My own little world.

For now, I need to dream. My dreams keep me alive. And in love.  Yes, I live in my dreams. I would have it no other way. I was born to dream. Helps me to create my own reality. My own little world. --Jim Broede

A sigh of relief.

Over a lifetime. One has many, many sighs of relief. I love to sigh. Means I’ve gotten over a hump. Solved and survived a difficult situation. Made the most of it.  Of course, there are many,  many days, too. When I go without a sigh. Because life is flowing smoothly. My biggest sigh of relief in a long, long time. Will come on election day. When I know, for sure, that Donald Trump won’t be our next president. --Jim Broede

Of having no limits.

So many ways to travel. Without leaving home physically. Merely by allowing one’s mind. To leave one’s body. And go anywhere in the cosmos. All it takes. Is a vivid imagination. Makes me wonder. If  the imagination becomes the door to the spiritual realm. Gives one a feeling. Of having no limits. --Jim Broede

Makes for a wondrous life.

I like to muse. In part. Because musing helps me better understand my inner being. Especially when I write my musings. Allowing me to conveniently return to what I mused yesterday, or last year. Best to build a separation of time. Between  musings. Looking back. Giving me keen insights. About where I’ve been, and where I’ve come. Evolving.  Constantly.  Never at the same place two days in a row. On the move. Never static. Better not knowing exactly where I am. Always a new horizon. A new vista. Every day. Makes for a wondrous life. --Jim Broede

I don't get it.

A certain portion of the American electorate want change. Yes, change for change sake. Anything will be acceptable. Other than the perceived establishment.  In other words, if the choices were Hillary Clinton or a chimpanzee, the change faction would vote for the chimpanzee.  But even worse, they’d vote for Donald Trump. I don’t get it. --Jim Broede

My worst nightmare ever.

It’s downright scary.  The possibility that Donald Trump could be elected president of the United States. If that happens, gawd help us. This would no longer be my America. I’d not have wanted to live in Nazi Germany or in the Stalinist Soviet Union or in modern day Syria. Never dreamt that America could face an even worse fate. Until now. A political upheaval. That brings Donald Trump to the White House. Please tell me. It ain’t true. It can’t happen.  That I will awaken. From my worst nightmare ever. --Jim Broede

Despite the loss.

Losing someone or something near and dear, is no cause for extended lamenting. Instead, it’s my signal to get on with life. To appreciate and savor precious moments. A reminder that I am still very much alive. And with it.  I’m the lucky and blessed one. The survivor. No sense in grieving forever. Better to get over it. Maybe that sounds a little cold and callous.  Especially to people who like to grieve. Almost feel as if it’s a responsibility.  A tribute to a loved one.  For me, the finest tribute is to live life to the fullest. To find ways to be happy and reasonably contented. Despite the loss. --Jim Broede

Reason to cry.

My dearest friend. My cat, Loverboy. May be dying. He hasn’t eaten a scrap of food. For five days.  He’s got kidney disease. Which is the most common cause of death for cats. I’m afraid that his kidney function is shutting down. He’s going to the vet this afternoon. I am feeling devastated. I’m sad. I’m crying.  I don’t cry when people near and dear to me die. But I cry for Loverboy. --Jim Broede

To capture precious moments.

Could be. That we all live forever. Reincarnated. Experiencing life in many forms. I could be happy. As a tree. As a snail. As a flower. As a kangaroo. That’s my nature. My quest. To feel alive. And vibrant. To taste and grasp life. To the fullest. To capture precious moments. --Jim Broede

Can you tell?

Musing. Musing right here. In a public forum. Is good for my soul. Keeps my mind fresh and active. Thinking positively most of the time. Of course, musing doesn’t have to be done in a public forum. It can be private, too. I have private musings. All kinds of musings. I started musing here a long time ago. Because I was a care-giver. For 13 years. For my dear blessed Jeanne, my wife for 38 years. Musing was a way to get on with life. Still is. Always will be. It’s become habit. A way of life. Keeps me happy. Contented.  Can you tell? --Jim Broede

Eccentric. And proud of it.

I’ve been described as eccentric. As different. Out of the ordinary. As perhaps more than a  bit crazy. Nothing wrong with that. It’s just the way I am. No sense in being anything other than what makes me feel like me. In comfortable and idyllic ways. A romantic idealist. A spiritual free-thinker. A political liberal. A writer. A lover. A dreamer. An extraordinary Chicago Cubs fan.  And for good measure, I also walk 10 miles most days. I live with a cat, too. Named Loverboy. Because that’s what he is. Qualifying as my closest living companion.  I’ll be devastated. If and when he dies.  But I’ll adjust. Because I have a true love. My Italian amore, Cristina. For eight years now. Ever since my longtime wife Jeanne died. Of complications from Alzheimer’s. Anyway, Cristina and I flit back and forth. Living with each other. For periods every year. In Minnesota.  In Sardinia.  When we aren’t together in the flesh. We are still in daily video contact. On Skype.  We’ve been drawn together. Because we’re daffy. Yes, we are both eccentrics. And proud of it. --Jim Broede

At the very least, I am...

