A Trumpian path to disaster.

My gawd. To think there’s a possibility. That Donald Trump could be elected president. Scares the hell out of me. I tell myself. No, no. It won’t happen. But then, I look at history. The strange and chaotic twists. In politics. The Germans fell in love with Hitler. The Italians with Mussolini. The worst of the worst. And now maybe it’s America’s turn.  To steer down the a Trumpian path to disaster. --Jim Broede

Maybe it's unwise. To know it all.

I had a dream. Maybe a nightmare. About trying to absorb too much knowledge. And my mind was being overwhelmed. In trying to absorb it all. So much so. That I yelled, ‘Stop. Stop. Stop.’ I wanted the spigot of knowledge to be shut off. Because my life was becoming  unbearable. In my futile attempt to retain it all. Better to absorb a little. A trickle of knowledge. And be satisfied. By savoring little bits. Knowing there will be more coming. Better to turn off the spigot. And wait. Until I am ready. And rested. Able to truly savor what I am learning. At my own leisurely pace. Yes, I don’t have to know everything all at once. Or for that matter. Maybe it’s unwise. To know everything. Yes, it could be a curse. Not a blessing. To know it all. --Jim Broede

I'm younger than the rest of you.

Don’t know how one is supposed to feel. At age 80. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. Guess it’s really up to me. Not to others. Because I’m there. I’m no longer a teenager. Or 30, 40 or 50. I’m considered old. Especially by society. Especially by younger people. But I refuse to accept the so-called norm. The label. That 80 is old, old, old. But I try to keep  getting around it. Not least being able to cavort. With my younger Italian amore. And by reminding her. Whether it’s true or not.  That women age significantly faster than men. That’s part of my comedic schtich  Yes, at 80, I’m free and able to make my own rules.  Not least being. That I’m younger than the rest of you. --Jim Broede

The good stuff...amidst the turmoil.

Sure, there’s turmoil in he world. So many unhappy and disgruntled people. Terrorists. Killing. Killing. Seems like. Just for the sake of killing. Even killing themselves. With bombs. In ways that take innocent bystanders. With them. Seems so crazy. So hateful. So alien to the goodness of life. And here in America. In the rest of the world, too. Bigoted politicians. So hateful. Toward each other. Blaming. Blaming. Everyone but themselves. For the world’s turmoil.  Beating each other up. With scurrilous and angry and hostile words. Yes, that’s what I see and hear. But still, I find ways to be happy. Every day.  By reminding myself. That I am in love. With blessed life. With my Italian amore. With precious moments.  Yes, if I had a choice. I’d live in this world. Forever.  In order to savor the good stuff. That I am still able to find. Amidst the savagery and turmoil. --Jim Broede

Let's savor the good stuff of life.

Here's what I tell my Italian amore. I know, dear Cristina, that it is personally repugnant. To see the deficiencies. In the teaching of rudimentary English. In certain Italian schools. But it is what it is. And you must now ask yourself, how to deal with the matter. Maybe by talking to the ones that can do something constructive about it. In other words, to do what you can. To fix the problem. But there is only so much you can do. While operating in and around the educational bureaucracy. Let it be a controlled upset. Do whatever you can. In small ways. In big ways, too, if that’s possible. But often it isn’t.  Accept the fact that you aren’t a magician. You are an individual teacher. With a legitimate concern. Which is why you are a good teacher. You teach well. But you can’t reach everyone. Just do the best you can. Without exhausting yourself. Without lamenting that you can’t do it all.  Without losing sleep over it. When you come home from school, set aside the laments. And savor the good stuff of life. Complain. To me. About the bad stuff. But then let’s get on. Living the good life. Because there is good. So very much good. Let’s learn to be overwhelmed. By the good stuff. Better that. Than to be overwhelmed by the bad stuff. --Jim Broede

Do you want to come along?

