Kindness: It's worth a try.

Wouldn’t it be nice? If everyone were kind and nice to each other.  Of course, that won’t happen. Makes me a bit sad. But then, I can’t claim that I’m always kind and nice. Sometimes I’m out of sorts. For no good reason.  I behave badly.  However, I find that being kind and nice tends to be contagious.  I even try to be kind and nice to ornery people. Occasionally, kindness works. It’s worth a try.--Jim Broede

Life wasn't meant to be easy.

Everything that isn’t a life and death situation is a little thing. Relatively speaking, that is. But still.  I get upset. Stressed. Over little things. Wish I didn’t. But I do. And I suspect that many others do, too. I am trying to be calm, cool and collected. Over little things. But I’m not succeeding. And never will. Because it’s my nature to overreact. I put on a good front. A good act. But beneath the surface,  I don’t always keep my cool. Maybe it’s that I want life to flow smoothly. No pitfalls. No dilemmas. I acknowledge. Life wasn’t meant to be easy.  And it’s time I learned to accept that fact. Which I do.  By falling in love with life.  Despite the imperfections.--Jim Broede

How can I be helpful?

Maybe it’s not so nice. That I try to avoid people in depression. Even some of my friends. Because I may do more harm than good. By being cheerful. Seems to me, that can drive one deeper into depression. Causing a sharp contrast. Between my cheer, and their glum mood.  Makes them feel even worse. So, best to stay away. Until I discover a magical cure for depression. I’m open to ideas. Tell me, you folks in depression, what can I do? How can I be helpful rather than harmful? --Jim Broede

A permanent smile.

The nicest thing about my true love. She’s always with me. Even when she isn’t here in the flesh. We’re connected. Always. In spirit. I’m never without her. Of course, it’s nice to have her with me now. In the flesh. But there is no true love without a spiritual connection. That’s one of the requirements of true love. It could be argued. That we are together. Even when she’s in Sardinia and I’m in Minnesota. But for the remainder of summer, we are living together. In Minnesota. Makes me doubly blessed. Makes for a permanent smile on my happy face. --Jim Broede

They're all different.

Come to think of it. All of my personal relationships are unique. No two alike. Just the way it should be. Specially-tailored relationships. To fit the individual.  I treat each friend differently. Maybe it’s that I like some more than others. Of course, I could be accused of not treating everyone equally. Or fairly. But I’d not take that as criticism. Instead, it qualifies as compliment. I’ve written about my two true loves. In my lifetime. I loved ’em both unconditionally. But still, I treated them differently. Because they were different. That’s what I like about people. They’re all different. And have a right to be. --Jim Broede

Enough to make life worthwhile.

Interesting, isn’t it?  What people think makes for the good life. Could be monetary riches. Good health. Respect. An education. Friends. Family.  So many possibilities. As for me, I put the pursuit of true love at the top. I’ve achieved my goal. Twice. But now I’m thinking. Even if I hadn’t. I might still be happy. Because the mere pursuit of true love is wonderful and extraordinary.  Enough to make life worthwhile.  -Jim Broede

Better to go our separate ways.

Making a living as a psychiatrist. That would be a hard way to go. One would be dealing with unhappy and mentally disturbed people. All the time. I do it as an amateur. As a part-time dabbler. Just for kicks. But if I had to do it full-time, as a serious professional, I’d be in constant need of psychotherapy. I’d go nuts. Trying to help unhappy people find routes to happiness. When really, many of  them don’t want to be happy. They prefer having glum outlooks on life. They sort of thrive on unhappiness.  That’s their nature.  In an odd sense, it’s their source of fulfillment. Anyway, those truly seeking happiness, often fail. That’s got to be a real downer. Makes them even more unhappy. In observing their plights, I become morose. Sad. Therefore, it might be wise for me to avoid the unhappy elements of society. The likes of my disturbed dear friend Julie. Yes, Julie may be unreachable from the likes of me. Better to go our separate ways.  --Jim Broede

All I want out of life.

