Doing right. More often than not.

Sometimes I say and write things. That maybe I shouldn’t have. That’s a risk. Of being impulsive. Thing is. Too often I say  stuff. For effect. In good humor. And it comes back to haunt me. Hard to tell. Whether I’m trying to be funny or serious. I don’t even know what I meant. Originally.  But in the end, it really doesn’t matter. Because I let myself flow. Naturally. And I don’t care. If I am liked or disliked. My friends like me. And I like them. That’s good enough. I don’t expect everyone to like me. That’s their right. All I care about. Is liking myself. For doing the right thing. More often than not.  --Jim Broede

I am a natural. Thank goodness.

I can imagine good thoughts. And bad thoughts, too. I’m able to differentiate. And that’s wonderful. Because I am free to choose. Between my perceptions of good and bad. And virtually all the time, I choose the good. Because that makes me feel good. And I reject the bad thoughts. Because I have no desire to feel bad. I am committed to feeling good. By being and doing good. Seems to me, that if I preferred bad thoughts. I’d be in trouble. I’d feel bad. When really I much prefer feeling good.  Maybe that’s how I avert going into depression. I hate feeling bad. And I love feeling good. So simple. Meanwhile, I’m confused. Trying to figure out why some people choose feeling bad. When they could just as easily opt for feeling good. It’s merely a matter of adjusting one’s thought process. Maybe I’m blessed. Because I have an innate desire to feel good. Rather than bad. Goodness and love come easy for me. I am a natural. Thank goodness. --Jim Broede

A little love is good enough.

I’m unorthodox. Different. And not afraid to be. That can get me into trouble. Because some people want me to be orthodox. To comply with the written and unwritten rules. To toe the line. Anyway, I’ve become a romantic idealist, a spiritual free-thinker, a political liberal, a lover, a dreamer. And not least, a diehard Chicago Cubs fan. Maybe being hooked on the Cubs is my worst vice. It hasn’t always been good for me. Until I got used to the losing. But this year, the Cubs are winning. At a fantastic rate. They have the best record in baseball. Though the season is only 48 games old. And there are over 100 games left to play. Odd as it may seem, winning may be harder to take than losing.  Because my expectations begin to soar. For the Cubs finally getting to and winning the World Series. For the first time in my lifetime. I could be in for a big  letdown.  If the Cubs fall a game or two short. In an agonizing way. So close. Yet so far. But I’m learning to adjust. To accept life in stride. Even if I can’t have everything. A little love in my life is good enough. --Jim Broede

The fathomless wonders of life.

Believe me. I’ve had some very good teachers. And the best were the ones that encouraged and allowed me to excel. To eliminate boundaries. So that we no longer differentiated. Between the roles of teacher and student. We taught each other. We learned from each other. Didn’t matter who was  teacher and who was student. In a sense, we were one and  the same. Equal learners. Stimulating each other. Open to new ways. To new concepts. To new everything. We granted each other the freedom. To explore the fathomless wonders of life.  Without restrictive rules. To become our true selves. In every way possible. -Jim Broede

The day I stop laughing.

Funny. Funny. Isn’t it? When I imagine myself to be a meandering river. That’s the difference. Seeing the funny side of the human dilemma.  That doesn’t make me crazy. It’s what keeps me sane. The humor. The funny side of life. Life becomes dangerous. Only when I take myself seriously. When I get hot and bothered over trivia. The day I stop laughing. I’ll be a goner. --Jim Broede

A part of me dies, too.

I write. For the satisfaction. Of proving that my mind is functioning. That I have thoughts. It’s essential. That I put a thought in writing. Because that makes it easier to ponder. Seeing the thought. In written form.  Allows me to elaborate. To construct. To build an edifice. Of thought. I am able to pack a suitcase. Full of thoughts. To take with me. Wherever I go. Portable thoughts. So easy to carry. Too often I forget a thought. Too many thoughts to record in my mind. A clutter. It helps. That I keep track of thoughts. In a blog. In published form. Not so much for others to see and read. But for me to review. I hate to see a thought perish. When that happens. A part of me dies, too. --Jim Broede

Making everyone happy.

I am feeling better today. Because the Cubs won last night. Defeating the St. Louis Cardinals. Convincingly. Doesn’t bother me. That this leaves some Cardinals fans disconsolate. But it really should plague me. When my happiness comes at the expense of the unhappiness of others. Too bad. That we can’t have outcomes in life. That make everyone happy. --Jim Broede

Certainly, better than not to be.

That I exist. That I am. And that I am aware of this very moment. That is all I need. To know.  That I am remarkable. Even if I am not here forever. It is still uncanny. To muse. About how all this came about. Perhaps just by chance. I may never know. But that’s alright. I don’t need to know everything. It’s good enough. To merely be. Certainly, better than not to be. --Jim

And may the funniest guy win.

Let’s pretend I’m a politician. Taking on Donald J. Trump.  Would I try to out-bombast him?  Of course not. Trump thrives on insults. He’s a master at it. Both on giving and taking verbal slaps. Instead, I’d keep labeling Trump as a bold-faced liar. He can’t go a minute without telling a lie. Could be, he even believes some of his own lies. Yes, Trump is a natural born liar.  He spouts lies encased and coated with smeary B.S. I’d make an enormous list of Trump’s smelly lies. Granted, some of Trump’s lies are entertaining. The funny, funny lies. But hey, let’s get serious. A lie is a lie is a lie. I’d give Trump credit. For making up audacious stuff. He’s taken the art of lying to a new and spectacular level. It’s Trump’s schtick. He does it well. With flamboyance. And his followers allow him to get away with it. Because they are entertained. So my goal would be to out-entertain Trump. I’d run a masterful comedian against Trump. A satirist. A guy such as Bill Maher.  Or Minnesotan Senator Al Franken. Indeed, that would make for the most entertaining presidential campaign ever. Full of raucous laughs. Never a dull moment. And may the funniest guy win. --Jim Broede

The longest meandering river.

