Life goes on. In wonderful ways.

I highly recommend an international loving relationship. Like mine. An Italian and an American. Linked together. In so very many ways. Which allows us to live together. In each other’s homeland. Back and forth. Sometimes in Minnesota. Sometimes in Sardinia. Fortunately, when we aren’t living together, we are still together. Linked daily. By Skype. By emails. By telephone. And we travel together. In Europe. In Scotland. In Iceland. In America.  Cristina and I met eight years ago. On the Alzheimer's message board. My wife Jeanne had just died of Alzheimer’s. Cristina’s mother was dying of Alzheimer’s. And here we are today. Making the most of life. After the Alzheimer’s care-giving experience. Life goes on. In wonderful ways. --Jim Broede

That's their right. To be wrong.

I don’t have to be loved or liked. By many. It’s sufficient to be respected. By a few close friends.  I’m not out to win a popularity contest. If people perceive me in negative ways, so be it. I won’t lose sleep over being disliked or misconstrued. It’s more important that I like myself. That may sound egotistical. But it isn’t. I know me. And that’s just fine. I’m proud and happy. To be a romantic idealist, a spiritual free-thinker, a political liberal, a lover and a dreamer. If others don’t see  me that way, that’s their right. To be wrong.  --Jim Broede

Off we go. With a sigh of relief.

I waited and waited and waited. To be let into Canada. Along with my Italian amore. We sat there. In the customs office. In Fort Francis. In Ontario.  We wondered why. I asked the woman seated next to us if she had a clue. She didn’t. Or was she playing dumb? Turns out her companion was off being interrogated. He  returned, and whispered, that he was being denied entry into Canada. Because of an unpaid parking ticket. Years ago. In Chicago. He had to make restitution. Or be returned to the U.S. Made me wonder if I had an unpaid parking ticket. At least I knew. That I wasn’t a terrorist. Anyway, I finally ambled up to a counter and asked a uniformed clerk. Why do we have to wait so long for clearance? “Oh’ she said, “we didn’t notice that you had come in.  She quickly summoned a customs officer. Who apologized for the delay. Five minutes later. Off we went. Toward Kenora and Lake of the Woods. With a sigh of relief. Thankful. That I don’t have any unpaid parking tickets  --Jim Broede

Doesn't matter what others think.

I didn’t take offense today. When a friend told me that she perceives my Italian amore as a bit crazy.  She didn’t mean it in a nice way. Oh, I’ll concede that Cristina is crazy. But in wonderful ways. That’s why she’s my true love. I adore her. Even her craziness. As far as I’m concerned, we’re both darn good crazy.  And different. In so many ways. Yet, we know how to accept each other. We are both tolerant and open-minded and independent, and yes, downright crazy. That makes for a loving relationship. And it doesn’t matter one iota what others think.  --Jim Broede

A mere sip of the good life.

I’m trying to be happy. When my cup runneth over. And not ask for more.  Though that’s what I want.  Perfection from my Chicago Cubs. They have the best record (80-45) in major league baseball.  In the old days, I’d have settled for the Cubs splitting their games. A so-called average season. But now I want it all. Everything.  A World Series. In which the Cubs dominate.  It’s hard to tell myself to settle for anything less. I’ve become spoiled. By Cubs baseball riches.  Second best won’t be good enough.  When really it should.  I’m similar to the billionaire. Who never has enough. Always an insatiable desire for more. I keep musing. Settle for less. Life is still good. Without everything. I’m blessed. Even when my cup doesn’t runneth over. Give me a mere sip of the good life. --Jim Broede

Better than the Northwoods.

Being in the Northwoods. Of Minnesota and Canada. For two weeks.  Was thrilling. But not nearly as thrilling as being with my Italian amore, Cristina. That was the highlight of my vacation. The presence of my true love.  --Jim Broede

A dreamless reality.

Give me time to dream. That’s a benefit of being on vacation. I had time to dream. In my sleep. More than usual.  Of course, I also continue to day dream. In an effort to make sense of my night dreams. Sometimes, I wonder if I’m dreaming round the clock. Day and night. In order to find meaning. If not immediately. Maybe in a week or two – or even much later. Several weeks ago, while traveling in Canada, I got up at 3 in the morning. To ponder my night dream.  I had already forgotten much of  the dream.   I should have put the dream in writing. Instantly. While it was still fresh. Though I often wonder, it it’s really necessary to analyze my dreams. Perhaps we humans have become too analytical.  Animals don’t analyze. They just live. For the day. By instinct. That’s what I was thinking about when I went to bed. A few hours after visiting museums dedicated to the study of wolves and bears. And the way they live and think. Seems that they live to survive. Merely by being their natural selves. Without giving thought to yesterday, today and tomorrow. No musing. No reflecting.  Wolves and bears are what they are. And that’s good enough. No desire to be something else. Better to be their true selves. Without question. But here I am. Raising questions. Pondering. About my own being. The whys and wherefores of my life. I am compelled. To think. To muse. About everything. Maybe my life is a continuous dream. That will end. When I awaken to a new and fully conscious and dreamless reality. --Jim Broede

More reason. To be in love.

Nicest thing about traveling. Isn’t so much the discovery of places. Never seen before. But rather, and more importantly, the continuing discovery of my beloved companion. My Italian amore, Cristina. She’s with me. Sharing the same, often intimate  travel experiences. Morning. Noon. And night. Together. Together. Together. Though we may get different stuff and meanings, from the same experience. But we are able. To describe.  The fullness of our lives. To each other.  More reason. To be in love. With life.  --Jim Broede

Sweet and pleasant dreams.

I wonder what it means. To take care of one’s self. Depends upon the individual, I suppose. For me, it means being happy. And in love. With life. And with someone other than myself.  Sounds pretty simple doesn’t it?  No doubt about it. I’m in love. But I need reminders. And I have them. Every day. In my Italian amore, Cristina. And my cat, Loverboy. And in just being alive. In vibrant ways. It helps. That I am able to write. And to muse. About the wonders of life. About being truly alive.  And going to breakfast. This morning. With dear friends. No doubt. I have problems. Mental. Emotional. Physical. Like everyone else. But I love to cope. With life’s daily challenges.  Hardly ever do I go to bed. In anything other than a happy frame of mind. Amazing, too. I wake up happy. Yes, I’m off to a good start. Knowing there’s a good finish ahead. Tonight. When I fall asleep.  Drifting into sweet and pleasant dreams. --Jim

A reasonably good lover.

My Italian amore, Cristina, is virtually as important as me. At least in my little world. Because she’s my one and only true love. I accept her. Unconditionally. That’s a requirement of true love. Not easily attained. My best guess is that most relationships are conditional. If pushed to the extreme. Anyway, I try to take good and loving care of Cristina. And that’s best achieved. When I also take good care of myself. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. That makes me a reasonably good lover. --Jim

A way to the good life.

This may sound egotistical. From my perspective, I’m the most important person in the world. That’s the way it should be. I have to take care of myself. One way or another. Because if I don’t, there’s no guarantee that others will do it for me. Meanwhile, I have no qualms about taking care of others. But if I don’t take care of myself, I’m likely to be in no position to care for others. Therefore, I put myself first and foremost. I encourage others to do much the same.  Yes, it’s an individual approach to life. Of course, some are incapable of caring for themselves. They need help. Which society is capable of providing. Face it. Truth be told. I like and respect me.  But I can’t force others to. Fortunately, some do. But others don’t. Incidentally, the people I like most are the ones that like and respect themselves.  And they aren’t necessarily egotistical about it. It’s simply a practical and productive way to the good life.  --Jim Broede