I need to educate myself. On all the new-fangled contraptions. That are supposed to make my life easier.  But they don’t. Instead, my life has become more complicated, more confusing, more complex. I’d probably be better off sticking to my old and laborious and inefficient ways. A 10-year-old kid masters the new stuff. But here I am. At age 80. With so very much experience. Being unable to achieve the IQ of a 10-year-old. I’m lost. Left behind. All I want out of life. Is to read a book.  Go for a walk. And converse with my Italian amore, my true love. --Jim Broede

I'd lie and cheat to get my strudel.

Reports that I’m an addict. Addicted to apple strudel. Are grossly exaggerated. I’ll admit that a good strudel is my favorite coffee cake. But I can live without strudel. Sometimes, I’ve gone months. Without strudel. Of course, it helps that I live in Minnesota. A state known mostly for Scandinavian baked goods and culinary delicacies. Therefore, German apple strudel is hard to come by.  Therefore, I go without strudel. Far more often than I go with it. Here’s my confession. Of what I did. Lied to my alcohol-addicted friend Julie about my strudel addiction. I did it. As an act of compassion. For Julie and her continuing plight with addiction. Yes, I was kidding. But Julie took me seriously. She thought I was a real strudel addict. I have to apologize.  But believe me, Julie. I know what it would be like. If I needed a daily fix. Of apple strudel. I’d lie and cheat to get my strudel. --Jim Broede

The matter of true love.

I know it’s true love. When I have absolutely no desire to change my amore. In my lifetime, I’ve had two true loves. Total and unconditional acceptance of each other. That’s phenomenal. Though it’s no world record. But think of it. Many people go through life without a single true love. I’m an exception. Blessed twice.  Little wonder. That I’m a happy man.  Despite pitfalls along the way. Doesn’t matter. Because I’ve tasted true love. Can’t ask for more than that. If I had had less than the experience of true love – my life would have been a waste. A friend asked me recently, what will I be remembered for? And the friend suggested, maybe cynically, that it would be mostly as an eccentric old man.  But it really doesn’t matter what other people think. After all, I know the truth.  I’ve had true love. Not once. But twice. --Jim Broede

I'm learning to deal with it.

I  really like it when someone tries to deflate my fantastic ego. Because that gives me the opportunity to take control. And to fortify my ego. So that it’s stronger than ever. Maybe that’s why my ego has become  even more gigantic than Donald Trump’s. Except, in my case, I don’t take life so seriously.  I’d never run for president. Recognizing that I’m grossly incompetent. Yes, I know. That’s a blow to my ego. I'm learning to deal with it. --Jim Broede

Either way. Is acceptable.

I like being arrogant. Yes, I know that ain’t necessarily a nice trait. It annoys some people. But still, I persist. On being brim full of confidence and arrogance. Not all my friends laugh.  When they ask me how I am.  And I reply: ‘I’m superior. In fact, in Minnesota they’ve named a lake after me. Lake Superior.’ Some take it as a joke. Others as unmitigated gall and arrogance.  Either way. Is acceptable.  With me. --Jim Broede

On my philosophy of life.

Julie doesn’t read my blog. Because it might upset her.  But I talk to Julie. About some of my written stuff.  For the most part, she takes it all in stride. But sometimes, she’s peeved. That is Julie’s nature. I tell Julie. That she has a right to be peeved.  We all do. I can find 100 things. Almost every day. To be peeved about. But still, I try not to be peeved. And most of the time, I succeed. Because I recognize that being peeved is a waste of time.  I’d rather stroll down the road to happiness. And contentment. That really peeves Julie. Thinking that’s a put down. It isn’t, of course.  I’m merely reflecting on my philosophy of life. --Jim Broede

While Julie is just fine.

My dear friend Julie. The one with a drinking problem and lingering depression. Tells me I’m the crazy one.  In thinking. That I am happy. Having been blessed with two true loves in a lifetime.  Julie says I’m disillusioned. And unhappy. Even though I don’t consciously know it. Julie recommends that I see a psychotherapist. And learn to face up to the unhappy realities of life. I’ve gotta give Julie credit. For an unusual and creative grasp of reality. Makes me wonder. If I’m the disturbed one. While Julie is just fine. --Jim  Broede

Does that make me crazy?