Sometimes. All it takes. Is to read my own writings (broodings). To convince myself. That I am going crazy. That I write like a crazy man. But then that’s my life’s purpose. To dare be crazy. If I step back. And read as an objective observer. Yes, I could be construed. As being wacko. But doesn’t bother me. What others think. I’m merely my subjective self. Just letting the life force flow. Naturally. Making me the world’s longest meandering river. --Jim Broede

Grasping for words.

Having nothing to say. That’s a weird feeling. So I begin to write. About the topic of having nothing to say. Which makes me think. Why do I have nothing to say? Maybe it’s that I’m momentarily at a loss for words. That’s something. It’s a good start. Yes, by posing a question. Upon reflection. I’m really not at a loss for words. Here I am. Writing. Precise words. In an effort. To get to the bottom of the mystery. Maybe I’m proving something. Significant. That I’m never at a loss for words. As long as I have a conscious mind. And a language. With a vast vocabulary. But think about it. Maybe my vocabulary is too limited. Therefore, I can’t fully express myself. In words. I lack full coherence. And that’s what I am seeking. The ability to say (and write) significant stuff. My grasp for words. That go far beyond my wildest imagination. --Jim Broede

Lamenting. Over a trivial thing.

My biggest weakness. I get disappointed. And upset. Over relatively trivial stuff. Such as the outcome of a baseball game. The Cubs lost tonight. To the St. Louis Cardinals, 4-3. After blowing a 3-1 lead. It should be no big deal. But it bothers me. Throws me off  my smooth-flowing course. Into a negative frame of mind. I’d feel so much better. If the Cubs had won. The Cubs still have won 15 more games than they’ve lost. They’re still in first place. But still, I sit down at the computer. Where I am now. Lamenting. In writing. When I should be rejoicing. And celebrating. Everything that has gone right today. --Jim Broede

To get it (life) right.

I am learning how to adjust. To being 80. And that includes. Trying not to worry too much. Just get on with life. By adjusting. To whatever it is. That comes with aging. I try to stay on the move. Mentally. Physically. Emotionally. Every which way. Staying active. From morning to night. Best to not think about running out of time. I have today. And I try to make it count. I used to imagine. What it must to like to be 80. Now it’s reality. I can put my imagination to better use. And by simply savoring the day. By recognizing precious moments. Another thing. I follow my instincts. Doing what I have to do. To get it (life) right. --Jim Broede

Rather than fret about it.

Yes. When it comes down to it. I’m easily pleased. Because I find it impossible. To remain displeased. Of course, a fair number of people are displeased with me. But that poses a challenge. For me. To discover the source of their displeasure. Often, I do something about it. Other times I don’t. Better to get on with life. Rather than fret about it. --Jim Broede

On life's magnificent journey.

I’m an explorer. A discoverer. Going on ventures. Daily. And mostly, I’m in search of strangers. People I don’t know. But give me a few minutes. With any stranger.  And he/she is no longer a stranger.  Oh, maybe not yet a friend. That usually takes more time. But I’ve made acquaintances. Of significance. Yes, those are my greatest discoveries. People. Crossing each others paths. On life’s magnificent journey. --Jim Broede

Where there's life. There's hope.

My friend Julie. Is a strange one. Profoundly strange. Julie is an alcoholic. Trying to recover. Trying to learn to control her insatiable and perplexing addiction. She’s in and out of treatment. One might say she’s making progress. She doesn’t drink on a daily basis anymore. But she still drinks. Occasionally. Four times in the past two months. She hasn’t yet learned to fully resist temptation. If she stumbles across a stash of wine. That she had so adeptly and cleverly hidden in the past. She’ll imbibe. And later feel sorry about it. But still, it’s so sad. To watch the personality change.  It’s as if Julie becomes a drunken sailor. Complete with salty language. Julie’s mind has been warped. To the point of having completely forgotten some of her drunken escapades. One of which was almost lethal. She could have lost her life. It was touch and go in the hospital. Julie doesn’t remember. If she did, it would be easier to quit. That’s the fervent wish of Julie’s many friends. That she becomes so scared. That she quits. Once and for all. Meanwhile, progress is progress. Where there’s life. There’s hope. --Jim Broede

To explore the mysteries of life.

Maybe it’s the imagination. That makes life worthwhile. I can imagine being Napoleon. Or Caesar. Or Alexander the Great. But that doesn’t make me crazy. Because I still know that I am me. Very sane. Because I am using my imagination in a constructive way. To help me understand history. Sometimes I imagine living as a dog or a cat or a fish. As a rock or a tree, too. But my favorite imagined role is that of a spirit. Capable of exploring the mysteries of life. --Jim Broede

Thank you, creator.

Yes, I’d rather live than die. So that’s what I do. By staying in motion. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. I imagine living forever. That’s sure a lot better. For the morale. Than imagining death as nothingness. Instead, I covet a continuation. An emergence. Into endless forms of the life force. I am allowed to live. One way or another. In other dimensions. For as long as I desire. I call the shots. It’s my decision. Thank you, creator. --Jim Broede

Believing for the sake of believing.

Maybe I’ve been escaping. All my life.  From the real world. Into a pretend world. Don’t know if that’s good or bad. Could be. That to be extraordinarily happy, one must create his own  reality. Anyway, some of the nicest people I know. Have many, many reasons to be unhappy. Yet they profess to be happy. No better example. Of believing what one wants to believe. Despite the lack of evidence. --Jim Broede

Making the same mistakes.