My Italian amore asked today, ‘Where are you?’ And I replied. ‘In Paradise. Because I choose to be. I may take a trip later today. To another galaxy. Do you want to come along?’ Yes, everything is possible. Even more so. When blending two imaginations. Instead of the customary one. Yes, I know how to unleash my imagination.  Always have. Even as a youngster. Now, as a wonderfully crazy old coot, I’ve perfected my imagination.  To the point of space travel. Maybe that’s my most coveted  possession.  My boundless imagination. --Jim Broede

The danger of overconfidence.

The Chicago Cubs have made winning look too easy. Yes, that is cause for worry. Because the winning was beginning to look effortless. And players may have shown up. To merely go through the motions. Of course, that poses a danger. Little wonder. That the Cubs are on their longest losing skein of the season. Four games.  Normally, that might cause panic. For a diehard Cubs fan such as me. But believe me, I’m not panicking. I’m actually welcoming the losing streak. As an antidote for over-confidence. For too much swagger. I want the Cubs to learn to be humble. In winning. And in losing, too. That’s the way to pursue the ultimate prize. The Cubs first World Series championship in 108 years.  I want the Cubs to win slowly. Methodically. Confidence is good. But overconfidence can become bad. That’s why I want losing. Gracefully. To be a part of the best season ever. Give me a season with a balance of ups and downs. The worst thing that could happen to the Cubs. Is to have a grand and glorious regular season. Only to get bumped off. In the playoffs. Because of overconfidence. --Jim Broede

My craving.

Sometimes I put myself to a test. To determine. If I can be unhappy. On demand. Just for kicks. And I can’t do it. Maybe it’s that I’m addicted. To happiness.  Yes, I need my fix. I need to be happy. All the time.  I crave happiness. Morning, noon and night. --Jim Broede

Soaring. To blissful heights.

I love to write. What I want to write. Random thoughts. Musings. So that’s what I do. Following my loving instincts. I’d hate to do what I hate to do. Therefore, it makes more sense to do what I love to do. That’s the story of my life. So many, many things I’d love to do.  Can’t do them all. Unless I live forever. And even then, there’s no assurance. That I’ll accomplish my mission.  But that’s all right. I’m in love. With ascending. Soaring. Soaring. To blissful heights. --Jim Broede

For the sake of my sanity.

Odd as it may seem, I don’t let tragic world events bother me. Maybe because I put distance between me. And the event. Such as the mass killings that occur periodically.  Or the blood baths in the Middle East. Or a horrendous plane crash.   I write off all that stuff. Because there’s virtually nothing I can do about it. But still, I’m bothered. By what may seem like far lesser things.  Troubled only because they are closer and more significant. To me. Personally. For instance, I would grieve over the loss of a family pet. Or become annoyed when the Chicago Cubs blow a baseball game. Or when I’m slighted by a rude  store clerk. Indeed, these things don’t measure up to real human tragedies. Therefore, I wonder if this makes me a callous jerk. But I’m inclined to believe. That I’m putting life in proper perspective. For the sake of retaining my sanity. --Jim Broede

If politicos quit acting like politicos.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Bothers me more.  Than the intransigent mean-spirited Republicans. They’ve made American politics hard to watch, Politics. When it’s run right. Should be the art of compromise. Both sides acting as friends. Rather than enemies. In an effort to do what’s best for the nation. Getting things done. With a give and take attitude. Where both sides of the political spectrum genuinely try to be fair to each other. That’s the way life is supposed to work. And it would, too. In the political realm . If politicos quit acting like politicos. And became decent human beings. --Jim Broede

Making the world a better place.

My dear friend Julie continues to get better and better and better. By trading a bad addiction for a good addiction. ‘I’ve become addicted to flowers,’ Julie declares. ‘I’d rather have flowers in my life than wine.’  Believe me. It’s true. Julie is as sober as a beautiful rose. Her yard is full of flowers. Hanging flowers. Potted flowers. Window boxes full of flowers. I’d rather spend money on flowers than on wine,’ Julie says. Emphatically. Yes, she’s addicted. To flowers. When Julie sees a flower sale, she can’t resist. She pleads with everyone. To take her shopping. For flowers.  Julie even insists that others follow in her footsteps. That I buy flowers. For my garden.  Julie wants to turn the world into a floral masterpiece. And do you know what?  It’s a good idea. I like the new Julie. She’s making the world a better place. --Jim Broede

A happy ending. For everyone.

