By marking time.

Marking time. Yes, I love to mark time. That’s one of my favorite English idioms. To move the feet alternately as in marching but without advancing. To act in a mechanical or routine way. To halt progress temporarily, while awaiting developments.  ‘Oh, let me come soon to the safe haven where I shall mark time forever.’  One of my favorite quotes. From Anthony Masters. In 'Cascades – The Day of the Dead.’  Here’s another: ‘…strummed a beat on his strings and a low chant rose to mark time with the swallows.’ A thought. From Kathleen E. Woodiwiss. In ‘The Wolf and the Dove.’ I receive inspiration. When marking time. That’s the mood I’m in. Marking time. Marking time. Puts me at ease. Merely marking time. It’s not necessarily a bad thing. To take time out. To reflect one’s next decision. No hurry. Don’t push me. After all, I have all the time in the world. Forever. To live my life. By staying in motion. Always on the move.  I can do it. By marking time. --Jim Broede

Exploring infinity.

Good advice from a friend. Who tells me. Assume you’ll live to 100. That’s far better than thinking one might die tomorrow or next year. Of course, if I get close to 100, I’ll have to readjust. And assume I’ll make it to 110. Yes, it’s not only important to live for today.  But to keep in mind  a wonderful future. Which I do. As a spirit. Exploring infinity.  --Jim Broede

The traps of life.

I killed three mice today. Or did they kill themselves? I set traps. And bingo. Snap. Snap. Snap. I’d like to think that the mice committed suicide. That they knew the risk. In their search for a snack. Maybe they were too dumb to know. That they were being lured into traps. I suppose that goes for we humans, too. Too dumb to know what’s in our best interest. Instead, we wander aimlessly. Into the multiple traps of life.  --Jim Broede

On a roll.

I consider myself superior. Mostly in a jocular way. Don’t know sometimes. If I’m serious. Or merely joking. For effect. Confidence is a fluctuating factor. Sometimes, one has it. Other times not. The real good professional baseball players have it. They brim with confidence. But one can suddenly lose it, too. Life is good. When one is on a roll. --Jim Broede

Feeling most comfortable.

Of course, there’s always a danger that we fool ourselves. That we aren’t who and what we think we are. That we live a fantasy. But I suspect we do that by conscious choice. We play a role. That makes us feel good.  About ourselves.  We are all actors. On the stage. Feeling our way.  Testing. Testing. The way that makes us feel most comfortable. I suppose there’s nothing wrong with that. Especially if we fall in love. With life. --Jim Broede

A definition of Hell.

Never had the desire to change my two true loves. Maybe that’s a sign of true love. Total acceptance. Letting another being be. Exactly what she is. Accepting and relishing the differences. In many, many ways, my true loves have been quite a contrast from me. Giving me balance. And fresh perspective. It would be scary living with my clone. Downright unacceptable. Hell. --Jim Broede

No bamboozling.

All I’m asking. Is for the car dealer to level with me. Tell me the truth. Everything. Exactly what he paid for the used vehicle that he’s trying to sell me. And how much he’s invested. To fix up the vehicle. To make it more saleable.  More attractive to potential buyers.  Yes, tell me how much profit he intends to make.  I won’t begrudge him a fair profit. That’s what our discussion should be about. A figure that’s fair to him. And fair to me, too.  Show me the facts. The actual figures. No baloney. No deception. No lies. The truth. Let’s not play games. Tell me everything he knows about the vehicle. The good. The bad. Everything. No deception. Total and complete honesty. That’s what I want. From people I deal with. About any matter. A very, very truthful relationship. No bamboozling. --Jim Broede

The nature of life.

Confessing everything. My sins. My indiscretions. My blunders. All of my wrongs.  Now that would be quite an assignment. Perhaps impossible. Wouldn’t know where to begin. I’d have to make an endless list. And ask myself, ‘What’s a sin?’  Could be sharp disagreement over that. Depends on who does the defining. I’d give myself a wide latitude. After all, sinning isn’t always a bad thing. It can be good for one’s morale. I’d hate to be a totally sinless man. That would be a boring life. Seems to me that we were all born to sin. That’s the nature of life. --Jim Broede

One day at a time.

Positive thinking. It’s important. Especially the older I get. Because I’m getting closer to the end of life. I don’t have time to waste. On negative thinking. Better to fill the rest of my life with positive thoughts. In my youth, I had time to waste. Or so I assumed. That maybe I’d live forever. Indeed, ample time to get things right.  Now I ask myself, ‘Where has all the time gone?’  My gosh, 81 years, and  counting. Used to be that maybe I had another 50 or so left.  But now I know, for sure. I ain’t making it to 131. Not even close. Of course, I’m happy having made it this far.  Still able to amble 10 miles a day. And to dream. Of a future. Albeit, better to not get too far ahead of myself. Best to take it one day at a time. --Jim Broede

An exceptional man.