Maybe I’ve fooled myself. Into thinking I’ve made a legitimate effort to get things right. To solve problems. When I haven’t. That’s one of the easiest things in the world. To fool/trick one’s self.  I often brag. That I turn mistakes into learning experiences. When really, I haven’t learned. Because I keep making the same mistakes. --Jim Broede

Nothing wrong with that.

My dream ticket. Hillary Clinton and Bernie Sanders. Or Bernie  and Hillary. Doesn’t matter the order. It’s bound to win. Either way. It’d be  a ticket made in heaven. But  it won’t happen. Because both candidates don’t want it. One would have to surrender ego. By agreeing to be second on the ticket. Yes, that’s the biggest roadblock in politics.  Ego. Ego. Ego plays the big role. I have other dream tickets, too. What about Hillary and Elizabeth Warren? Or Bernie and Elizabeth?  Yes, I’m a dreamer.  Nothing wrong with that. --Jim Broede

Short of passionate.

I try to live passionately. But only on a part-time basis. Because one can’t be passionate all the time. That’s impossible. It would be too emotionally exhausting. Risking collapse. From fatigue.  Better to cool it. And to limit one’s self to being passionate. When the situation calls for it. When I earned my living. By being a writer. I became passionate. About some stuff. But I couldn’t maintain the passion day after day. Too often, we expect people around us to be passionate. In their pursuits. Like I do. With my favorite baseball team, the Chicago Cubs.  I want the Cubs to play every game. At a very high passion level.  To play to win.  With a take-no-prisoners attitude.  Yes, to play with unbounded passion. But to be honest. That’s asking for  too much. Really. It should be good enough. To merely give a decent effort. Short of passionate. --Jim Broede

Born to be entertained.

I’m with Hillary Clinton. Of course, I’d rather have Elizabeth Warren as the next president. But Warren isn’t nearly as ambitious as Hillary. One more reason why Warren would be the better president. A little less ego. And more dedicated to the common cause. If Hillary were wise, she’d pick Warren as her running mate. Imagine that. Two women at the top of the ticket. Running against self-styled macho man Donald Trump. The Donald versus the Hillary.  Indeed, that could be an entertaining campaign. Yes, that’s what politics is becoming. Entertainment. Exactly what the media craves. Entertainment sells. We Americans were born to be entertained. --Jim Broede

The frustration and the elation.

The nice thing about baseball. Is the long season. Yes, 162 games. The best teams. Not only get used to winning. But also to losing. Maybe as many as 60 or 70 games. Meanwhile, good football teams have a chance to go undefeated. They play once a week. Maybe 16 games in a season. Baseball is so very, very imperfect. And complex. Over the long haul. If the Chicago Cubs go to the World Series, they will still have lost their share of heartbreaking games. That’s the frustration of baseball. To contrast with the elation. Of winning the big game. --Jim Broede

All I need. A consolation prize.

Used to be. That I was disappointed. On a daily basis. With me. With other people. With events.  Yes, I had high expectations. About virtually everything. Now I take stuff more routinely.. No sense in being disappointed. Especially in things beyond my control. Better to get on with life.  Focusing on whatever it is that makes me happy.  Sure beats becoming disgruntled and unhappy. If something goes wrong.  I try to make it right. And usually, that works. But if it doesn’t. I recognize that not everything  can be fixed.  But at least I made the effort. That’s all I need. A consolation prize. --Jim Broede

With my eyes wide open.

I enjoy being alive. What more can I ask of life? Than to feel a vibrant pulse beat.  I’m up now. Watching the coming of dawn. Yes, sunset in reverse. I’ve watched many more sunsets than sunrises. I can’t remember my first sunset. Bu I remember a sunrise. I must have been 3 or 4 years old. In bed. When darkness suddenly became light. In the snap of  snap of the fingers. And I was astounded. Telling my mother. That I had seen the actual coming of a new day.  For the first time.  With my eyes wide open. --Jim Broede

With laughter. Rather than tears.

Being silly. Yes, a very important part of life. Silliness. Puts me in a good mood. Every time.  Gets me to loosen up. Sometimes my friends tell me I’m being too silly. They wish I’d be more serious. More somber. But little do they know. That makes me even more silly. I can’t help myself. I practice my stand-up comic shtick.  By making a fool of myself. I love it. When I’m taken for a court jester. I’m shopping. For a silly hat. With tiny bells. That jingle.  Might even wear it. To a wake. To a funeral. A way to compliment the deceased.  With laughter. Rather than tears. --Jim Broede

A crazy way to cope.

I wonder. If the time will come. When I can no longer cope.  And what will I do then? Go crazy? Of course, that would put me out of my mind. And maybe I won’t even know. That I’m no longer coping. Yes, there’s a benefit to craziness. In a sense, it’s a way to cope. --Jim Broede

With a peculiar imagination.

Seems to me. That most people deny the existence of spirits. Because it’s difficult. Imagining life in a non-physical form. Anyway, I’m not sure that I exist. Physically. That I am spirit now. And merely imagining that I am in physical form. If I’m right. That’s good news. I can learn to give free rein to my imagination.  And become anything. A rock. A tree. A bird. But for now. I’ll settle for being me. A romantic idealist. With a peculiar imagination. --Jim Broede

Does it really matter?

I wonder. If there’s no such things as wasting time. Because I have all the time in the world.  So far. I’ve never run out of time.  Always. There has been a tomorrow. Therefore, the odds seem good.  That I will continue to have multiple tomorrows. And if I don’t. Does it really matter? --Jim Broede

Along a babbling brook.

I’m a natural born babbler. I was born babbling. And I’ve never stopped. Little wonder. That I am attracted to babbling brooks. There’s no better place I’d like to be. Than nestled along a babbling brook. --Jim Broede

With a bit of help. From me.