I’d have left the fates play out. And not shot and killed the gorilla at the Cincinnati Zoo. Of course, I wasn’t in charge. And perhaps the zoo authorities  knew better. When a 4-year-old boy fell into the gorilla enclosure. They barely hesitated. Taking the life of the gorilla. To save the boy. It was a quick reaction. An interesting decision. To put the life of a human. Above that of a gorilla. My goal. Would have been. To take a risk. In an attempt to save the lives of both the boy and the gorilla. Yes, that may have been too risky. Maybe the gorilla would have harmed and killed the boy. But then, maybe he wouldn’t have.  Something similar happened. Ten years ago. At the Brookfield Zoo in Chicago. A 3-year-old toddler. Fell in with a gorilla. This time. The gorilla picked up the child. Carried him around. Placed him where he could be easily rescued. And the story had a happy and poignant ending. For the child. For the gorilla. --Jim Broede

Yes, I really do care.

There’s no better place to muse. Than on the Alzheimer’s message boards. Of course, that’s my opinion. And maybe not shared by everyone. But hey, musing cleared my mind. When I was an active care-giver. I still care. Every day. About people. About life. So I keep musing. I’m hooked. Addicted. To musing. Yes, that’s one of the benefits. That has come from the Alzheimer’s experience. Whenever I muse here or anywhere, it reminds me. That I learned to deal with Alzheimer’s. In positive ways. I even learned to like care-giving. For dear sweet Jeanne. I learned to exude good vibes. Learned to take good care. Not only of others. But myself.  Yes, I really do care. --Jim Broede

Immoveable politicians.

I could be wrong. About everything. On political, social and economic issues. But that doesn’t stop me from taking stands. From expressing opinions. About almost everything. When people disagree with me, I’m not easily offended. Because I acknowledge, I could be wrong. Of course, I could be right, too. Meanwhile, I’m amused  by people who never concede that they could be wrong. They’re so cocksure of themselves. Unfortunately, many of them end up being immovable politicians. --Jim Broede

A bright side and a dark side.

My dear friend Julie. She’s better. But she’s still fooling herself. Lying. To me. But even worse. Lying to herself. About the ramifications. Of being addicted to alcohol. Julie doesn’t drink every day any more.  She can go weeks without a drink. She’s enrolled in a rehab program.  But Julie still needs a drink. From time to time. To cope with the stress of living. Julie doesn’t yet recognize. The peril. That comes. With taking one drink.  Julie calls it a slip. Claims it won’t happen again.  But it does.  Julie tells me. That many in her rehab class. Have slips. Relapses. And talk about it. To each other. They ask for forgiveness. For their addiction. But still, some lie and cheat and manipulate and deceive. To find a way. To get their fix. Not every day. For Julie. Granted. That’s progress.  But still, Julie has a long way to go. She’s still in denial. Still thinking she can take a sip. And then a drink. And that won’t do any harm. Julie doesn’t recognize. That she’s a Jekyll and Hyde.  Two very different personalities. A bright side and a dark side.  Sober and – well, you know. Everyone knows. But Julie. --Jim Broede

Marking time. The right way.

Sometimes, it feels like I’m marking time. Standing in one place. Reflecting. An awareness. Of the undeniable fact. That I am alive. And conscious of my being. Maybe that’s the purpose of life. Not always being on the move. Yes, to mark time. By thinking about life. Enjoying this thought and that thought. An endless array of thought .Doesn’t matter. Whether I am gardening. Or walking to and fro. Or driving my jalopy. I’m always thinking. Something. A thought. That always leads. To a reminder. That I am very much alive. Cognizant. Marking time. In wonderful ways. Imaginatively. From my inner sanctum. I can go any place. At any time. Such as now. By sitting down. By going to bed.  Always.  Always. Marking time. Recognizing. That I have an abundance of time. Today. Today. I have all day. To appreciate and savor being alive. By merely thinking about the blessing of life. --Jim Broede

Because I am true spirit.