I’m busy. Trying to define my problems. By making a list. But I’m stymied. Because I can’t be sure that I have any serious problems.   And minor ones don’t count. Not even worth listing. I had this thought. Momentarily. About having a major problem. But the more I thought about it, the more it dwindled away. Into nothingness. I’m told by a friend that everyone has serious problems. That I have no right to be an exception. That I have to be like everyone else. But I protest. I proclaim to be an exceptional man. --Jim Broede

In love with Mother Nature

Just returned from a 10-mile walk. Really, that’s all I need. To feel invigorated.  It’s Minnesota. And winter. Fortunately, about as good as it gets. Sunshine. All day. Temperature in the mid-40s. Calm air. No ice on the lake. Last week’s snow gone, too. Yes, a brown Thanksgiving. I could live with a white Christmas.  But I’m flexible. Adaptable. Taking whatever I get. Doesn’t matter. No problem.  I walk. In all sorts of weather. In blizzards. Through snowdrifts. With musical accompaniment. Listening. To Vivaldi’s ‘The Seasons.’ All the more reason.  To be in love. With Mother Nature. --Jim Broede

Seeing the sun again.

I wonder. If I’m lapsing into depression. Oh, not full-scale depression. But something less than my usual upbeat self. For one thing. I’m sleeping longer. Staying in bed. Instead of rising and shining. Maybe I’m living in a rut. Less emotionally energetic than usual. Maybe it’s a subtle thing. A malaise. Physical. Mental. Emotional. Perhaps the fact that I’m writing about it. Now. Is a good sign.  Here. At 9:40 in the morning. And my idea. Is to go outdoors. Soon. And walk and walk and walk. To rev myself up. Maybe I’ll read a book, too. To rev up my mind. To divert myself. Into a fictional and imaginative world. Yes, another good sign. To stay occupied. Mindfully. Physically. I must take positive actions.  Maybe it’s that I’m getting older. Running out of time. Thoughts of dying. Of being no more. Of living in a world. That seems to be in decline.  And I’m allowing myself to be pulled down. Into what seems a collapsing world. But hey. Here I am. In my own little corner. My niche. Where the sun still shines.  At this very moment. Sunlight. Glistening off my wood deck.  I see the sun. The light.  It permeates. And obliterates the darkness. --Jim Broede

The court jester.

I’m fearful. That we live in an age of personality. Not political issues anymore. Issues don’t matter. Voters don’t care about issues. Doesn’t matter whether the president has a liberal or conservative agenda. Or if a new Supreme Court justice backs a liberal or conservative agenda. Instead, we want the most interesting and entertaining personality representing us. Above all else, we want to be constantly entertained. That’s the important thing. Donald Trump was a far more entertaining choice than Hillary Clinton. Hillary is a bore. Trump is so unpredictable. So much more entertaining. By poking fun at his opponents, his rivals. Calling them by absurd names. By being downright nasty. And satirical. By telling absurd lies. One couldn’t tell whether he was being serious or not. What counted, instead, was that he conducted himself as a masterful showman. An entertainer. A clown. A goofball.  Who dared blurt whatever came to his ribald mind. No script to follow. Meanwhile, Hillary Clinton remained on the traditional political script. Boring. Boring. Boring. No match for an empty-head. Yes, we’ve elected what we always wanted. And so richly deserve. The court jester. --Jim Broede

Thankful for my plight.

I look at my life this way. I’m much better off than millions of homeless refugees. Yes, I recognize that much of the world is in bad shape. Because of politics. And senseless conflagrations. But I’m lucky.  To be where I am. In a cold place called Minnesota.  But still, I stay warm. And live well. In comfort. Despite the fact that I wish for a better political, social and economic climate. Right here. And in virtually every place in the world.  Still, I have many, many reasons to be thankful. For my plight. If one can call it a plight. --Jim Broede

My confession.

I confess. To doing some pretty mean stuff. In my high school  and college days. Because I was a natural born satirist. Writing stuff that poked fun at my classmates and teachers and just about anyone in sight.  I often received support from my teachers. In junior high school, for instance, my English teacher had me read my satirical stories aloud. To the entire class.  Students rolled in the aisles. In laughter. I became popular. Which boosted my ego. Maybe some students didn’t laugh. Because they were the butts of my satire.  But the ones with keen senses of humor learned to laugh at themselves. Maybe, at times, my humor verged on cruelty. For which I am now sorry. And beg forgiveness. At the time, I didn’t know any better. That’s the danger of being a youth. Of course, some of us never grow up. Have to wonder if that includes me. --Jim Broede

Good moments.