Today. I’m leaning toward a disbelief. In predestination.  In other words. Nothing has been predetermined. Nothing decided.  That means I have some control. Over outcomes. Especially the stuff happening around me. I can influence. Not only what I do. But what other people around me do.  By taking concerted action. For instance, the next time I see someone with a glum face.  I’ll stop him/her. And tell a joke. To make ‘em laugh. Even if that means risking getting a punch in the nose. It’s going to be interesting. Watching how life plays out. With a bit of help. From me. --Jim Broede

Living happily. One way or another.

Thing is. Objecting to political outcomes. Isn’t good enough. If I object to Donald Trump becoming president, that won’t prevent him from becoming president. If it’s so ordained. No matter how many and how vociferous my objections. I’ll have to learn to live with it. Maybe by moving to Italy. Or by ignoring politics. And getting on with life. In a reasonably decent manner. Yes, without being bothered by politics.  Focusing on other stuff. And living in isolation. Away from the nitty-gritty.  I’m prepared to live happily. One way or another. --Jim Broede

By trial and error.

I’m always searching. For new and better ways to live. Ways that make me a better and happier human being. Ain’t always easy. Because I occasionally get sidetracked. And need to right myself. Yes, I make mistakes. But that’s the best way to learn. By trial and error.  --Jim Broede

And I object.

Theoretically. I’d like everything to fall into place. Just the way I want it to. To conform with my concept of  perfection. And of moral right. Yes, the so-called right thing to do. Of course, that won’t happen. Just as well. Because I’d then be all-powerful. Even more powerful than the creator himself. The creator, after all, seems to have left everything to random chance. Just let things happen. Willy-nilly. Probably because that’s the fairest way. Better than favoring any individual. Let it be. The way it works in a lottery. Imagine me. Dictating the outcome of the lottery. I’d pick me. As the sole winner  And even I have to admit. That ain’t right. Ain’t fair. But still, we humans are masters at rigging economic, social and political systems. To give the power to an elite few. That’s the way it is. And I object. --Jim Broede

Blossoming. Magically. Into a today.

I have today. Which means. I have everything. Real life. Doesn’t matter about yesterday. Or tomorrow.  I have had so very, very many todays. Too many to count. The most important today. Is today. Because of the opportunity. To get off to a fresh start. To do something new. Don’t know that I will. Because I have yet to fully live today. There are still many hours left. To steer my course. Makes me wonder how many more todays are left. Really doesn’t matter. As long as I have today. Meanwhile, I have faith. In tomorrow.  After all, there always has been a tomorrow. Blossoming. Magically. Into a wonderful today. --Jim Broede

The easiest and most fulfilling way.

It’s so easy. To muse. To express a thought. Most days. Nothing comes easier. To ponder. About the wonders of life. Like now. The alternative, I suppose. Is to exist with a blank mind. To have nothing to say. Anyway, I merely sit down. At the keyboard. And start tapping away. With two fingers. Mostly. Happy thoughts flow. But yes, sad thoughts, too. But I am inclined to be happy.  Presumably, that’s my nature. I suppose. That if I had a malady. Such as depression.  That would be a problem. In my younger days, there were times when I didn’t know how to express myself. Oh, I had stuff to say. But I lacked an adequate vocabulary. That was terribly frustrating. But then I discovered words. A language.  Which I keep expanding. Cultivating. I stumble across new words. Daily. By reading. By opening the dictionary. To this page. And that page. At random. I should learn a foreign language. A second or third language. But it’s so much easier learning English. Which has deep roots. In other languages. Such as Latin. Really. English derived from many other languages.  Then there’s the matter of writing styles. Which allows me to make up my own rules. To experiment. Endlessly. So here I am. Putting down a thought. The easy way. I could do this all day. Writing a treatise. Or a mere musing.  Doing what comes naturally. Yes. Yes. That’s by far the easiest and most fulfilling way. To live one’s life.. --Jim Broede

To keep guessing. For eternity.

Today. I am leaning. Toward a belief. In predestination. Yes. Yes. Yes. I can’t affect outcomes. Things happen. Because they are predestined. My life span  has been predetermined. Nothing I can do about it. To lengthen or shorten my life. I have to learn to accept it. Oh, I could protest. That won’t do any good. Other than make me feel good. But even how I’m going to feel --  that’s been predetermined. No sense in me voting in the next election. The next president. That’s already a settled question. As for my Chicago Cubs. Let them play out the string. It’s already decided. What will be, will be. No sense in me getting all excited. Or distraught.  The dye has been cast. I have no choice in the matter. It’s almost as if I’ve lived my life. Over and over. Yes. This could be a repeat performance. Nothing I can do about it. I may be living the same life. In the same world. Endlessly.  I haven’t decided yet. Whether that’s a good or bad thing. Never will. Maybe that’s just as well. To keep guessing. For eternity.  --Jim Broede

Where life begins and ends.

It’s a feel that I have. For the way life is supposed to flow. Yes, it seems haphazard at times. But if one goes with the flow.  Life is smooth as smooth can be.  Even when I divert. To swim upstream. Taking a tributary. On rough waters. And over a spectacular waterfall. To experience  the thrill and excitement of life’s turbulence. Knowing full well. That I’ll wind up on a babbling brook. Meandering. Peacefully. Through a primeval forest.  Where life begins and ends. --Jim Broede

It's none of your business.

I know how to have a good day. By wasting time. And not feeling guilty about it. Yes. I’m on course today. For doing what some of you would call a waste of time. But that doesn’t matter. I’ll waste time. Because that makes me feel good. I love to waste time. My way. And it’s none of your business how I do it. --Jim Broede

Coping. One way or another.

Taking life in stride.  That’s very important. Because life is full of ups and downs. And it’s easy reminding myself that there are many more ups than downs. Furthermore, the downs aren’t all that low. They are more like middles. I can easily settle for the contrast. Of course, I don’t hesitate to complain. About stuff.  Because I have a right to gripe. To work for change. In myself. In the world. I don’t relish all aspects of life. But I am compelled to cope. One way or another. --Jim Broede

On drawing lines.