Maybe it’s a blessing. That I don’t need absolute proof to believe anything. I merely believe. Such as. In the existence of my everlasting spirit. My spirit doesn’t die. Instead. it’s my physical being that doesn’t last. That disintegrates. Goes away. I was born spirit. And I’ll remain spirit. Yes, I believe what I want to believe. The heck with proof. I am all powerful. All blessed. Because I am true spirit. --Jim Broede

As if happiness isn't good enough.

Trying something new. And different. Getting out of a rut. That’s what I think about. Occasionally. But then I ponder. That it’s nice to stay in place. To recognize. That I am living in Paradise.  Incredible, isn’t it? Some of us are in Paradise. And don’t even know it. Figuring there’s always something better. Never satisfied. As if happiness isn’t good enough. --Jim Broede

Thought about. And never did.

I wonder. If I have created my own world. Or is it that the world has created me? That I am merely a creature of circumstance. If situations and events around me had been slightly different, I might have lived an astoundingly different life. So much so that I wouldn’t be the current me. My whole thinking process might be radically different. Might be interesting. To turn back the clock. Maybe to 1965. And instead of accepting a job in Minnesota, I’d decided to go elsewhere. To New Zealand, for instance. Which I had thought about. And never did. --Jim Broede

We have each other.

Really. Life doesn’t have to be complex. I wake up every morning. And decide that I am to be happy. No matter the circumstances. Today. As like everyday. My beloved cat. Loverboy. Is cavorting. With me. .And what’s so nice. Is that I am able to force two pills down his throat. And he doesn’t hold it against me. Loverboy is incapable of holding grudges. Because he is forgiving. A true, true loverboy.  Turns out. We’re both blessed. Because we have each other. Happy. Happy. Happy. --Jim Broede

Solace. In loving thoughts.

It would be nice. If active care-givers mused. Came here daily. In an effort to quell their minds. To make care-giving easier. Maybe even pleasant. Musing could be a form of time out. A break. A respite. Where one could go for relief. To catch one’s breath. Of course, some care-givers would choose to lament. To agonize. But I’d be here. To encourage focus on the joys and wonders of life. To remind care-givers. That life is essentially good. That even in the worst of times. One can find solace. In loving thoughts. --Jim Broede

In meaningful words.

If I can’t find words. To describe what I see and feel. Then that’s unacceptable. That poses a challenge. For me to launch a search. For the proper words. Maybe that’s what I’m finding. A purpose. More enchanting. Than the physical exploration of the cosmos. There must be a way. To sum up the nature of life. In meaningful words. --Jim Broede

All's well that ends well.

Most days. I am ready to conclude. And celebrate. That Julie is well again. Life can’t get much better than that. It’s been a long haul. An arduous journey. But I’m a believer. In the axiom. All’s well that ends well. --Jim Broede

Good enough.

Merely being. Is good enough for me. Because I am able. To make the most of life. Yesterday and tomorrow. Don’t so much matter. Because I have today.  Yes, I have the opportunity. To live to the fullest. Always have. Can’t say that I always did. But it’s never too late. After all, I can’t remember a time. When I didn’t have today. And for the most part. It’s been a grand and glorious experience. Little wonder. That merely being. Is good enough. --Jim Broede

Another brainless thought.

I wonder. If death is an absence of thought. That’s a horrid thought. Therefore, for the sake of my morale and sanity, I’m imagining and anticipating an endless flow of thought. My thoughts are non-physical. Or so I assume. Maybe my thoughts are an expression of my spirit. Of course, it can be argued that my thoughts emanate from  my physical brain. And without a brain I’d be thoughtless. Anyway, critics have accused me of being brainless. But that seems to have had no effect on my thought process.  Here I am. Recording another brainless thought. That’s a good sign about my future. –Jim Broede

True believers.