The biggest loss of money I ever incurred was the result of Alzheimer’s. Paying the bills for the 38 months dear Jeanne spent in a nursing home. I had to eventually qualify Jeanne for Medicaid. But first, I was required to spend down our nest egg.  Drastically. Enormously. Sadly.  But that’s life. That’s the way the system operates. One has to roll with the proverbial punches. I wish for something better. But the fact of the matter is that Alzheimer’s often takes more than the human toll. It takes one’s bank account. But who am I to complain?  I’ve still managed to salvage a good life.  Not all is bad after Alzheimer’s. Mostly because I’m in good health. And in love. I live in the moment. And I keep having good moments.  --Jim Broede

In the spirit of Christmas.

A trusted friend. That’s in the know. Tells me that most car dealers. Make the bulk of their profits in used car sales. Rather than in new cars. That the profit margin for a new car may be as little as $200. But a used car may have a 100 percent mark-up. From what the vehicle cost the dealer. Here’s the way it works. The dealer may have paid $3,500 for the trade-in. And ends up listing the same vehicle on the sales lot for double that price. Granted, the dealer may have spent a few hundred dollars sprucing up the vehicle. To make it more attractive. But still. Here’s the bottom-line. If I pay $6,500 for that vehicle, the dealer may walk away with a profit of $2,000 to $2,500. That’s why there’s far more room for negotiation in the price of a used car than for a new one. The dealer has an option to give the buyer a sizeable discount. Maybe for no profit at all. If the buyer happens to be his dear mother. Rather than me, a dour stranger. Maybe I’m willing to pay the asking price. Without negotiation. Rather than going through the hassle of saving a few hundred dollars. Fact is, however. That I want a better deal. Maybe only for the sake of stubborn principle. Not as good as his mother would get. But better than most customers. Give me a break, I plead. Maybe because the vehicle isn’t in high demand. It’s been sitting on the sales lot for months.  That’s what I’m banking on. Waiting. Patiently. Hoping. That if I wait until the end of the year. When dealers like to have a low inventory. I can get a good deal. For something closer to $5,500. Instead of the original $6,500. If that happens. I’ll celebrate. For having played the game well. Feeling good. The dealer, too, can feel good. Having netted a reasonable rather than exorbitant profit. Under my scenario, we will both walk away as winners. How’s that? For doing business in the true spirit of Christmas. --Jim Broede

The mythical good deal.

I've been shopping for a used car. And don’t know exactly how to go about it. Basically, I want a fair deal. Fair to me. And fair to the dealer. Yes, I know that dealers sell cars for a profit. But I don’t want the dealer to make too much money. At my expense.  So right now. We are playing games. With each other.  I dislike playing games. Especially with used car salesmen. I told him that I want the same sort of deal he might give to his mother. Of course, I know that won’t happen. But still, I want him to look at me as special. A close friend. Again, that may be asking for too much.  I have a cleaning lady. Her brother is sales manager for a big dealership. She recommends that I go to him. For a good deal.  I’m not sure anymore. Whether there’s such a thing. As a good deal. --Jim Broede

I don't need more.

I’ve mismanaged my life. In many, many ways. Yes, I could be a lot better off. Materially. Financially. With better management. But I don’t fret over it. Because if I had more. I might be spoiled. I’m not rich. I’m not poor. The important thing. I  have the stuff that counts. My health. And a loving relationship. Meanwhile, the mismanaged portion of my life doesn’t bother me. Sure, I could have done better. With more astute management. That probably goes for everyone. But hey, I don’t need more. To be happy. --Jim Broede

One of a kind.

Of course, it’s generally considered macho to not cry. But I don’t try to be macho. Better to be sensitive. One can do that. Without crying. And without being macho. Funny, isn’t it? How people get pegged.  In certain ways. Merely by whether they cry or don’t cry. I like to look at everyone. As unique and different. One of a kind. --Jim Broede

To be able to flirt.

I occasionally flirt with depression. That’s it. No more. No less. A flirtation. By focusing on what’s going wrong in my life. Or in the world, for that matter. I understand. That certain stuff  tends to trigger negative thoughts. That could lead to depression.  The death of a loved one (such as a cat), for instance.  Or a tragic world event over which I have no control.  Or an illness, even a temporary one. Maybe the coming of winter when one isn’t quite ready for it. Oh, so many reasons for these flirtations.  Little things. Setbacks. Pitfalls. Call them what you will. That one allows to add up. So far, I’ve always found ways to counter. By shifting my focus. Back to multiple reasons to savor life. The good stuff. Feelings of being truly alive and conscious and in love. With someone or something.  Yes, to be able to flirt with the goodness of life. --Jim Broede

Another keen insight.