Don’t know if I like to draw lines. It’s like saying, this line should not be crossed. I don’t necessarily obey other people’s lines. Therefore, others should have the opportunity to cross my lines. I need to draw flexible lines. That bend. For the sake of accommodation and compromise.  --Jim Broede

Why I sleep so well.

I knew it had to happen. Sooner or later. The Cubs lost two games in a row. For the first time this season. I know. I know. No reason to be upset. It’s a long, long baseball season. Yes, 162 games. And the Cubs have a 25-8 record. Still the best in the major leagues. And I’m happy about that.  And really, it shouldn’t matter to me. Even if the Cubs lose 10 straight.  A baseball game is a baseball game. That’s all it is. A game.  Anyway, the Cubs just came off an 8-game winning streak. That means they have still won 8 of their last 10 games. I have nothing to complain about. But still, I complain. Just for the sake of complaining. Life is full of wins and losses. Really, I’ve learned to take it all in stride. By savoring the wins. And by accepting the setbacks.  When I go to bed every night, I remind myself. That I’ve had a winning day. Can’t remember the last time I had a losing day. Maybe that’s why I sleep so well. --Jim Broede

The worst kind of Cubaholic.

My friend Rick says I’m crazy. Because I hardly ever watch a Chicago Cubs baseball game. From start to finish. Because I get too nervous. Pulling for the Cubs. Fearing  that they might  botch the game. Which could potentially send me into the doldrums. Especially if it’s a tough loss. A game the Cubs should have won. Yes, here’s my shamefaced confession. I’m an addict. A Cubaholic. Too often, I allow my addiction to control me. When I should be controlling my addiction. On my better days, I’m sort of a recovering Cubaholic. I don’t imbibe at all. Or I do it in a restrictive, somewhat controlling manner. By checking on the score, periodically. On the Internet. I might even give a peek at the play by play.  But generally, I don’t check on the score. Until I’m reasonably assured that the game is over. Maybe three hours after the start. If the Cubs happened to have won, I check for the details. For videos of the highlights. And I check the Chicago Tribune for the game story. And savor it. For the rest of the day. If the Cubs lose, I go about other business. And try to ignore it. Yes, Rick says I’m absurdly crazy. But I’m proud of myself. Knowing that I have my addiction under reasonable control. Most of the time. Wasn’t always that way. I used to be totally out of control. The worst kind of Cubaholic. --Jim Broede

No longer too dumb to know it.

Just thinking. That I’ve lived an incredibly long time. Makes me blessed, I suppose. I can hardly remember my father.  He died a long, long time ago. In 1949. When I was 13. Fortunately. I seem to have inherited my mother’s genes. She lived to 88. And might have made it longer. If she hadn’t been such a worry wart.  And taken a more optimistic and revered slant on life.   She’d be 102, and counting.  Which isn’t all that outlandish. Anyway, it’s easier remembering my mother than my father. Though both seem in the relatively distant past. Which is sort of nice.   No need to grieve anymore. I have time and opportunity to embellish the memories.  By connecting to their spirits.  Of course, I could wait to die. For entry into the spirit world. But that’s not me. I’d rather connect while I’m still in the physical realm. Might as well do it now. Today. Yes, I’m connected. For a chat. With mom’s and dad’s spirits. Always have been. It’s so easy. No longer am I too dumb to know it.  --Jim Broede

Where one draws the line.

One’s mental state. Is so important. I suspect that many people around me. Are  mentally ill. Disturbed. To some degree. Sure, they may be reasonably functional. They get by. But they are unhappy. Ill at ease. In a perfect world, they’d be deemed mentally ill. But it ain’t a perfect world. And who’s to say? Who’s mentally ill? And who isn’t? Funny thing. I judge people by my standard. In comparison to my kind of craziness. And I get away with it. I may be zany. And eccentric. That’s allowed. Because I’m sort of a good crazy. Yes, that may be open to dispute. Thing is. I’m not harmful. To myself. Or others. Guess that’s where one draws the line. --Jim Broede

Blissful sleep.

Sleeping. I enjoy it. Especially when I’m tired. That’s one of the many pleasures of life. Falling  asleep. Waking rested, too.  Often after peaceful dreams.  I’d hate to be awake all the time. Even if I weren’t sleepy. Anyway, I’m addicted to sleep. Can’t live without it. Yes, I accept sleep. As part of human nature. As necessary. For survival. Some of my best and most revered moments come when falling asleep. So restful. So relaxing. So hypnotic.  Some people are cursed. Because they can’t fall asleep. Insomniacs. But I’m blessed. Falling asleep. Even when I’m writing. Such as now. I’m drifting off. Adios. I’m going to bed. To enjoy one of my favorite pastimes. Blissful sleep. --Jim Broede

Being manipulated. By my creator.

To take control of my life. Maybe that’s all I ever wanted. To not be a robot. Though. Ssometimes. I wonder. If that’s possible. Maybe my life is dictated. By circumstances. Because I’m plopped into a world not of my making. And I’m compelled. To react automatically. With little, if any, forethought. Maybe that’s why I sit down and write. My thoughts. In an analytical way. Just as I am doing now. To give my personal meaning. To events. To the moment. But I must confess. That I am unaware. Of what’s really going on. Raising the possibility. That I am a robot. Maybe a puppet. Being manipulated. On a stage. By my creator. --Jim Broede

Give me everything.

