In accomplishing my goals. As a romantic idealist, a spiritual free-thinker, a political liberal, a lover and a dreamer. --Jim Broede

Away from prying eyes.

I always like getting back. After venturing out. Into the world at large. I feel more at ease. In my element. My cocoon.  Oh, I’m a world traveler. Especially after meeting my Italian amore. Makes me on the go. Makes life an adventure. But I’m most relaxed. When staying at home. In my familiar surroundings.  Where I savor moments of solitude. I’m just back. From a five-day visit. With my dying son Jack. Maybe I should have stayed longer. Until Jack actually dies. But I sensed that maybe Jack wants to die alone. Or only with his wife Melinda at his bedside.  But certainly without me around. I suspect that dying should be a private thing. Away from prying eyes. --Jim Broede

A remarkable man.

My son Jack was supposed to die. That’s why I came to see him. At the hospice. In Kennewick in the state of Washington.  I spent five days with Jack  And he refused to die. Yes, Jack is stubborn. He wants to live. A while longer.  Jack is gaunt. Looks like he just got out of Auschwitz. Jack has lung cancer. And it has  spread. Throughout his frail, emaciated body. Jack is semi-conscious. He talks in a whisper. Says he wants to live another day, maybe a week, or more. He takes life one day at a time. Free and clear of medications. Except for the stuff that helps quell the pain. I tell Jack. That it’s all right to surrender. To let go. To see if death will unshackle his spirit. And allow for a better life in a spiritual dimension. Where there are no physical restraints. But Jack doesn’t want to let go of the physical. He’d prefer being reincarnated. In the physical realm. Over and over and over. Jack thinks that would be far better than being a spirit. Jack is very much a physical being. And he wants to stay physical. As long as possible. Jack asked that his life be prolonged. By inserting a feeding tube into his stomach. Every day. Jack finds reason to live. One day longer. On Sunday, it was the Super Bowl. On Monday, it was something else. Same goes for Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday.  Jack hasn’t yet tired of living. Because it never is the same old daily grind. Jack always finds something to savor. For one last time. Over and over and over again. Yes, my son Jack. Is a remarkable man.--Jim Broede

I'd rather laugh than cry.

The funniest people in the world. It seems to me. Happen to be the ones without a sense of humor. They make me laugh. They don’t know it. But they are natural born comedians. Because they don’t see the funny side of life. One might see that as a sad state of affairs. But to me, it’s very, very funny. I’d rather laugh than cry. --Jim Broede

It's nice. To have it both ways.

I’m flying. To the state of Washington. To be with my son Jack. When he dies. In a hospice. Actually, Jack and I aren’t blood-related. He’s my step son. But maybe I’m closer to Jack. Than he was to his biological father. Maybe because  we are connected in spirit. Blood is blood. Spirit is spirit. If one must choose between the two, give me the spirit connection. Anyway, it’s going to be sort of a family reunion. Jack’s sister, Kiki, will be there. So will cousin Carol. They are not only blood relatives. But spiritual kin, too.  Yes, sometimes it’s nice. To have it both ways. --Jim Broede

Other than our blood.

Blood relationship. It’s overblown. One doesn’t pick one’s mother or father or siblings. They just happen.  But my friends. My true loves. They are handpicked. By me. I have more in common with them. Than with my blood relatives. If not for the blood relationship, I might not ever establish contact with my brother or sister. We have so little in common. To draw us together. Other than our blood. --Jim Broede