Come to think of it. An atheist can believe in a spirit world. And a so-called afterlife. No reason to bring religion into the discussion. It could be that everyone and everything evolves. Miraculously. Like a caterpillar that transforms. Into a butterfly.  From a being that crawls. Into a being that flutters in mid-air. From flower to flower. I want to go a step beyond being a butterfly. Becoming a spirit. That can drift from planet to planet and from galaxy to galaxy. Maybe that’s what the cosmos was built for.  For spirits to circumnavigate to places that would otherwise be unsuitable for human life. Yes, I know this sounds like a fairy tale.  Like science fiction. But I have an imagination. That can make it all seem so real. And maybe that’s good enough. That’s all one needs. To become spirit. And to enter another world. That’s just the way it is. I have become my own creator. I have made myself. Into a romantic idealist, a spiritual free-thinker, a political liberal, a writer, a lover, a dreamer. There’s no stopping me.  Some day, I am to become a spirit. A living, functioning spirit. All the more proof. That at the very least, I am a romantic idealist. --Jim Broede

Better to have lived.

I suspect that most of us are divinely blessed. Though we may not know it. Because we don’t think about it. Indeed, being alive and with it, is a divine blessing. And add to that, being in love. Can’t ask for much more than that. Of course, life doesn’t always go smoothly. But hey, for most of us, life is filled with many more ups than downs. Yes, better to have lived than not have ever lived. --Jim Broede

Getting on with life.

Wonder. Wonder. Why I should give a damn about politics. Better to get on with life. By ignoring politics. By not caring. About political trends. About whether Donald Trump or Hillary Clinton becomes the next president. Just let it be. And live out the rest of my life. Unconcerned about the political situation. I have more important priorities. Such as my human relationships. With my select friends and acquaintances. And with my dear cat Loverboy. Who may mean more to me than all the people around me.  That’s the way it is. And should be. I’m still capable, at age 81, of walking 10 miles a day.  And writing about whatever comes to mind. Yes, exercising. Mentally.  Physically. Emotionally. That should be good enough. Living and savoring life one day at a time. By not allowing the uncontrollable negative aspects of life bother me.  --Jim Broede

My route to peace of mind.

Several friends and acquaintances constantly bombard me with what’s going wrong in their lives. I find it both amusing and disconcerting. Because it’s relatively minor and trivial stuff. Nothing life-threatening or cataclysmic. Meanwhile, there’s much going right, too. But they tend to gloss over that. And they come off as if in the doldrums. But hey – truth be told -- negative thinkers are good for me. After all, they remind me to be positive. To rise above the fray. People don’t want to hear my complaints. They have enough gripes of their own, unfortunately. Anyway, it’s a matter of free choice. So much better to focus on what’s going right. That’s my route to peace of mind. --Jim Broede

Always on the move.

I’m curious. About what lies beyond. In places too far to see. Therefore, I have to journey. To keep moving toward another destination. Forward. Forward. Forward. Never in the same inward place two days in a row. Sure, I’m stuck in the same physical environs. For long times. But inside. My spirit is always on the move.  --Jim Broede

On the path to discovery.

Funny. Funny. Funny. How we measure ourselves. And other people. People we like. And people we dislike. Some of my favorite people are the ones that are very, very different. And the ones I dislike the most could be my clones. Yet, I like me. Because I am in my own skin. That’s the difference. My clones are too much like me. I don’t want or need their insights.  Give me people who arouse my curiosity. Because they are different. And I love to meet strangers. Because they put me on the path to amazing discovery. -- Jim Broede

Making my day.

My worst days come when my mission isn’t accomplished. That gives me a sense of failure. Though it really shouldn’t. By now, I should be used to failure. As a necessary part of life. Maybe it’s that some days the failures outnumber the successes. Of course, there’s a consolation in all this. If there's only one success, I have the opportunity to focus on it. Thereby, making my day less than a total loss. --Jim Broede

To make sense of it all.

Maybe that’s the purpose of my life. To ponder. To reflect. To muse. That’s what life is meant to be.  To be aware of one’s consciousness. To find meaning. In the pleasure of thought. And existence. That’s the source of my happiness. The mere fact of being. Alive. And whole.  With the ability to explore. And to make sense of it all. --Jim Broede

The superior way.