I have an  embarrassment. Of riches. Too much of a good thing. And I have a craving. For more and more and more. Maybe I’m reaching the point. Where good becomes bad.  It’s like eating too much. Imbibing becomes gluttony. Or drinking too much. And one becomes an alcoholic. No, I don’t have an eating or drinking disorder. Instead, it’s that I can’t stand to see my Chicago Cubs lose another ball game. I’m spoiled. I’m addicted. To winning. The Cubs have won seven straight games. Against the next best teams in the National League. The Pittsburgh Pirates. The Washington Nationals. The Cubs have become used to sweeping series. To playing superb baseball. With the mentality of taking no prisoners. The Cubs have won 24 of their first 30 games this season. Yes, that adds up to a record of 24-6. Once upon a time. It was more likely. That the Cubs got off to a 6-24 start. A few years back, they lost their first 14 games. Now the Cubs are the best team in baseball. Phenomenal. Incredible. Yes, there they are. Winning games. By astounding margins. And here I am. Fretting. Sitting on pins and needles. Terrified. That the Cubs might finally lose another game. That would be hard to take. I might grieve. Go into depression. And fume. Because the Cubs should have won the game. I’ll dwell on the what ifs. The missed opportunities. I’ve become similar to the millionaire. Who  always wants more riches. Never has enough. Wants to be a billionaire. Craves all of the world’s wealth. Yes, I have an insatiable appetite. For the Cubs. To go all the way. To the World Series. And beyond. I want absolutely everything. Out of life. I’ll settle for nothing less. And I want the same for the Chicago Cubs. --Jim Broede

Maybe even a gadfly.

Oh, so many things I could do. To make me happy. Becoming a full-time gardener, for instance. Or a monk holed up in a monastery. Or an athlete playing baseball for a living. Of course, I lack the talents to achieve many dreams. But at least, I have the know-how and savvy to become a gardener. Which I pursue now. Part-time.  As far as athletic activity, I limit myself to walking. Ten miles a day. As for being a monk, I’d be kicked out of the monastery. For being a troublemaker. So I’ll merely continue being me. A romantic idealist. A spiritual free-thinker.  A political liberal. A lover. A dreamer. A writer. Maybe even a gadfly. --Jim Broede

Good enough for me.

I find life interesting. Downright captivating. I love being alive. So that I can see what happens next. That’s right. I’m not bored. After all, life is unpredictable. Full of surprises. Not least being. That I’ve been around for 80 years, and counting.  The biggest surprise of all. Could be. That I’ll be around forever. Maybe not in physical form. But as an indestructible spirit. Equivalent to being the creator himself. Nicest thing of all. I can imagine. Virtually anything. No limits. I can even imagine a reality. That isn’t. Yet it seems so real. And often that’s good enough for me. --Jim Broede

And too often don't.

I have a shadow. My beloved cat Loverboy.  Spends most of his life following me around. Sometimes, I can’t get rid of him. Though I really don’t mind having such company. Yes, it’s nice having such a devoted cat. And Loverboy talks to me, too. With the usual meow cat language. But there’s also thought transference. We know what’s on each others' minds. Of course, that may be open to dispute. Some people think that’s impossible. But Loverboy and I know better. We truly communicate.  Our spirits intertwine. It’s a nice feeling. The same way that people should know each other. And too often don’t --Jim Broede

A multi-track approach to life.

Walking and reading. At the same time. I like to do it. Because it gives me a sense of accomplishment. Both physical and mental. Better than doing two activities separately. When they can be combined. Of course, I could chew gum, too. While walking and reading. Also, nothing would stop me. From  donning my earphones and tuning in soothing classical music as I walk and read and chew.  Four simultaneous pursuits. More proof of a wondrous multi-track approach to life. --Jim Broede

Maybe that's all that counts.

Am I living a worthwhile life? I awakened this morning. With that question on my mind. And I didn’t have an immediate answer. Other than another question. What is worthwhile? And frankly, I don’t know. Of course, I’m relatively happy. Not in depression. Unlike some of my friends. Such as Julie. Does that make my life more worthwhile? More so than Julie’s life?  And who’s to say? It’s a subjective judgment call. We each have to come up with our own answer. I, for one, won’t allow others to answer for me. Yes, I reserve the right to decide. For myself. That’s no problem. For me. But I suspect that isn’t the case for Julie. She’s largely lost control. Of her life.  Because of depression. And addictions. Seems to me that Julie is living scared. She’s lost purpose. And I wonder. If that’s a dangerous way to live. I’d feel in peril. If I were Julie. But I’m not. That makes me happy. And feeling worthwhile. Because I am me. And not Julie. Maybe that’s all that counts. --Jim Broede

Accepting a blessing. Graciously.

I wonder. If my Chicago Cubs are becoming too successful. Such as peaking too early. Winning too many games.  That has never been a problem with the Cubs. They have specialized in losing. For over 100 years. They last won the World Series in 1908. The longest drought ever for a major league baseball team. Anyway, the Cubs are off to their fastest start ever. Winning 22 of their first 28 games. That makes for a 22-6 record. And they’ve won their games by a collective margin of 98 runs. They routinely win by big scores. They know how to pitch. How to hit. How to score. How to win. Incredible.  Of course, I could lament. Because the record isn’t 28-0. That would be the same. As a millionaire. Grieving. Because he ain’t a billionaire. I feel a little disappointed. When the Cubs lose a game. They’ve lost once in the last 10 games. A 4-3, 10-inning loss to the Atlanta Braves. Ironically, the team with the worst record in baseball. Maybe it’s a sign that the Cubs are merciful.  Anyway, I’m trying to adjust to all this winning. Telling myself. Don’t become spoiled. Learn to accept a blessing. Graciously. --Jim Broede

It seems like forever.

I wonder. What I’d do. If I lost my inclination. To write. Maybe it would be the same. As deciding to stop breathing. I’d be dead. Some things I have to do. In order to stay alive. The list includes. Falling in love. With something. Such as writing. Or someone. Such as my Italian true love. Maybe being in love. Is more important. More essential. Than writing. I could still settle for thinking loving thoughts. Can’t remember exactly when I wrote my first word. Certainly, it was years after my first spoken word. As for love. I don’t know when that first happened. Maybe it doesn’t matter. It seems like forever. --Jim Broede

Passion, passion and more passion.