Occasionally, I panic. For no good reason. Other than letting my imagination run wild. Then I calm myself. By recognizing that it isn’t a life or death situation. Therefore, I was over-reacting. To a problem with a solution. Especially if I remain calm, cool and collected. Over-reacting used to be one of my worst faults. I did it on an all-too-regular basis. Several friends tend to over-react, too. One is doing so right now. Coincidentally, at the same time that I’m over-reacting to an entirely different matter. My own. Indeed, it’s hilarious. The two of us. With simultaneous panic attacks. Doesn’t get any funnier than that. Gives us reason to laugh. Together. Sure beats crying. How’s that?  For another keen insight. Into the salvation of our wondrous lives.  --Jim Broede

Better than nothing.

I’m going to look at learning something. I have the ability to expand my English vocabulary. To become more expressive in English. Which really derived from many other languages. I am far more literate today. In English. Than I was as a youth. I keep learning. New words. New thoughts. Adds up to an expanded consciousness. I also learn token amounts of Italian. And other languages. Yes, something is better than nothing. --Jim Broede

Like a colony of ants.

That’s the nature of life, isn’it? Always far more questions than answers.  We aren’t supposed to know it all. Ever. We aren’t the most intelligent form of life. Some of us only think we are.  When really, we probably are one of the lowest forms. But I take solace in that. Some form is better than no form.  And perhaps we are evolving. Into something better. More conscious.  More literate. More sensitive.  As a species. What I fear most is that maybe I’m not supposed to flourish and thrive as an individual. But rather as a member of the group. Like a colony of ants.  Incapable of reaching beyond the horizon.  Away from the masses. --Jim Broede

Care-free pursuits.

Yes, one can care too much. Take the care-giver that’s on call round-the-clock. The 24/7 care-giver. At some point, one has to stop caring. And take a break. Putting all the caring aside. And not even think about caring. For a decent interval. Hundreds of things to care about. Endlessly. To the point of physical and mental exhaustion. Somewhere one has to draw the line. By establishing  priorities.  And finding time for care-free pursuits. ---Jim Broede

Parla inglese?

My wish. Is to be able to express myself. In the Italian language. As well as I can in English.  But that won’t happen. Not at my age. Because it takes time. More than I have. To learn to speak and write and read a second language. Fluently.  The best I can do. Is to learn Italian. A few words at a time. Better to converse with bilingual Italians. Such as my dear amore, bilingual Cristina.  Who not only speaks English. But teaches English and English literature. --Jim Broede

My way.

Writing is my salvation. If I’m feeling a bit down. I take to my computer. Or to pen and pencil. To write my way out of the doldrums. By brooding. By musing. By pondering. Call it what you will. Time and time again. I am saved. By the craft of the written word. Something I can see. On paper. Or a computer screen. That is how I survive.  To see another day. In a positive and happy frame of mind.  Yes, the greatest discovery of my life. It’s the ability to write. To use words. My way. --Jim Broede

Waiting. With bated breath.

Give Donald Trump credit. For living his dream. He’s pretty much doing as he pleases.  Showing off. Proving that he can even become president. One of the most politically powerful men in the world.   And doing it his own way.  By alienating and insulting many of his rivals. By breaking conventional rules. Yes, Trump has succeeded. In living his bold and outlandish dreams. Here he is. Perhaps at the pinnacle. Yes. Yes. Give Trump credit. He’s achieved all this. Despite polls showing. That he’s more disliked and distrusted than liked and trusted.  There are predictions, too. That some day. He will meet his comeuppance.  And be toppled. Impeached. But that’s only wild speculation. One has to wonder.  What the future holds. For Donald Trump. And the American nation. I'm waiting. With bated breath. For the story’s ending. --Jim Broede

Unanswered questions.

Getting older and older. That’s a good thing. No doubt about it. Because I become more aware. Of my existence. My presence in the cosmos. In creation.  In my early years, I rarely asked, ‘Why am I here? Who am I?’  Now I have answers. Though they vary and change from day to day.  My greatest fear. Is that I will run out of time. And leave this life. With far too many unanswered questions. --Jim Broede

Flowing ever so smoothly.