Life could exist. In many, many forms. Far beyond the physical. That’s my assumption. And anything I can imagine. Is possible. No matter how preposterous. Take the cosmos, for instance. Let’s assume that once upon a time, there was no such thing as creation. But then a non-physical spirit came up with the idea of creating a physical world. First, by imagining it. Initially, that’s all it took. The spirit had a brilliant and creative idea. And put his/her imagination to the task. And presto. Here we are today. Living in a physical world. Yes, the creator is no more or no less than a non-physical spirit with an extraordinary imagination. And a resolve to make it happen. The creator, meanwhile, has wisely chosen to remain totally spirit. For good reason. The spiritual is the superior way. The physical is far too limiting.  --Jim Broede

In incredibly thoughtful ways.

I presume. That a non-physical spirit. Also has a non-physical equivalent of a brain.  And a consciousness. And the ability to move about. And to communicate with other spirits. In a non-physical (spiritual) realm. Where the original non-physical creator resides. Far above and beyond the physical domain. My goal is to some day become a spirit. Which would allow me to converse directly with the creator. Face-to-face. That is, if we had faces. Instead, we would rely on an invisible thought-to-thought process. With no need for physical eyes, ears and mouth. Yet, we would see, hear and speak to each other -- in incredibly thoughtful ways. --Jim Broede

This amazing blip in time.

The nicest thing about disappointment. Is that it shows. That I can’t have everything. Prevents me from becoming spoiled.  Maybe I can’t even have eternal life. That there is no forever. Of course, there could be forever. But that doesn’t matter to me. If I’m not around to enjoy it. But still, I’m grateful. For this amazing blip in time. --Jim Broede

Please, gawd, start over again.

I don’t fully understand. How a presidential candidate. Such as Donald Trump. Can be allowed to run a campaign of lie upon lie upon lie. An endless chain of lies. It’s as if a spoof is being perpetrated. Just to show how stupid and gullible. Vast hordes of Americans can be. To believe lie upon lie upon lie.  Yes, polls actually show. That Trump has an uncanny chance of winning the election.  What has the world come to?  Please, gawd, help us. Destroy the world. And start over again. --Jim Broede

The danger of being too cocky.

In baseball. One can easily become too cocky. Too confident. Allowing success to go to one’s head. That happened to the Chicago Cubs yesterday. It had better be nipped in the bud. Or the Cubs amazingly successful baseball season (so far) could go down the drain. The Cubs got routed, 11-3. By the lowly Milwaukee Brewers. The day after clinching the National League’s Central Division title. By building an 18-game lead over the second place St.  Louis Cardinals. Yes, the Cubs could lose their hard-earned momentum and still reign as division champs. Unfortunately, the Cubs played Saturday like a bunch of drunken sailors. Probably because some players had hangovers and lack of sleep. From celebrating their achievements the night before. In a raucous, albeit traditional way. Squirting bottles of champagne over each other. I suppose it’s all right. To come out the next day. Cocky. And not ready to play baseball. But let’s hope, as Cubs fans, that the Cubs don’t lose sight of their goal. To go to, and to win the World Series. For the first time since 1908. When lesser teams have done it. Over and over and over. Yes, it would be a shame. If the Cubs suddenly took their foot off the gas pedal. And allowed lesser teams. To overwhelm them for the rest of way. Especially in the playoffs. Time to remember last year. When the Cubs got swept by the New York Mets. Could happen again. Yes, there’s such a thing in baseball.  As being too cocky. --Jim Broede

No best friend. For good reason.

When hiring someone to do a job, I want someone competent. Not necessarily the best.  The one deemed the best, may not be. After all, it’s a judgment call. I also am reluctant to single out a ‘best’ friend.  That would be a judgment, too, on my other friends. Better to settle for having many good friends. Of course, I have more acquaintances than friends. Some are good acquaintances. Without ever being the ‘best’ one. Because they probably have risen to the lofty plateau of true friendship. --Jim Broede

Mission Accomplished.

Putting life in proper perspective. That’s my mission. And it’s not always easy. Differentiating the important stuff from the unimportant. The significant from the trivial. No doubt, I’ve had my share of things gone awry. No sense in compiling a list of disappointments. After all, I prefer getting on with life.  In optimistic and loving ways. By doing a better job of it. So that I can declare  most days, ‘Mission Accomplished.’ --Jim Broede

My remedy for high anxiety.

High anxiety. I have it occasionally. When I devoutly wish for outcomes. Over which I have absolute no control. I’d be better off. Merely letting things happen. Without the anxiety. Yes, it’s a matter of learning acceptance. For instance, I desperately want Donald Trump to lose the presidential election. I’m having pangs of anxiety. Over the possibility  that he might win. Imagining  that it will bring on a terrible political situation  Maybe not as terrible as what happened in Nazi Germany. But nevertheless, bad, bad, bad. Of course, if my worst fears become real, that will add to my unrelenting anxiety. I’d have to find a way to cope.  Maybe by moving to another country. And getting on with life. In a happy and loving manner.  Free of anxiety. --Jim Broede

The definition of a loser.