I’ll tell you what Democrats should do. Scuttle thoughts of running Hillary Clinton for president. She’d be an OK president. And better than Donald Trump or any Republican. Instead of Clinton. I want a ticket of Bernie Sanders and Elizabeth Warren.  Doesn’t matter which one is at the top of the ticket. As long as they are both there.  The trouble with Clinton is she’s too blah. Too conventional. Too orthodox. We need pizzazz. A ticket that arouses the passions. Sanders and Warren. True believers in political change. That’s it. I want passion, passion and more passion. To bring it all about. --Jim Broede

Living inside an insane asylum.

Donald Trump. I don’t know what to make of him. He’s gawdawful. In many ways. But if I had to choose from all of the Republican aspirants for president, give me Trump. Yes, Trump is a little less putrid than the rest of the gang. Anyway, I won’t vote for Trump. Give me Clinton or Sanders. They are more palatable to my political tastes. Not ideal. But acceptable. I might even be able to live with Trump. Because he really isn’t a tried and true conservative. He’s likely to tell some conservatives to go to hell. Indeed, that would be refreshing. Trump fancies himself as a dealmaker. A man who wants to get things done. One way or another. He’d even bargain with Democrats and liberals. In order to consummate a deal. He might chide and rile the uncompromising lunatic fringe Republicans. My resorting to political compromises. How refreshing! Trump, too, is an advocate of universal health care.  Medicare for everyone. That’s even better than Obamacare. Little wonder. That some conservatives claim Trump isn’t a true conservative.  In fact, occasionally he sounds downright liberal. Of course, he has some outrageously zany ideas.  Such as building a Chinese Wall along the Mexican border. And banning the entry of Muslims into the U.S.  But his weirdest ideas probably would never be implemented. Because of lack of political support. Face it. Not every politician is as crazy as Trump. Makes me wonder. If that’s a blessing. While living inside an insane asylum. –Jim Broede

Time to test my theory.

Living a single day. In an ideal world. That can seem like a lifetime. If one becomes completely absorbed in each day. Now imagine. Living for over 80 years. Totally immersed in life. That might seem like an eternity.  A blissful existence. Going on forever. Yes, one might even lose track of time. No, I haven’t lived fully every day of my life. But it’s not too late. To get on track. And to test my theory. About the proper way to live. To the fullest. --Jim Broede

Is there a need to know?

I’ve just awakened. From an unsettling dream. I’m lost. In the middle of nowhere. I’m driving. A vehicle. On unpaved roads. Going cross country. Across hills and valleys. Beautiful country. But sort of desolate. There are no trees. Everything seems hazy. I encounter people. A  manufacturing site. With huge stacks of metal fences. I climb a stack.  And near the top. I see workers. And I call to them. And inquire. How do I get to where I am going?. And the answers are vague. So I return to my vehicle. And  drive away. Aimlessly. Thinking that maybe I’ll find a city. A town. Where I can get a road map. To pinpoint where I am. And to where I am going. I want to find my way. But I’m not sure where I’m supposed to go. But I have a sense. That I want to return. To wherever I came from.  Everything seems so mystical. Now that I’m awake. I wonder. Why I had to return. I am uneasy. Uncomfortable.  I am pondering my dream. I don’t want to go back to sleep. Because I don’t want to return to my dream. It wasn’t a nightmare. It qualifies as a dream. But still. I am uneasy. Because I feel sense of loss. I don’t like the feeling. There are more details. That I’m trying to recall. But it all seems so elusive.  So vague. Makes me think. That I’m thinking too much. There’s no need. To know everything.  No need to know. Where I am.  Or where I am going. Strange. Strange. Strange. I wonder. If it’s really necessary to find meaning. Perhaps one can live. Happily. Without meaning.  --Jim Broede

For the purpose of entertainment.

I tell myself. Occasionally. That I really should be jittery. Over the political circus. Just the mere thought that a clown could become president. But then. I remind myself. That clowns and circuses can be entertaining.  So relax. Let it be. Maybe that’s the true nature of life. Created. For the sole purpose. Of entertainment. --Jim Broede

Give me thunderbolts.

It ain’t gonna rain today. Just as well. Because I’m in no mood to get wet. Until I take a shower tonight. Funny. How my whims change. From day to day. Yesterday. I wanted the day to be windy. And sure enough. It was blustery. Chances are. Next week I’ll be in a mood for a ferocious thunderstorm. Best to have the storm at nighttime. Because I love to see thunderbolts. --Jim Broede

No escape.

Now. Yes, now that I’m an octogenarian, it’s a good idea to not get too far ahead of myself. Yes, to take life one day at a time. To deal with tomorrow and next week and next month. Only if and when they arrive. Recognizing. That the vast majority of my life has been lived. And there ain’t that much left. That is, if I think about it. And I don’t. When I’m completely absorbed in the moment. In now, now, now. Aware. That I’ve always left the past. And the future never arrives. Because I’m eternally stuck  In now. So I might as well savor it. There’s no escape. And if I do. Chances are. I’ll never know it. --Jim Broede

Perish the thought.

Don’t always know who I am. It’s hard to keep track. Because I’m in a constant state of evolution. Always becoming a slightly different me. Which is a good thing. In my humble opinion. Because there’s much of me that has to be fixed. I’d hate to live. In total disrepair.  Of course, not everything will ever be fixed. Just as well. Because if it was fixed. I’d have nothing left to do. Perish the thought. --Jim Broede

Believing one's own lies.