Baseball is my favorite team sport. Because I’m convinced. That the successful players. And especially the successful teams. Have to learn to jell. Mentally. One needs a positive attitude. Skill isn’t enough. In order to be a winner.  Players and teams must believe in themselves. The most skillful players and teams won’t make it to the top. Unless they are truly in love. With the game. The pitcher must believe that he can make the perfect pitch. In a crucial situation. Same goes for hitters. They must be believers. Especially when it comes to team goals. They must play to win. As a unit. Everyone picking up each other. That makes a difference. In the flow of the game. Many teams can’t sustain such a high level of play for a long time. Instead, they have spurts. Winning streaks. Losing streaks. But there’s a bottom-line. They’ve gotta believe. And I suspect. That the Chicago Cubs have become true believers. --Jim Broede

Only forgiven.

One can never be sure. That one has done the right thing.  Because life is complicated. There are short term and long term effects. What seems right at the moment, later turns out to be wrong. Or better yet, a wrong eventually becomes right. Therefore, life is a guessing game. One thing I’ve learned though. Don’t be afraid to make a mistake. Learn from it. And make corrections. If that’s possible. Of course, some mistakes can’t be corrected. Only forgiven. --Jim Broede

The business of living my life.

Yes, I know. I annoy some people. Because I believe in myself. More than in others. Of course, that’s not the humble approach. I’m supposed to be modest and self-effacing. And I am. In my own way. By accepting reality. Truth be told. Others often leave me disappointed. Because I have no or little control over their actions. But I’m capable of  taking full control of myself. Shaping me up, so to speak. Into someone I want to be. Really, I have no desire to control or manipulate others. After all, there’s no sense in useless pursuit. Better to laugh it off. And get on with the business of living my life. -Jim Broede

To be merely and merrily me.

My entire life is dictated. By my mental attitude. I have to believe. In what and who I am. I believe. Beyond a doubt. That I am a romantic idealist. A spiritual free thinker. A political liberal. A lover. A dreamer. And more.  Not believing all this stuff would make be an entirely different being. Don’t need any proof. I am who I am. It’s tantamount to a religious belief. Yes, I believe in me. Even more than I believe in my creator. I can see me. I can touch me. What more proof do I need?  Furthermore, I have a compelling desire to believe in me.  That helps, of course. And I don’t have a wish to be anyone else. I’m perfectly happy and content. To be merely and merrily me. --Jim Broede

Mission accomplished.

I can’t stop thinking. Thank heaven. Some people suggest that one can think too much.  Sort of non-stop thinking.  Without a break. But that’s part of my thinking process. To take respite.  By clearing my mind of bad thoughts.  I’ve discovered something phenomenal. I never get tired of good thoughts. I could stay awake all night. Maybe even for weeks. By thriving on good thoughts. But I’ve learned to manage the situation. By falling asleep. In order to dream good thoughts. Mission accomplished. --Jim Broede

Simple sense.

Yes, I’m beginning to recognize. That I can’t have everything. That I have to settle for less. And that I can’t always pick and choose. One is dealt his hand. And he must make the best of it.  By finding a way to be happy. That’s the bottom-line, isn't it? To be reasonably happy. Even when I was an Alzheimer’s care-giver. As it turned out. That role was a blessing. Because that’s what I made of it. Maybe I fooled myself. Into thinking that care-giving of another taught me how to take better care of myself. That was the only way to be a good care-giver to dear Jeanne. I was in love. Not only with Jeanne. But with the act of care-giving. Yes, it makes sense. Simple sense. --Jim Broede

Therefore, musing must be good.

Maybe it’s that people don’t know how to muse. Could be that musing is a lost art. But I’m merely suggesting. That musing is a form of expression. A way to feel alive.  A way to embrace life.  With a loving thought. I find it impossible. To muse a hateful thought. Therefore, musing must be good. --Jim Broede