In my younger days, I’d occasionally jog 13 miles. Non-stop. Around the entire Forest Lake chain. Yes, a distance halfway to a marathon. But I had no desire to enter a marathon. Because I thought 13 miles was far enough. And I didn’t have anything to prove to myself. My achievement was good enough. Of course, friends encouraged me. To enter a  marathon. Just to show that I could do it. Against real competition, too.  That’s where I drew the line. I didn’t want to compete. Against others. I merely wanted to jog/run for my enjoyment. For relaxation. Going at my own pace. That’s why I almost always ran  alone. As a solitary runner. Seeking true solitude.  I don’t particularly like living in a competitive world.  Always trying to be better than someone else.  Always trying to defeat the next guy. Yes, we live in a world. Where a Donald Trump might even become president of the United States.  Because to get ahead. To obtain the big prize. His aim is not only to win. But to humiliate everyone in his path. In the process, he has become  indecent and vile. A loser. --Jim Broede

A sensible way to live.

I’m trying to be grateful. And happy. Even if all my wishes don’t come true. Yes, I don’t need everything to go my way. Of course, it would be nice if the Chicago Cubs won the World Series for the first time since 1908.  But if the Cubs fall short, that’s all right with me. After all, the Cubs have had a reasonably successful season. Having already clinched the Central Division title in the National League. With 17 games still left to play in the regular season. The Cubs are in the play-offs. With a decent chance of advancing to the World Series.  Many Cubs fans will consider it a disappointing season if the Cubs don’t win the World Series. But not me. Even if the Cubs finish second or third best, I won’t be glum. It’s sure a lot better than if the Cubs didn’t get into the playoffs. For me, being the best at any thing in particular isn’t a high priority. It’s good enough to just be plain good. At whatever it is I’m doing. I hold the Cubs to a similar standard. That’s an easy and relaxing and sensible way to live. I can settle for just being alive and conscious and in love. --Jim Broede

A foundation of lies.

I want the facts. Nothing but the facts. But I seldom get the facts. Because there are so many different versions of the facts. We live in a time of outright lies. One after another. Makes for confusion. And a distortion of the facts.  Take the presidential election, for instance. Hard to differentiate between fact and fiction. There are thousands of versions of the truth. Of what’s really going on. Everything is distorted. We have media outlets. In the business. Of telling lies. But they avoid calling a politician a ‘liar.’ Because that would be deemed in bad taste. And a biased way of presenting the news. So it’s called ‘stretching the truth.’  No longer do we present the news in an objective and unbiased manner. Because politicians don’t speak in objective and unbiased ways. Lies, lies, endless lies. We know they are lies. But we don’t know the truth. That’s the problem. Everything seems to be built on a foundation of lies. --Jim Broede

A way to eat better than the gods.

Yes, here I am. A devotee of meatloaves. And bread puddings. In our travels this summer. In Canada. and the Arrowhead region of northern Minnesota. My Italian true love Cristina and I had a wonderful and rewarding  penchant. To drop in on local small town restaurants that promoted ‘home cooking.’ Don’t know if it was the region or what. But we discovered tasty meatloaf dinners followed by desserts of tasty bread puddings. Maybe it was merely coincidence. Anyway, there were all sorts of home cooking examples. But our favorite had to be the meatloaves. Never had a bad meatloaf in these little bergs off the beaten track. On both sides of the U.S.-Canadian border. Give me a Canadian meatloaf or an old-fashioned American meatloaf. Any day. I haven’t taken to eating meatloaf for breakfast yet. But I’ll take it any day. For a scrumptious dinner. Rather have a meatloaf than a sizzling steak. Did some research. And found that meatloaf became a staple of the American diet during the Depression Era. When food had to be made to go a long way. In came nutritious and savory meat loaves. Yes, a way for a poor family to make the best of dining. With an affordable fare even better than ambrosia and nectar of the culinary-minded gods on Mount Olympus.  --Jim Broede

A thought or two.

I marvel. Over the fact. That I exist. In a fantastic world. Almost beyond human comprehension. In an infinite cosmos. Boundless. So that if I traveled at the speed of light. Forever. I’d never reach the end. Or the beginning. Of course, I can’t prove that this is all real. That it’s not my imagination. Playing tricks on me. I keep asking. Why am I here at this given moment? I don’t have the answer. All I know. Is that I’m happy to be alive and conscious. And in love. With life. Able to ponder. A thought or two. --Jim Broede

After all, it is Julie's life.