Maybe I think too much. But I can’t help it. I was born to think. That could be a curse. But I’m trying to make the best of it. By thinking mostly good and happy and optimistic thoughts.  Of course, I have negative thoughts, too. But that can be a plus. Because I practice turning negatives into positives. With great success. I seldom go to bed with a negative thought on my mind.  Makes for a good night's sleep.  I wake well rested. Raring to tackle another day. I try to not think too far ahead. Best to stay focused on the immediate day and moment. Thinking comes so naturally. It's so very easy. My thoughts flow. Like a river. With beautiful and idyllic scenes along the way. Therefore, maybe I don’t think too much. At the moment, my thinking is perfectly balanced. Flowing. Flowing ever so smoothly. --Jim Broede

Makes a guy wonder.

I’ve never been able to figure it out. Why don’t we treat each other more decently? Whether it be in the realm of politics. Or in our daily interactions with people in social and economic matters. We find ourselves being unfair.  In a moral sense. In demanding an excessive profit for almost everything we do. We take advantage of other people. Maybe because they are gullible. Too dumb to know what’s being perpetrated.  Or maybe they know and merely accept that’s the way the system/the world operates. The way the game is played. By a certain amount of lying and cheating and bamboozling. We see it every day. A candidate for president, for instance, can openly lie and cheat and get away with it. Incredible as it may seem. It’s become accepted behavior.  Makes a guy wonder, doesn’t it? --Jim Broede

Creating ourselves.

Maybe life is no more or no less than a dream. I can accept that. A product of our vivid imaginations. That would put us on the same level as our creator. We create ourselves. That's the purest form of art. And existence.--Jim Broede

How to settle matters.

Here’s what we need. A government composed of conservatives that can work with liberals. And liberals that can work with conservatives. In an effort to get things done. For the benefit of the whole. For the common good.  I would form a government of politicians from both sides of aisle. With the desire to know and respect each other. Enough so, to compromise. In the spirit of fairness. That’s the way life and politics are supposed to work. People coming together and acting like decent human beings. To settle their differences. --Jim Broede

Give me something better.

I do earnestly take life one day at a time. That’s the problem. I don’t like what’s happening. On our political scene. Today. And yesterday, too. And most likely tomorrow and next week and next month and next year.  I don’t like the trend. My daily disappointments. In mankind. The lack of civility. The lack of respect. The lying. The cheating. The bullying. Name it. I don’t like the way it’s changing the personalities of some of my dearest friends.  We are being separated. By politics. By the lack of compromise. By the refusal to work together. For the common good. I am disappointed. To a degree. Like never before.  Thank gawd. I still have my amore. I still have a wonderful and blessed life. In so very many ways. But I find it very difficult accepting the state of our politics. Whether it be today. Short-term. Or long term. Please. Please.  Give me something better. Starting today. I don’t want to wait until tomorrow. --Jim Broede

The amazing life.

The worst thing about life. Is the random thought. That maybe it doesn’t last forever. So how do I deal with that prospect? By ignoring or sidetracking such a thought. And getting on with living life.  In a happy and positive manner. By imagining that life goes on forever. That the impossible is possible.  Amazing. Amazing. Life is amazing.   -Jim Broede

Living in the moment.

So much that I don’t like about life. But can’t think of anything in particular. Because I’m overwhelmed by what I like. Such as being alive and conscious and happy and in love.  Yes, I know, it would be possible if I try hard to list my dislikes. But why bother? Better to have fun. Relishing life. Living in the moment. --Jim Broede

A message in a bottle.

Really, I’m happy as a lark. Because I stay connected. By writing messages. To the outside. Daily.  Yes, I like living. On my remote desert island. With a collection of empty bottles. Allowing me. To stuff my written thoughts into containers. That drift aimlessly. Wherever the current takes them. To be discovered. A hundred years later. By someone walking on a beach. In a faraway place. Meanwhile, I’ll spend my remaining days. Combing my beach. Looking for a bottle. That was dispatched. Somewhere. By a kindred soul. A long, long time ago. --Jim Broede

For sure. He ain't boring.

I have to confess. That Donald Trump will be a more entertaining president. Than Hillary Clinton. He’ll be unpredictable.  Downright goofy. A court jester. Worth watching. On the evening news. If I were bored with life. I could even see me voting for Trump. For kicks. For laughs. Knowing full well, too, that Trump would always find a way to stir a political maelstrom.  If I made my living. As a stand-up comic. I would cry 'Hosanna!!!' Trump would be a blessing.  My relief from the daily grind. A bountiful  source of humor. Come to think of it. That’s what I want to be. A bringer of guffaws. To the multitude. Trump could be my dream come true.  For sure.  He ain’t boring. --Jim Broede

When I die.