Makes me wonder. If the mentally disturbed. Abound. They are all around us. Which implies. That I am okay. And that it’s merely the others. That have to be watched. Of course, to be fair. I should concede That I’m one of the crazies. Because I imagine seeing people in dire need of mental health treatment. Including a fair number of my neighbors. It doesn’t help. When I turn on the TV or read the newspapers. Now that we are in the midst of a presidential election campaign. I’m convinced. That I’m living in a world gone crazy. Now tell me. Does that make me crazy? --Jim Broede

It could be worse.

My somewhat dear friend and neighbor Julie is trying to deflate my ego. That’s why I am calling her ‘somewhat dear.’  She says that in my neighborhood I really don’t have any friends. That everyone thinks of me as an eccentric old man. Who spends most of his time pacing back and forth. Yes, I may be eccentric. But at 80, I’m not yet ready to concede that I’m old. As for that matter of pacing. No. No. I’m working out. I put in 10 miles daily. Rather religiously. Maybe to prove that I’m not so old, after all. Meanwhile, I wish my neighbors would think of me as a happy and blessed man. Because I’ve had two true loves. Dear sweet Jeanne. My wife for 38 bountiful years.  Until she died of Alzheimer’s eight years ago. Now I’m linked to dear sweet Cristina, my Italian amore. She’s arriving today.  For a six-week stay with me. In the neighborhood.  Wow! I’m thrilled. To have lived long enough to be doubly blessed. But maybe a third blessing is to have Julie. No, she isn’t a true love by any means. But hey, No reason to complain about a somewhat dear friend. Out to shatter my ego. It could be worse. --Jim

Makes me superbly annoying.

Yes, I can be annoying. But that’s all right. Doesn’t bother me one bit. Because I annoy mostly annoying people. Therefore, I am giving them a taste of their own medicine.  One might say that we are mutually annoying. But I’m a master at the art of annoying.  I can out-annoy virtually any and every one. I have yet to meet my annoying match. That gives me smug satisfaction. Imagine. How annoying that can be.  I simply won’t tolerate annoying people. Maybe that, more than anything else, makes me superbly annoying. --Jim Broede

No thanks, to mythical perfection.

I am comfortable. With me. With what I am doing. The way I am living. With what I am writing. And thinking. Yes, I am going about the pursuit of happiness. Some people tell me I’m doing too much. That I should slow down. Take more time off. But the point is, I don’t want time off. I want to go on and on and on. Forever. Non-stop. Because that’s me. The natural me. The me that’s in love. With life.  Of course, I have associates/acquaintances who would like to change me. For the better, they say. But that would be a waste of time. I’m satisfied with me. Even with all my foibles and blemishes.  I don’t mind being imperfect. That’s the true and blue me. Better that. Than pursuing mythical perfection. Merely to suit someone other than me. --Jim Broede

A blessed Houdini.

The world is a troubled world. But one has the ability to escape the troubles. Or to put it another way – to ignore the troubles. And to get on with one’s life.  The best one can. As if one really lives in a paradise. Of course, that takes happenstance. Such as being in the right place at the right time. Rather than in the wrong place at the wrong time. One thing I’ve discovered. There are many, many more right places than wrong places. And so far, I’ve been able to find the right places. The right acquaintances and friends, too. Anyway, I have had several narrow escapes. Which means, I’m a blessed Houdini. --Jim Broede

Always with us.

I wonder. If one has to learn to live with terrorism. Because acts of terror are part of human nature. Sad. Sad. If that’s true.  Murder has always been a part of us. Maybe the act can be controlled. To some degree. But it’ll never be eliminated.  War, for instance, is a form of murder.  Societal-sanctioned murder. Of countless innocents. Merely for the heck of it. Apparently, we have learned to live with war. And what can be more terrifying than  bloody war? The dropping of atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Maybe those were the most flagrant acts of terror ever. But they accomplished a goal. Of winning a war. Think of it. Those two acts of terror. Killed more people in two swoops than the thousands individual acts of terror in recent times.  Yes, makes me lament. That terror will always be with us. --Jim Broede 

Delight. In the totally unexpected.