I’m feeling my way When it comes to determining how to act around my alcoholic friend Julie. Don’t know if there’s a solidly right way or a solidly wrong way. Generally, I’m looking for a way that works. That’s effective. That gets Julie the help she needs. Without alienating Julie. But I’m finding that nearly impossible. Some folks tell me just be Julie’s friend. Tell her that you love her. Just let her be. That she has to decide. From within. To get all necessary help. Don’t be too critical. Allow Julie to proceed at her own pace. Don’t be a watchdog. But that’s what I am, according to Julie. She tells me I’m detestable. For that very thing. That see senses I’m keeping a watchful eye on her. All the time. Especially when we go shopping together. That she’s under constant surveillance. Though she isn’t.  But that’s the way Julie feels. I think she’s paranoid about it. Julie says she brings the topic up. At her group therapy sessions. With other addicts. They encourage her, she says, to avoid me. If she doesn’t trust me anymore. For not showing blind faith in her. Maybe they are right. Maybe they are wrong. I don’t know. Other than I’m ready to live by Julie’s decision. After all, it is Julie’s life. Maybe I have no right to interfere. --Jim Broede

A brainwashed electorate.

Two-thirds of voters with a favorable opinion of Donald Trump believe President Obama is a Muslim, and a quarter of them believe that Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia was murdered, a poll released recently shows. The Public Policy Polling survey showed 59 percent of those who viewed Trump favorably think Obama was not born in the United States and only 13 percent believe he’s a Christian. Goes to show that some people are easily brainwashed. All it takes is repeating a lie over and over and over. For them to believe it’s true. --Jim Broede

A better place to be.

Maybe one never dies. But lives forever. In one form or another. Transcending and ascending. To a grandstand in the sky. A spirit. A spectator. Watching. As an observer of human life.  From above. This weird planet Earth.  Wondering. If that’s where the original creator sits. Taking in the daily melodrama. Not knowing whether to laugh or cry. Or to applaud or boo. Of course, I also want the option. To leave the grandstand. For a peek of happenings in other worlds. Far out in the infinite cosmos. Thereby, losing my desire to return to Earth.  Having found a better place to be. --Jim Broede

Now I'm a scribbler.

I was born to write. Because I’ve always wanted to give my side of the story. My thinking. My opinion. And the natural way to do that was to learn to write. On paper. In black and white. For me, the written word was more important than the spoken word. Writing taught me to capture meaning. To actually see my thoughts. In a way that allowed me to edit. To revise. To expand. I was fascinated by looking at my handwriting. To see my thought take shape. Little wonder, that as an up and coming sixth grader, I got ‘A’ in penmanship. I tried to make my words look and feel beautiful and elegant.  Right there. In front of me. Something that I could read over and over. And admire. Of course, not everything I wrote was admirable. But still, it looked admirable. On paper. Now I don’t have to be concerned about penmanship anymore. I peck away on a computer keyboard. A wonderful invention.  Allowing me to write and write and write. Without a traditional pen or pencil. A blessing, indeed. Truth be told. My once near-perfect handwriting has declined. Into scribble.  --Jim Broede

Give the imagination free rein.

Hoodwinking one’s self. Can be a good thing. That’s what I tell unhappy people.  By encouraging them to pretend that they are happy. If for only a few moments. Give it a try.  It may feel so good. That they become hooked. On happiness.  Sometimes pretending can be a way out of the abyss.  Yes, give the imagination free rein.  --Jim Broede

A way to avoid the truth.

Listening is a two-way street. It’s important that two people listen to each other. Usually, that results in a dialogue. And it resolves all sorts of problems and misunderstandings.  I have a friend, who tells me she’s too busy, too occupied to listen at the moment.  She constantly puts off listening. Maybe it’s a convenient way. To avoid listening to the truth. --Jim Broede

The art of listening.

I’m criticized. Occasionally. For the way I live my life. That’s all right. I don’t mind criticism. Even when I feel it ain’t justified. Because when friends feel I’m doing something wrong. I want to know it. Yes, I want them to be honest with me. To not be afraid to criticize. Or to offer me advice. Of course, I may not accept the advice. But the important thing is to listen.  I owe that to everyone. --Jim Broede

On being happy and ignorant.

I was born. Into a world that I don’t understand. I’ve spent my life trying to figure it out. And probably never will. I’m grateful to be here.  To be able to feel my way.  With the help of others. I’m not so arrogant. To think that I’d be able to make a better world.  Instead, I’ll settle for a better me. And the best way to do that, it seems to me, is to keep falling in love. With life. That’s the most obvious reason for my existence. To be a lover and a dreamer. And to think, think, think. And to write, write, write. The blending of all these endeavors. Makes me happy and fulfilled. Maybe because I don’t know any better. But so be it. I’ll settle for being happy and ignorant. All at the same time. --Jim Broede

Only so much to go around.