I’ve never been big on keeping secrets. As a newspaper reporter for many years, my aim was to promote openness. No secrets. Let the sun shine in. The secretive people usually had something to hide. Maybe something clandestine. It’s not a nice way to live. If one feels it’s necessary to constantly hide stuff. To be untruthful. I hate to call people liars. But face it. Lying is an every day practice. And the worst kind of lying comes when people lie to themselves. They are so used to it. That it doesn’t seem like lying. They can no longer differentiate between truth and falsehood. They believe their own lies. Funny, isn’t it? --Jim Broede

Is there a purpose?

I wonder. What really matters? In life. Here I am. Obviously alive and conscious. And most days, I don’t stop to ponder. What really matters? I merely go about my life. Without asking questions. No denying. That I exist. Perhaps as a robot. Unless, of course, I find ways to take control. Of my life. And start to inquire. About how I came about. And why am I here? Is there a purpose?  --Jim Broede

To become spiritual beings.

Maybe there’s no natural way to be. Some philosophers and psychiatrists and gurus tell us that our human essences are ingrained. Dictated. And we can’t change our essences. Of course, I don’t believe that stuff. We can change. For the better. Or for the worse. It’s up to us. As individuals. And as a society. To determine our essences.  We aren't condemned. To be glorified monkeys. We can become spiritual beings. But that takes some doing. In essence, we have to become more god-like. Impossible?  I believe in the impossible. That I actually exist. In the flesh. It’s no less preposterous, that I can shed my physical being. And still exist. In spirit form. --Jim Broede

Sometimes. I am powerless.

I keep evaluating. Appropriate  responses. To other people’s problems. Maybe I should steer clear. And not intervene. Mind my own business.  But generally, that’s not my way. I don’t hesitate. To butt in. Better that. Than indifference. Call me a problem solver. I routinely cope with my difficulties. Why not help a friend? Or even a stranger. Because I care. That makes the difference. Caring. Not only about myself. But about others. Of course, I don’t always care. Because it’s possible to care too much. I also recognize that I can’t solve the world’s problems. So I gripe. And accept the fact.  That sometimes. I am powerless. To bring about change.  --Jim Broede

Maybe it's all a lie.

Could be. That no two  people share the same truth. Or that the truth is so elusive.  That it’s beyond one’s grasp. Maybe we all go through life. Without ever knowing the truth. Of course, it’s possible to deceive ourselves. By fantasizing. Into thinking we know the truth. When maybe it’s all a lie. --Jim Broede

The best way.

Every day. I find reason to laugh. And very, very seldom do I cry. And the tears quickly change to laughter. Because I remind myself. That it’s far easier to laugh. Than to cry. I’d rather be a comedian. A stand-up comic. A court jester. A silly fool. That’s the best way. To fall in love. With life. --Jim Broede

Making the best of it.

What will happen, will happen. Whether I like it or not. Therefore I try to adjust. For instance. Our next president is likely to be either Hillary Clinton or Donald Trump. I’ll vote for Clinton. But if Trump ends up in the White House, I’ll gripe and lament. And then get on with the rest of my life. After all, what else can I do? Like I say. What will happen, will happen. If I stew about it, it’ll be bad for my mental health.  Therefore, I won’t let it bother me. I’ll focus on things other than politics.  Yes, on whatever makes me happy. Believe me. I’ll find something.  --Jim Broede

Without ever knowing the truth.

I encourage my friend Julie. To write. A journal. A blog. A diary. Anything that allows Julie to express herself. Without limits. Preferably truthfully.  ‘You don’t have to share the stuff with anyone but yourself,’ I tell Julie. ’Just let it all hang out.  Get into your innermost being.’ But Julie won’t do it. She’s afraid. Scared stiff. To seek and speak the truth. To be honest. Not even with herself. That’s the basis of  Julie’s problem. It isn’t alcoholism. Or chronic depression. It’s the inability or unwillingness to face up to the truth.  Makes me wonder. How many of us find ourselves in a similar trap. Going through life. Without ever knowing the truth. About ourselves. About anyone, for that matter. --Jim Broede

The art of listening. To each other.

It’s more difficult conversing with my friend Julie. Than talking to Julie’s husband Rick. For an obvious reason. Julie is an alcoholic and in a continual depressive state. Yes, Julie is mentally ill. She needs help. Psychotherapy and other forms of treatment. I share some of my written thoughts. By email. Almost daily. With Rick and Julie.  The exact same stuff goes to each of them. Rick reads my emails. And sometimes offers comment. It’s called a dialogue. A productive give and take. Julie takes a different approach. She ignores the emails. Though that doesn’t stop me. From talking to Julie. Almost every day. In a sense, I try to force-feed Julie. To bring her into the realm of open-mindedness. Sometimes it works. Other times it doesn’t. Julie puts up resistance. She loves to live in denial. She retreats. Seldom wants to confront me, or anyone. Not even herself. Sometimes, she runs away. And says she doesn’t want to hear what I have to say.  ‘That’s all right,’ I tell Julie. ’But please tell me what you have to say.  I want to understand. I prefer a dialogue. But I’m also willing to listen. To your monologue.’ --Jim Broede

A degree of remorse.

I probably have more empathy. For someone with Alzheimer’s. Than for an alcoholic. And why is that? Maybe because an alcoholic has a way out. A possibility of recovery from his/her disease. Yes, an option. To get reasonably well again. Mentally and physically and emotionally and practically. Of course, it takes internal wrestling. Soul-searching. A genuine effort. A willingness.. But with the Alzheimer-riddled, it’s another story. There’s no hope of recovery. Things keep getting worse and worse. It’s bad news. Right from the beginning. There’s no way out. A sense of hopelessness. No immediate cure. Indeed, that’s sad. Little wonder. I don’t feel the same degree of remorse. For the addict. For the alcoholic. --Jim Broede