I wonder. If some of my friends know who and what they are. Of course, that  could apply to me, too. I define myself. On my business or calling card. Romantic idealist. Spiritual free-thinker. Political liberal.  Lover. Dreamer. But I am so much more. Even parts of me that I have yet to discover. And maybe never will. After all, life is a voyage of discovery. And I’m hoping to fall off the edge of Earth some day. To see what it’s like. Anyway, I am certain. That life is full of uncertainties. And surprises. That doesn’t bother me. I’d rather have it that way.  New discoveries. Every day. Yes, I have friends that like certainty. They plan their lives.  Down to minute details. And if stuff goes awry, they become flustered. As upset as upset can be.  As for me, I often find delight. In the totally unexpected. --Jim Broede

Reaching that critical point.

So many, many times. This country. And that country. Has gone down a wayward path. One that could have been avoided. But wasn’t.  With disastrous results. For virtually everyone. For the world.  Yes, countries have embraced. The likes of Adolph Hitler.  Ruthless and stupid leaders. Because that’s what the times seemed to dictate. Movements. Often built out of fears. Rather than common sense.  If Germans had known. The consequences. They might have opted for a different, more moderate and sensible and sane course.  Makes me wonder. If America is reaching that critical point. --Jim Broede

I'll take Haydn over the newscast.

I turned off the news tonight. And played Haydn piano sonatas. Into the early morning hours. Really I should do this more often.  Watching and listening to the news is a waste of time. After all, I can’t do anything about world events anyway.  And most of the news is dispiriting. So much better to listen to joyful Haydn. Makes me wonder. If it would have been better to live in Haydn’s time. When news didn’t travel very fast – or at all. --Jim Broede

In a world outside of time.

Seems reasonable to me. That non-physical existence is possible. To be what one might call a spirit. Spiritual life is no more preposterous than physical life.  After all, isn’t that the way one conceives of the creator/god? A non-physical being. Able to exist forever and ever. Perhaps. In the spiritual realm there’s no beginning or end. No measurement of time. It always was. And  always will be. Meanwhile, the physical world may have a beginning and an end. My sense. Is that I have a spiritual element. Which seeks to be free. Of  physical shackles. Could be that I haven’t yet been born. I’m still a physical embryo. In the process of transitioning. To true spirit. In a world outside of time.  --Jim Broede

Is the creator being selfish?

I imagine. Being the designer of life. The so-called creator. And I had leeway. Options. I might well decide on the non-physical option. As the best of all. Yes, the spirit. To be able to exist. Without occupying space. I’d create the physical world. But I’d want the ability to move in and around space. Around the physical. Without actually being physical. Or maybe, if I am the creator, I’d reserve the non-physical existence. For the one and only. Me. Making me the unique one. Without competitors. Or rivals.  More and more. I am coming to the conclusion. That the creator is sort of selfish. If not downright selfish.  By not sharing it all. With the rest of us. --Jim Broede

In meaningful and pulsating ways.

I can choose not to be. And I might make such a choice. If I became tired of living. But I’m not tired of life. Never have been. Even when physically, mentally and emotionally drained. Fact is. I’m in love with life. That’s the difference-maker. Even when life seems a little humdrum. It doesn’t bother me.  Because I am able to make the most of the blahs. By writing about life in meaningful and pulsating ways. --Jim Broede

On being hit. Over the head.

I insist. On savoring the good stuff of life. Maybe that makes me selfish. Because I’d rather leave the bad stuff for others. But that’s not true. After all, the good stuff is there for the taking. By anyone. There’s plenty to go around. Maybe it’s more a case. That some people don’t recognize the good stuff. Even if it hits them. Over  the head. --Jim Broede

No matter where I am.

I wonder. Why I dream of escape. When there’s no need to flee. After all, I am in paradise. When I am in love. With life. Silly. To try escaping. From a world that allows me to fall in love. No matter where I am. --Jim Broede

Simply being me.