I don’t even try to be compassionate and understanding of everyone. Because that’s an impossible task.  Instead, I focus on a select few. People around me. In dire need of compassion and understanding. If I spread myself thin, trying to do too much, it would drain me of vital physical, mental and emotional energy. I’d not be taking care of myself. I have limits. Which require me to give priority to those closest and dearest. Seldom my blood relatives. My brother, my sister and I went our separate ways. We maintained sparse contact over the years. I even wrote off my sister for a while. When she was a drunk. We’re closer now. Because she’s sober.  But when she was drinking, I wanted no part of her. Partly, for my sake. I had to take care of myself. So that I could care for other more important people in my life. My true loves. My most intimate friends. Yes, I have only so much compassion and understanding to go around. --Jim Broede

Let's try to save the world.

I am baffled. Perplexed. Dumbfounded. Yes, unable to fully understand. How a buffoon such as Donald Trump can even stand a remote chance of being elected president of the United States of America. If that’s the best that a major political party can offer the electorate, it’s time for the creator to intervene. To help us out of dire political straits. So scary. The possibility that Trump could win. That he could bamboozle enough gullible voters to get all the way to the White House. A shame. Maybe even worse than Germany’s flirtation with the Third Reich. Maybe I’m over-reacting. I hope so. That people would dare  vote for change for change sake. A potential disaster. Politically. Economically. Socially. Every which way. Yes, insanity. Coming to America. Just like it has come to big parts of the world already. Country after country. By one means or another. Often guided by an insane citizenry. People going along with an insane political tide. Often out of fear of the inmates in an ever-expanding insane asylum. People. People. Let’s come to our senses. Let’s try to save the world. Before it’s too late. --Jim Broede

Better than nothing.

I’d rather not have turbulence in my life. But that’s far easier said than accomplished. Unfortunately, life  sometimes unfolds in strange and mysterious and unwanted ways. Over which I have no or little control. I can either accept that fact. Or get upset over it. And lash out. In protest.  Which I often do. And thereby goes my quest for a life of peace and tranquility. Wish it weren’t that way. But that’s life. And I’ve learned to grudgingly make the best of bad situations. Yes, I appreciate consolation prizes. After all, they are better than nothing. --Jim Broede

An option under consideration.

I wonder. If I’m putting my friends to a test. Or if  they are putting me to a test.  I’m not adverse to disappointing my friends. And they sometimes disappoint me. But still, the friendships generally endure.  Though one particular friendship may be on tenuous ground. Yes, my friendship with Julie, the alcoholic.  I wonder if one or the other of us will break it off. Because we are losing faith and confidence in each other. I’m disappointed in Julie.  Because of her unresolved  drinking problem. And she’s disappointed in me. For lack of compassion and understanding.  It’s a standoff. And that makes for a testy situation.  Maybe both of us would be better off. If we weren’t friends anymore. That’s an option under serious consideration. --Jim Broede

On being one's self.

Takes all kinds of people to make up the world. And I’m happy to be one kind. My kind.  Can’t say that any particular kind is better than others. All that matters is that I’m able to more or less choose my own course. I don’t have to be like others. Or a robot or clone. Better to be uniquely different. Meanwhile, I encourage others to be themselves. As long as they allow me to be me.  --Jim Broede

From patting myself on the back.

My alcoholic friend doesn’t hesitate to give me advice. That sounds more like guff. Than words of wisdom. I do the same with her. But she  complains. Often. And blames me. And her husband. And others. For her affliction.  Everyone but herself. The world is at fault. For Julie’s unhappiness. Makes me wonder. Why I’m reasonably happy. Yes, in love. With life. I wonder who should take the blame –errr, I mean credit – for that. All I know. Is that I have a sore arm. Maybe from patting myself on the back. --Jim Broede

Down the path. To destroyed lives.

It’s sad, sad, sad. Watching addicts kill themselves. When I know. That there must be ways. To save them. By some form of enlightenment. If only one knew what worked. A magical potion.  Brilliant counseling.  Maybe a prayer. Too often, nothing works.  Because we haven’t discovered a sure-fire cure for destructive addictions. I grew up. In a family. With an addicted father. Yes, sad, sad, sad.  No, my father wasn’t an alcoholic. He was a habitual gambler.  The night he committed suicide. When I was 13. And he was 38. He borrowed $2 from me.  Yes, he was flat broke. And he had immense gambling debts. With unsavory characters. I’m told that in his suicide note (which I didn’t see), he asked mother to pay off his debt to me. I can’t recall ever getting the money back. Doesn’t really matter. What matters. Is that sad stuff happens. Every day. As a result of lethal, untreated addictions. And I’m watching, watching, watching. Sometimes feeling helpless. Because I have several friends. Heading down the path.  To destroyed lives.   --Jim Broede

Until the next drink.