Could be that most Americans don’t give a damn. About who’s the president. They have better things to occupy their mind and life.  More personal stuff.  Closer to home. They don’t care about political issues. They’d rather watch the football game. And have a nice dinner. And go to a movie.  Or read  a book. Or chat with friends. They don’t even care about who’s on the city council or the school board. As for me, I’d probably be better off and happier.  If I were more like the people I’m talking about. Not caring all that much about government and politics. Not even bother going to the polls on election day. The problem with me. Is that I care too much. Often, I become sad and upset. Over election results.  I brood. Almost as much as I do when the Chicago Cubs lose a baseball game. Oh, if only I cared less. About a lot of things. Maybe that will happen some day. When I die. --Jim Broede

My greatest fear.

Face it. A Republican Congress didn’t give Obama a chance. Making no secret. Of their intent to oppose him every step of the way. They wanted Obama to fail. Even when he proposed legislation that Republicans previously supported. Partisan politics don’t come any more partisan than that. It also became racist. With the likes of Donald Trump, who started the so-called ‘birther’ movement. Alleging that Obama was an illegitimate president. That he wasn’t a U.S. citizen. That he was foreign born. That he might even be a secret Muslim. Outlandish lies. With racist overtones. And many of the racist-inclined fell for it. Believed it.  Because they wanted to believe it. It fed and fortified their racist persuasions.  Yes, that’s how Trump got started in politics. It was his single issue. Little wonder that Trump was endorsed by the Ku Klux Klan. By all sorts of white supremacist groups. Makes me sick to think about it. My spirits were buoyed. When Obama was first elected and then re-elected as president.  I took it as an indication that America had turned a corner. But now I have doubts. A racist element seems to have  taken over the American political scene. Of course, I hope beyond hope. That I’m wrong. That I’m misreading the state of our politics. But my greatest fear. Is that I’m right on target. --Jim Broede

Taking life in stride.

I have several friends. With very thin skins. They let personal criticism bother them. I tell them. Frequently. To not overreact.  That they should be happy. With themselves. Despite the criticism. Because it’s often leveled unjustly.  That they don’t deserve the criticism. So brush it off. Get on with the rest of their livers. In a confident, thick-skinned manner. Yes, it’s easy to be over-sensitive to criticism. But one doesn’t have to be. One can learn to take life in stride. --Jim Broede

Without knowing the price.

I sense. That sizeable elements of the populace want political change. Mostly for the sake of change. Doesn’t matter what kind of change. Just as long as it’s change. Because we’ve been sold a bill of  goods.  That America is no longer great. As if we were ever great. It’s all a hoax. Think about it. We’re told.  In sound bites. That we’ve lost control of our destiny. That we should be fearful. Of our leaders. Therefore, we need a dramatic change in course. Politically. Economically. Socially.  But mostly politically. Ah, such a great opportunity. For a charlatan. For a snake oil salesman. For an entertainer. To show us the way.  Doesn’t matter that he’s a liar. A braggart. A philanderer. A narcissist.  The important thing. Is that he promises change. And we believe him. That’s the scary part. We’re willing to sell our souls.  Without knowing the price. --Jim Broede

On sharing.

My friend Rosie is happy. Because Donald Trump will become our next president. But I’m unhappy. In fact, downright appalled.  Suppose I should be happy. Because my friend is happy. But life doesn’t work that way. It’s more a matter of to each his/her own. We pick and choose. The circumstances of our own happiness. I’m trying to share Rosie’s happiness. But I can’t. Just don’t have it in me. Makes me wonder. If Rosie shares my sadness. --Jim Broede

Going with the flow.

Here we are. In mid-November. In usually frigid Minnesota.  And flowers in my garden. Are blooming. Don’t know if that’s a sign of global warming. But I’ll take it. It’s a nice consolation.  Helps to offset the nasty political climate. Another example. That there’s always something positive to focus on. Another reason to be happy. Simply because I’m confused. Having to wonder. If  it’s June or November. Sometimes, it’s hard telling. Parts of Minnesota have yet to experience the first hard freeze of the season. The last time that happened was in 1900.  Temperatures are running 10 to 20 degrees above normal.  Don’t know if this makes the case for global warming. After all, it happened before. So very many years ago. Maybe it’s natural. For history to repeat. Over and over. Makes me wonder. If I’ve lived before. If so, maybe I’ll live again and again. Forever. With only an occasional break. For rest and recuperation. Might as well go with the flow.  And take it all in stride. --Jim Broede

Is that asking too much?