I can control. To significant degree. My relationships. With loved ones. Yes, by being a true lover. Seems to me. That I am in most control. When I try to exude good and loving vibes.  Really, it comes easy. To assume. That I was born to be a lover.  It’s a natural thing.  Simply being me.   -Jim Broede

The only way we can face life.

I have a knack for listening to people’s inner thoughts. To their inner sanctums. That annoys some friends who try to keep secrets. Because that’s what I try to uncover. To expose. Secrets. I have no objection to walking naked into the world. To being totally honest. Though that’s probably something that’s never been achieved. By anyone. That’s my theory. We’re all liars. To some degree. The only way we can bear to face life. --Jim Broede

The worst possible sin.

Yes, I castigate Julie. Not for having a drinking problem. But for lying about it. Yes, Julie is a liar. I don’t like liars. Yes, that’s why I sometimes dislike myself. Because I’ve been known to tell a lie or two or more. Sometimes I lie. Merely for kicks. Just for the heck of it.  Often just to be funny. But I forgive myself. Except when I lie to myself. That’s the worst kind of lie. And that’s the kind of lie that Julie practices. Each and every day. For a long, long time. Julie lies to other people, too. To me. Virtually every day. I’m used to Julie’s lies. I’d be surprised. Flabbergasted. If Julie went a day. Even trying to tell the truth. Going one day without a single lie. Living an honest life. Facing the truth. I remind Julie. Often. That she’s a big-time liar. I don’t even bother telling her any more that she’s an addict. An alcoholic.   And that she’s ruining her life. That’s a relatively small sin.  The worst possible sin. Is to lie to one’s self. --Jim

Yes, Julie. It's up to you.

My friend Julie is an addict. She’s hooked on alcohol. Wine, specifically. That’s her beverage of choice. Cheap wine. No fancy expensive French or Italian wines.  She could afford the best. But to Julie, wine is wine. Price is incidental. So give Julie credit. For economizing. Also, give Julie credit. For trying to recover from her addiction. To bring it under part, if not total control. She’s learned to stay sober. Most of  the time. But she’ll imbibe. Once or twice a week. One can tell. Automatically. When that happens. Julie’s personality changes. Dramatically. Some of her closest friends. Don’t hesitate to call an intoxicated Julie a mean-spirited bitch. In contrast to her usual sweet demeanor. When sober. Yes, it’s Jekyll and Hyde. Anyway, Julie is making progress. In drug therapy. With other addicts. Four times a week.  She hasn’t graduated yet. No diploma. Because Julie, like most addicts, is a bold-faced liar. Sadly, she not only lies to others. But to herself.  Julie doesn’t want to face the truth. That to fully recover from alcoholism, she has to remain sober. All the time. Not even  risking a sip of her precious cheap wine. Julie hasn’t reached that stage yet. Maybe never will. But Julie’s true friends. Still  believe in Julie.  They wish for the best. Knowing. It’s up to Julie. To make the wishes come true. Yes, Julie. It’s up to you. --Jim Broede

Away from it all.

I’d not mind living in a remote part of the world. Maybe for a year or two. With no contact with the outside. Oblivious of happenings in the so-called civilized world. Of course, it would be nice to have my dear Italian amore with me.  She, too, could adjust to such a life. Creating our own little niche. In paradise. On a mountain top or in a primeval forest.  An idyllic life.  Finding ways to entertain ourselves and to savor life. Away from turmoil. Away from it all. --Jim Broede

A dirty rotten shame.

I feel helpless. About doing anything significant. About the senseless killing of black people. By the police. Sure, I could march in protest. Like throngs did in Dallas and elsewhere last night. In fact, one of the protests was in St. Paul. Less than an hour from my home. So I could have joined. But didn’t. Because I won’t make a difference. The best I can do is to write. About the sad state of racial affairs in America. Amazing. How different my life would be. If I were black, instead of white. I am more or less privileged. Because of the color of my skin. To be black means to be singled out. To be profiled. I’ve seen it. From the sidelines. Throughout my life.  Especially when I lived in Florida. In the turbulent 1960s. But racial discrimination is still rampant. All over America. Even in so-called liberal Minnesota. I have absolutely no doubt, that many of the killings by police officers would not have occurred.  Had the encounters beer with whites instead of blacks. Yes, it’s a dirty rotten shame. A stain on the fabric of America. --Jim Broede

The saving grace.