I try to be Julie’s friend. But it’s difficult. Dealing with Julie. Because she’s an alcoholic.  Not yet fully recovering. When Julie is sober, she’s a wonderful being.  When she drinks, look out. Her personality does a flip-flop. A dark and belligerent side emerges. Of course, I should be more understanding. But too often, I’m not. Better to back off.  Go away. And avoid encounters. Sometimes, I don’t retreat fast enough.  And there’s a clash. A confrontation. I might say and do the wrong thing.  When really, I should keep my mouth shut. And take the verbal abuse. And come back another day. Or maybe not at all. But I can’t do that. Because the next day, the good Julie is back. She’s all sweetness and light again. Until the next drink. --Jim Broede

Better to be a freaky Cubs fan.

My friend Julie is mentally ill. More so than physically ill. Because she’s an alcoholic. And I’m baffled. About how to deal with it. Chances are. That Julie is even more baffled than me. Because she has to cope with her situation. Daily. Almost every minute of her life. I don’t have Julie’s problem.  Though I have my share of addictions. To one thing or another. To the Chicago Cubs, for instance. And to daily physical and mental exercise. I have to walk. Up to 10 miles. Virtually every day of my life. I also have to think, think, think. And to write, write, write. Therefore, maybe I am mentally ill, too. With compulsive disorders. That helps me to better understand Julie’s plight. Julie, to amazing degree,  loves her disorder. Even though it does her harm.  I also love and embrace my disorders. But I’ve brought it all under reasonable control. In my opinion, Julie hasn’t. I tell her so.  That galls Julie. No end.  She’s often miffed with me. But I keep plugging away.  Proclaiming that it’s better to be a Cubs fan and an exercise freak. Than it is to be an alcoholic. --Jim Broede

At least, I trust myself.

I don’t trust alcoholics. Even if they are my closest friends. Unless I am convinced that they are truly recovering. They’d have to go years without drinking. For me to trust that they won’t fall off the proverbial wagon. My addicted friend Julie takes umbrage  with me. For not trusting her. I occasionally do Julie a favor. By taking her shopping.  If Julie is anywhere close to a liquor store, I keep a watchful eye on her.  That peeved Julie today. She went on a rant. Accusing me of not trusting her. I’m guilty. Julie is correct about that. I tried to soothe Julie. By confessing. That there are very few people that I ever totally trust. Maybe three in my lifetime. My two true loves. And one other friend. And it could be, that nobody totally trusts me. That’s all right. Doesn’t matter. As long as I trust myself. And I do. By the way, I asked Julie if she trusts herself. Of course, she doesn’t. So I asked, ‘Why should others trust you?’--Jim Broede

The undeniable nature of love.

Why have I been traveling these past eight years? Not so much to discover other parts of the world. But rather to discover decent and interesting people. That I might not have otherwise met. Especially my Italian amore, Cristina. I’d probably not be traveling. And living a big part of my life. In Sardinia.  And all over the world. If not for Cristina. I’m living in order to be linked to Cristina. In loving ways. To cultivate and cement and savor our idyllic relationship. To travel together seems the right thing to do. I absorb Cristina. And the people we meet. More than anything. I’m focused on Cristina. She makes a difference. No matter where we are. Even during times when we are separated by an  ocean. That’s the undeniable nature of love. Being focused on being alive and conscious and blessed. --Jim Broede

The story of my success.

It’s the kind of question I’d ask if I were a border patrol officer. On the U.S.-Canadian border. But my Italian amore thought it was a little too personal. That he had  no business going there. ‘How did the two of you meet?’ he asked after inspecting our Italian and American passports. Of course, I gave him the quick and full three-minute  romantic account. I don’t hesitate telling my love story to virtually every and anyone. Even strangers. Nothing to hide. I also gave him my calling card. Listing me as a romantic idealist, a spiritual free-thinker, a political liberal, a lover and a dreamer. And if he wanted to know more, he could read the daily postings in my Broede’s Broodings blog.  Rather than being a suspected terrorist. I always pass security. Without a hitch. And with smiles.  Don’t even have to take off my shoes or open my bags. Oh, so nice. Yes, no mistake about it. I’m taken for a lover and a dreamer. I’ve succeeded in defining myself. --Jim Broede

Good enough for me.