I’m a white American. A so-called Caucasian. But I think of myself being of German heritage on my father’s side of the family. Czech (or Slavic) on my mother’s side.  And when it comes to my love interest, I’m Italian. Yes, my amore (true love) is a Sardinian. Bilingual. Italian and English.  My mother was bilingual, too. Czech and English. I’m like most white Americans. Speaking only English. But hey, when it comes to political, economic and social issues, I part ways with many politically conservative white Americans. I’m more with the non-whites.  With the ethnic Asians, the Hispanics, the Blacks. Because I see too many white racists.  Much like Germans were in the 1930s and 1940s. When they were hostile to Jews. Now I am afraid that white Americans are becoming hostile to non-whites. And especially to non-Christians.  Meanwhile, despite being lily white, I want diversity and tolerance in my country. Welcoming non-whites and non-Christians.  Coveting  a blending. A mix. Of all kinds of people. Won’t bother me if white Americans become the minority. Doesn’t matter. When we all work for the common good. Knowing. We are all in this life and world together. Let’s act that way. Is that asking too much? --Jim Broede

All I need.

Yes, that may be the secret of happiness. Taking a not-knowing-it-all attitude toward life.  Settling for a limited amount of knowledge. Just enough to make one happy. Knowing too much can be detrimental. Morale-deflating. If I can stay in love. That’s all I need.  --Jim Broede

My primary goal in life.

It wouldn’t bother me. To not know what’s happening in the world. To be totally oblivious.  Really, it might be good for my morale. Now I know too much  Bothersome stuff. Yes, I’m too well-informed. For my own good. That’s especially true in the realm of politics. I’d rather not know about the shenanigans. The corruption. The cheating. Because there’s nothing I can do about it. Another example. That ignorance is bliss. And bliss is a form of happiness.  And that’s my primary goal in life. The pursuit of happiness. --Jim Broede

Getting away with murder.

No doubt about it. Donald Trump was the most entertaining candidate. That’s why the news media focused on him. Entertainment sells. Lures readers. And viewers. Bored people want to be entertained. Rather than informed. They’ll settle for crassness. Trump said he could have gotten away with murder. In a sense, he did. He killed the aspirations of many idealists and dreamers and poets. --Jim Broede

A nice combination of pursuits.

I’ve lost faith in the news media. For which I used to work. For many, many years. As a writer. Of politics, features and breaking news.  An assortment of subjects.  Stuff I considered pertinent. Not necessarily to entertain. But rather to inform. About the intricacies of life. I’m retired. Which is just as well. Gives me a degree of independence. To write. And think. As I see fit. In new-found roles as philosopher, psychotherapist and my own muse. And not least, a critic of the media. A nice combination. To add to my longtime pursuits. As romantic idealist, spiritual free-thinker, political liberal, lover and dreamer. --Jim Broede

Discovering the blessing of life.

I’m benefiting today. From the 13 years that I spent. As an Alzheimer’s care-giver. For my dear wife Jeanne. Goes to show that it wasn’t a bad experience, after all. Though I wasn’t always so sure of it. Took time for it to sink in. Now I know better. Because the experience, day in and day out, helped me put life in a better/more positive perspective. Taught me how to live properly. In appreciation of life. In loving ways. Even in the worst of times. Always. There is something about life to relish. Just look around. Often there’s something to be found. A reminder that life isn’t as bad as it seems at the moment. Because one is alive and with it. Fully capable of being a care-giver. For one’s dearest true love. Yes, Alzheimer’s taught me to truly care. About Jeanne. About life. About everything. I am today what I am. In large part. Due to the Alzheimer’s experience. Yes, I’ve been blessed. And I know it. The same may go for you still active care-givers. Still in the midst of very difficult times. But keep the faith. Give it time. You, too, may some day discover. That you’ve been blessed. --Jim Broede

If Trump saw the light.

I’d love it. If Donald Trump saw the light. Finding a way to bring our divided nation together. Maybe by appointing a blend of Democrats and Republicans and Independents to his cabinet. So that friends and foes alike. Learn to work together. To get things done. Cooperatively. For the common good. And here’s another idea. Instead of appointing political partisans to the Supreme Court. Let’s decide to appoint a non-partisan philosopher. Or a poet. It’s not required that Supreme Court justices have a judicial or political partisan background.  --Jim Broede

The search for goodness.

Life can be good. Life can be bad. Same goes for politics. Politics can be good. Politics can be bad. Good and bad. Right and wrong. That’s the nature of life. It ain’t perfect. But I’m pledged. To search for the goodness. In everything.  Even politics. Despite the pitfalls. That keeps me going. That’s why I’m in love. With life. --Jim Broede

Saved only by my imagination.