I like to pretend. Always have. Ever since I was a kid. To create fantasy worlds. Sometimes, they feel so real. Imagine that. An escape from reality. Of course, it’s nicest. When one thrives happily. On the pretend stuff. Nothing wrong with that.  It’s why we have play actors. And fiction writers. If I didn’t have recourse to fantasy, I’d go insane. Fantasy is the saving grace of life. --Jim Broede

With mean-spirited relish.

Wouldn’t it be nice? If mean spirits were barred from becoming politicians. It would change the whole nature of politics. Of course, that’s wishing for too much. The world can’t exist without mean spirits.  Think of it. Mean spirits need sustenance. Therefore they gravitate. To their version of heaven/paradise. Where they can easily practice their craft. With mean-spirited relish.  --Jim Broede

My fragile baseball psyche.

The game of baseball is driving me crazy. Because of the random chance factor. Weird things occur. That may never have happened in a baseball game before. Like last night. When the Chicago Cubs played the Atlanta Braves. Atlanta scored two runs on a home run in the top of  the first inning. The score remained that way into the bottom of the eighth inning. With two outs. And nobody on base, Then two Cubs players were hit by pitches.  Followed by a double. That scored a run and put the tying and lead runs in scoring position. And lo and behold, the Cubs then got a single. Scoring both runners. The Cubs had a 3-2 lead. I was elated. After all, it looked like the Cubs might win. All they needed was for their closer to shutdown the Atlanta team in the top of the ninth. But he gave up a game-tying home run. And the game went into extra innings Where the Cubs lost, 4-3, in the top of the eleventh. For the Cubs to have lost. In that exact way. In that exact sequence of events. Incredible. I presume it had never happened before. Just like that. Never before had a baseball game evolved in that same, exact way. And I didn’t want it to. Because I wanted desperately for the Cubs to win the game. By hook or by crook. So that I would feel good. Instead, I lamented. For much of the night. Yes, I was robbed. Of what could have been an evening of pleasure and elation. Because of the cruel twist of fate. In a baseball game. Crazy, isn’t it? That I allow this to happen. To my pathetically fragile baseball psyche. --Jim Broede
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Maybe it's impossible. To not think.

I spend most days. Thinking. About things. I sit up many nights, too. Till the wee hours of morning. Thinking. About all sorts of stuff. Makes me wonder. If I was born to think. Really, I know of no better pastime. Than to think. About life and love and liberty.  And thousands of other matters.  Seems to me that I can’t stop thinking. Even if I chose, too. I’m thinking about experimenting. To see if I can  stop thinking. Maybe it’s impossible for me. To not think. --Jim Broede

Their awful disease. It's contagious.

I’m fully capable. Of thinking in positive ways. Rather than in a negative manner. By merely choosing to be positive. But I don’t always do it. Instead, I become negative. All too often. Because I don’t focus on the positive. Until forcing myself to think about it. And presto.  Like magic. I become positive. Makes sense. Because it makes me feel better. More with it. Of course, it should come as no surprise. That I occasionally lapse into negativity. After all, I encounter negative thinkers every day. Morning, noon and night. Now, all I need is a vaccination. To protect me. From their awful disease. It’s contagious. --Jim Broede

With complete peace of mind.

My biggest weakness. Is wanting things over which I have no control, to go my way. And if they don’t, I get easily demoralized. In fact, downright upset. Of course, I’d be much better off, mentally and emotionally, if I routinely declared ho-hum. And didn’t let it bother me. Instead, I often fret. And might even lose sleep. Of course, I acknowledge that’s stupid. I’d be much better off saying what will be, will be.  And get on with life. By pursuing stuff over which I have control. Anyway, I’m working on it. Right now. I’m writing this piece. In an effort to set myself straight.  By finding ways to turn my weakness into a strength. I’m going to bed tonight. With firm resolve. To not fret. Over stuff that I can’t control. Yes, I’m going to take charge. And fall asleep. In a few minutes. With complete peace of mind. --Jim Broede

In nice ways.