When it comes to spiritual matters, I believe what I want to believe. Even if it sounds like wishful thinking. After all, there can be no absolute proof that one has an ever-lasting spirit. An existence beyond the physical realm. But I want to believe in the spirit. And in a spirit world. Therefore, I believe. Based on unbridled desire and faith. Not on intellectual reasoning. I can imagine having and being a spirit. Makes it feel real. And that’s good enough for me. --Jim Broede

Better to be divinely blessed.

Some unknowing people think I’m rich. Because I don’t hesitate to live in Italy. For much of the year.  But I’ve discovered. That it’s cheaper living with my Italian amore. On the Mediterranean island of Sardinia. Than it costs me to live in Minnesota. I return home with more money in my bank account. Than when I left. My monthly social security and pension checks. Are more than enough to get me by. Incredible, you say? Of course, I’m living with my Italian amore. More or less for free. Other than paying for the usual conveniences of living adequately. By paying for normal expenses. Many of which come cheaper in Italy than in the U.S. It’s economical living in Europe. Take travel, for instance. By public transit. Trains. Buses. And low-cost local airlines. And it doesn’t bankrupt me if I have a medical emergency. Which happened two years ago. I spent eight days in an Italian hospital. Receiving the best of hospital and medical care. The total cost was around $6,000. Yes, that’s right. It’s not a typo.  I’m told that in America it would have cost at least $60,000. Perhaps considerably more. Truth be known, folks. I’m not monetarily rich. Better to be divinely blessed. And that, I certainly am. --Jim Broede

Give us a taste and aroma of potica.

So many small towns I haven’t been to.  Fortunately, I have crossed Chisholm (in northern Minnesota) off  my list. Many others, too. On my recent two-week vacation to the north woods of Minnesota and Ontario. Got off the freeways and the beaten tracks. And I was charmed by Chisholm. It qualifies as a decent place to visit. If for no other reason than it has a bakery.   That’s how I initially determine whether a small town is worthy. Because I’m always in search of ethnic pastries. My only regret. Chisholm has a Slovenian society, but on this day, no Slovenian goodies in the bake shop. I had to settle for plain old-fashioned American doughnuts. Indeed, that was a let down. I expected better. Potica, for instance. A nut roll, a buttery pastry with layers of ground nut filling. Slovenian immigrants introduced potica on Minnesota’s Iron Range. But now I have to ask. Where is potica? Especially if I can’t find it in Chisholm. It’s a shame. Almost as if I couldn’t find a Norwegian julekake or a Czech kolacky or an Italian panettone. Anyway, my visit to Chisholm wasn’t a total loss. The main drag, called Lake Street, looks like a picturesque town out of the 1890s. But, oh, Chisholm would be so much better. With a first-class bakery that gives us a taste and aroma of potica.. --Jim  Broede  

Sure beats hate and anger.

Angry people make me angry. That is, momentarily. Because I immediately tell myself, don’t get angry.  Happens every time I hear a certain politician. Running for president. I have quit listening. Makes no sense. For me to get upset. And angry. Instead, I focus on the beauty of life. On being in love. That sure beats hate and anger. --Jim Broede

To be fully conscious and alive.

Anything imaginable. Is possible. That’s my take on life. I can imagine being happy. Therefore, I am happy. Because I choose to be. Of course, I can also be sad. Generally, I choose not to be sad. Don’t mean to say that I can immediately achieve any and everything imaginable. But still, I theoretically believe it’s possible. Some day. Some way.  Could be that I exist. That I am. Because I’m imagining that I exist. Also, could be that some day I’ll transform myself into a living and thinking spirit. Totally. Without a physical presence.  With the help of my fertile imagination. Yes, that’s all it takes. Imagination. To be fully conscious and alive. --Jim Broede

Thank you, Diane.

A waitress. Named Diane. In the Canadian city of Kenora. Located on the Lake of the Woods. Made my day. By performing an act of magic. As my dear Italian true love, Cristina  and I were having breakfast. Cristina was in the doldrums. And I jokingly explained to the waitress that this early morning downcast mood was typical of Italians, especially women from Sardinia. Diane immediately picked up on the levity. Claiming she understood. Because she’s ethnic French. From a country that borders Italy. Back and forth we went. Until Cristina perked up. Smiling and laughing.  Making for the day’s most treasured moment. Even better than the magnificent scenery.  Thank you, Diane. --Jim Broede

To never find one's way back.

The back roads. Of northern Minnesota. And Canada.  Through ramshackle but quaint towns. Where some people live year-round. Some being poor. In monetary terms. But rich in the most meaningful ways.  Living in paradise. Away from the hustle-bustle of urban and suburban environs. Trees, Trees. And more trees. Lily ponds. Babbling brooks. And rushing streams. The quiet of solitude. Blended with tranquil sounds of nature.  Places to get lost. It’s all right. To never find one’s way back. --Jim Broede