Please, don’t bother me with the man-made stuff of the world. Politics, for instance.  And I can do without cell phones and television and fast food. And oh, yes, bureaucracies. Just give me more of the natural world. And less of the unnatural. I don’t even need a computer or a typewriter.  I’ll write longhand. Scribbling with pencil and paper. Or better yet, by drawing on cave walls.  I know. I know. I’m addicted to many modern conveniences. But hey, allow me to go into recovery. So that I can live like in days of old. In a remote corner of the world. Come to think of it. That’s exactly where I am now.  In a far-flung corner of the cosmos. Living in ignorance.  Saved only by my imagination. --Jim Broede

Life. As I know and make it.

I wonder. If my wisest move. Would be to shut myself off. And become a recluse.  By crawling into my cocoon. Living like a monk. In my monastery.  Creating my own world. Listening to classical music.  Reading novels. But no newspapers. No television. No Internet. Oh, I would still maintain contact. With several select friends. And my Italian amore. I’d furnish. And maintain my cocoon. I’d eat and dine well. I’d venture into the outdoors.  And I’d let my imagination take me on trips. To remote places in the cosmos. Where I’d have conversations. With the spirits. Maybe even the creator. If there is one. Doesn’t really matter.  I could still be happy. And in love. With life. As I know and make it. --Jim Broede

About life's idyllic wonders.

What am I to do? Now that the guy I detest. Apparently has been elected president of the United States of America. My answer, I guess. Is to learn to live with it. For the moment, at least. I’ll adjust. By getting on with my own life.  One day at a time.  Reminding myself. Daily. That I am in love. With life. Not letting the actions of Donald Trump deter me. I’ll continue my pursuit of happiness. And not be bothered by stuff over which I have virtually no control. If necessary, I’ll withdraw. Into my cocoon. And lead a relatively solitary life. Happily, of course. Maybe by listening to good music. And reading good books. And taking strolls in the great outdoors. And by musing, too. About life’s idyllic wonders.

Then again. Maybe Trump will be full of surprises. Maybe he’ll work with Democrats. To get things done. After all, he’s renounced many members of own party.  In many ways,  he’s independent. Does things his own way.  Speaks his own mind. And tells fantastic stories (lies). In entertaining ways. And obviously knows how to get elected president. By beating the odds. That takes ingenuity. And talent. He’s one of a kind. --Jim Broede

My gawd! Save us from ourselves.

My homeland. My dear sweet homeland. Is teetering on a brink. It scares me silly. One of my best friends. In Missouri. A seemingly intelligent woman. Is going to vote for Trump. So is my sister. In Wisconsin. They’re insane. And so are millions of others. Across the nation. If the polls are correct. Trump has a chance of winning. Even if it’s 10 percent, or 20 percent or 30 percent. That’s far too close. If Trump wins, the inmates will have gained control of the asylum. Perish the thought. That maybe I can’t do much about it. Can’t help my friend. Or my sister. Or my country. It has happened before. In other countries.  On a political scale of huge magnitude. Even in highly educated countries. Such as Germany. In the 1930s. Germans were swept. By a tidal wave of political insanity. Now here we Americans are. Flirting with a destiny. Even worse than the insanity that pushed Germany off the edge. My gawd!  My gawd!  My spiritual free-thinking gawd!  Please! Please! I beg you. Save us from ourselves. --Jim Broede

A crazy Cubs fan, am I.

I’d rather not watch history in the making. Better to resurrect the story. After the event. There’s an advantage. In already knowing what happened. Allows me to savor the twists and turns. That led to the fantastic outcome. Knowing. Right from the start. Whether it was a sad or happy ending. That’s how I dealt with the seventh game of the World Series. Between my beloved Chicago Cubs and the Cleveland Indians. I refused to watch or listen to the game unfold. I went into seclusion. Isolation. No TV. No radio. No Internet. Didn’t even check the score. Until I knew that the game was safely over. I had a friend call me. To announce, ‘Jim, the game is safely over. You can turn on the TV. The Cubs have won.’ I immediately felt the pulse beat of joy. Knowing. That if the game had proceeded. In roller coaster fashion. As it did. With so very many ups and downs. I’d be able, instead, to enjoy it all. As if I were there. Without the anguish. Without the tension. Without the stress. Instead, I went my way. After the fact. Living the moment. In a pleasant and idyllic way.  Of course, my friend suggested that I was crazy. That he was the sane and wise one. By immersing himself in the game. Before it was over. While it was still being played. Into history. Instead, I played classical music. Read a book. Diverted my mind. And here I am. A day later. Happy and content. Knowing that I haven’t missed a beat. Of the most epic moment. In the Chicago Cubs most epic and thrilling season. –Crazy Jim Broede