My friends Julie and Rick have denied themselves the pleasure of venturing out on Forest Lake. In their pontoon boat. For two weeks, and counting. Because a duck has established a nest. On the boat. And they don’t dare disturb her. As she sits on 7 eggs. Any day now. The eggs will hatch. And the mother and her ducklings. Will go about the business. Of living the good life. In the water. And Julie and Rick will have their pontoon boat back again. Isn’t it wonderful that we accommodate each other? In nice ways. --Jim Broede

Sharing the same wavelength.

Here’s my problem. I want to play god. By taking control. Of stuff over which I have no control. Such as the outcomes of baseball games and political elections. For instance, I’d have the Chicago Cubs winning games. At my whim. And I’d pick the winner of the next presidential election. Of course, I’m not god. Therefore, I’ll have no say about the fate of Cubs games or who will be our next president. Instead, I’ll have to settle for whatever happens. Like it or not. I can’t change matters. All I can do is wish that things turn out – just the way they would if I were god. Sometimes, that happens. Yes, god and I occasionally operate on the same wavelength. --Jim Broede

The way it is. Like it or not.

I understand. Why good baseball teams go into slumps. Because they get tired of playing baseball. For pretty much 162 days in a row. Yes, even doing the stuff one loves, can get tiresome after a while. And one begins to go about it routinely. Without the usual fervor.  That has happened to the Chicago Cubs. After getting off to one of their best starts ever. Oh, they are still in first place. By a sizeable margin. But they are losing more than winning.  Call it a mid-season crisis.  To be expected. Even from the best teams. One can’t live with intensity. Forever and ever. One needs to take breaks. And occasionally go through the motions. Rather than live with fervor. Without let up. That’s the way it is.  Like it or not. --Jim Broede

No way to savor life.

So easy. To become spoiled. To have the good life. Without appreciating it. Without fully knowing that one is blessed. I know people. Who feel sorry for themselves. Because they don’t have it all. Only 90 per cent. Maybe that includes me. When I start to complain. For instance, I want to live forever,. Eighty-some years isn’t good enough. And I get upset. Over trivial, meaningless stuff. That’s no way to savor life. --Jim Broede

Hurt feelings.

I like to think of myself as kind-hearted. Not mean-spirited. But I concede. That I may be mean. Sometimes, without consciously knowing it. Unintentionally. Because I don’t hesitate expressing my opinions. Spontaneously. On the spur of the moment. That may hurt some feelings. Later. When I think about it. I might apologize. After all,  I don’t want to come across as mean or nasty. But fact is. Some people’s feelings are easily hurt. Unfortunately, that’s the way it is. --Jim Broede 

Do we covet a mean-spirited leader?

I don’t get it. Why? Why are politicians some of the most mean-spirited people in the world. Take Donald Trump, for instance. He’s a mean spirit. Through and through. I’d hate to deal with him. Because he’s downright nasty. He likes only people who agree with him. Who butter him up. Everyone else is a crook or a dimwit  --unfit to be  respected. Therefore, I am baffled. Unable to understand Trump’s political appeal. He’s wrapped up the Republican nomination for president.  With insults. He’s belittled everyone of his opponents. It’s uncanny. The comedian, Don Rickles. Uses insults. Meant as humor. But in Trump’s case, his insults are meant to be cruel. But a large chunk of the electorate is buying what Trump has to offer. Who knows? The world is full of surprises. Maybe Trump will become our most mean-spirited president ever. Strange as it may seem, maybe that’s what most Americans want. A leader with a mean spirit. --Jim Broede

Perhaps a better human being.

I understand. Theoretically, at least. What it takes. To be a good actor. One must learn to play a role. With feeling. With verve. One must immerse one’s self. In the part. Pretending. To the point that it’s no longer total pretense. It feels real. I wonder. If that’s dangerous. One becomes a dual personality. It’s as if one is truly living the role. Of course, if one can come back. To one’s real self. That doesn’t pose a problem. But what if one goes off the steep and deep edge? And finds it difficult to come back? I wonder. If that becomes a form of mental illness. Maybe even insanity. Makes me wonder, too. If play acting. Can be used as a way to treat mental illness. Merely by playing someone. Who knows how to act. In positive and loving ways.  Thereby, becoming a very desirable character. Perhaps a better human being. --Jim Broede

Boundless love.

Really. I have it all. Every day of my life. When I stop to think about it. Because one way or another. I find a way to be in love. With life. For instance, even when amore Cristina is in Sardinia. And I am in Minnesota. We are connected, Meaningfully. Mentally. Emotionally. And in a sense, physically. Because we see each other. On Skype. Simply being in love. That’s good enough for me. And now there’s a bonus. Cristina arrives in two weeks. For the rest of summer. Here in Minnesota. But even now. We are connected. In loving spirit. For that, I am grateful. No reason to lament. As if that’s not enough. I savor. What I’ve got. At this very moment. The crime of life. Is to always want more. To never be satisfied. To never be happy. Because it isn’t enough. Even when one has love. True love. Boundless love. --Jim Broede

In meaningful ways.

I wonder. What do I mean? When proclaiming that I’m in love. With life. Of course, I’m not enamored with everything associated with my earthly existence. It’s more appropriate to say I love being alive. With it, so to speak. Being conscious and reflective. Able to choose. Between the stuff I like and don’t like. Able to manage my life. Focused on loving something or someone.  Not necessarily to have love reciprocated. More important (for me) to feel love. And to be able to express it. In meaningful ways. --Jim Broede

Or merely for entertainment.

Could it be that I am imagining my life? That it isn’t real. Just a dream. From which I will awaken. Some day. I have had such a feeling. Lately. That I have been in a dream. All my life. Everything. Absolutely everything. Has been a figment of my imagination. Perhaps no more, no less than a fantastic dream. That the real me. Lives in a very advanced civilization. Capable of putting one into a dream state. So that one  lives a virtual life. From beginning to end. As if it was real. So that upon awakening. The dream experience can be analyzed. Evaluated. Discussed. Diagnosed. Probed. Maybe for hidden meanings. Or merely for entertainment. --Jim Broede

To hell with the truth.

I could easily be overcome. Emotionally. By disappointments. In events occurring around the world. Daily. Disappointment in people. That do things.  That make me sad. That make me lament. But I refuse to grieve. Over the realities that make for an awful world. Instead. I focus on falling in love. With something. With someone. With life.  Yes, I choose to create my own version of reality.  And to hell with the truth. --Jim Broede

What does that say about me?

The TV is full of coverage on Bangladesh.  What concerns me. Is overreaction to these terrorist strikes. Makes for support for politicians such as Trump. They exploit people's fears. Alzheimer's claims many more lives each year than the terrorists do. Or gun deaths in the U.S. But we don't let that stuff faze us. We take it matter-of-factly. Until it comes to terrorism. I concede. Terrorism takes an awful toll.  But what about the war in Syria?  But what about the civilian toll in Iraq? So many, many human tragedies. Terrorism is a mere drop in the bucket. When it comes to the toll from human tragedies  occurring every day. I guess I've found a way to steel (protect) myself from the sad realities of life.  What does that say about me? --Jim Broede

Bringing sanity back to America.

I don’t want Donald Trump’s version of America. If that makes me anti-American, in Trump’s disturbed mind, so be it. If Trump gets elected, I’d just as soon leave America. For Italy, or maybe Canada.  I have options. Sure, at age 80, that might be a little inconvenient. To more or less pull myself up by the roots. But hey, that’s better than living in the land that elected Donald Trump. Of course, I could also join the underground. In an effort to overthrow Trump. Thereby, bringing sanity back to America. --Jim Broede