Fully free of depression.

Here’s my recipe. For staying out of depression. I merely clear my mind of depressing thoughts. Before going to bed. Every night. That assures me of a good night’s rest. And I wake up feeling refreshed. Also, I tell myself. That I can’t fix the world’s problems. No matter how hard I try. So there’s no reason to lose sleep over it. Furthermore, I have ample reason to be happy and content. Because I have a true love. My Italian amore. Plus the riveting and thrilling fact that the Chicago Cubs have won a World Series. And I am alive. And conscious. And able to savor life. Fully free of depression. --Jim Broede

The quest for the good life.

I want the good life. But that leaves an unanswered question. What is the good life? I’m assuming that I have the good life. Because I’m alive and conscious and reasonably healthy.  At age 81. Of course, I could wish for more. Enough for me to have an extra good life. But hey, I’m not hard to please. So I can settle for plain good. And be happy with it.  Maybe I could be happier. If I had more.  But then, maybe I could be happier with less. I wonder how many of my friends and associates would call their lives good. I haven’t asked them. Maybe I should. I could even implore them to define the good life.  Could be that several of ‘em have bad lives. As for improving my own life, I’d start by doing with less. I have far too much material stuff. From clothes to food to appliances. More books than I can read. More recorded music than I could listen to in a lifetime.  Even more friends than I need.  Hopefully, they need me. In their quest for the good life. --Jim Broede

Also known as BS.

I seek the truth. But don’t always find it. When that happens, I instinctively believe whatever my gut and heart and soul tells me to believe. That’s what life has come to. I don’t rely on others to tell me the truth. Especially lying politicians. Such as Donald Trump. We the people are being fed Trumpian baloney.  Daily.  So sad, that some Americans like the taste of this stuff. Also known as BS.--Jim Broede

My purpose: To savor life.

Illegal immigration ain’t all bad. At least from my perspective. If it weren’t for my paternal grandfather Karl Broede sneaking into America. Around 1900. When he was barely 20 years old.  I’d not be around. My grandfather’s arrival set off a series of events.  He met his wife. In Chicago. They had three children. Including my father Arthur Broede. And from Art came three more children. With me being the first. In 1935. And here I am. Alive and functioning. Happily. Able, in retrospect, to celebrate my grandfather’s wise decision. To leave Germany. For America.  He did himself a favor, too. By not being around in Germany. For the Holocaust and the Third Reich and Hitler. Makes me wonder. What his life would have been like. If he hadn’t hopped aboard a freighter. To find a new and happy life. Across the ocean. Albeit, in an illegal way. But then, there might not be a right or a wrong way. Just a way. A mere happenstance. That brought me into the world. For a purpose. To savor life. --Jim Broede

In fetching and loving ways

I have today. Of course, it would be nice to have forever. But that poses a danger. Of getting too far ahead of myself. In the process of planning for my many tomorrows, I might lose track of today. So important, to get the most out of now. And to postpone dealing with tomorrow. Until it finally arrives. In full glory. Yes, there’s something nice about living one day at a time. Putting my whole self into my daily endeavor. Naturally. Possibly with the discovery of a precious moment. That makes my day. Can’t say that every day is remarkable. But often enough. Especially at times when I’m in the right frame of spiritual and soulful mind. Anyway, I have no complaints.  As long as there is today and tomorrow. To keep me going. In fetching and loving ways.  --Jim Broede

Who's being the bad dude?

I hate to admit that I dislike anyone. I’ll give the benefit of the doubt to some pretty despicable people. But for Donald Trump, there’s absolutely no doubt. I despise him and politicians of his ilk. And yes, I know, I’m supposed to love my enemies. Thing is. I have absolutely no desire to love Trump and what he stands for. I’m in no mood to give him any leeway.  I know a bad dude. When I see one. And Trump is as bad as they come. I’m ashamed. That my country has seen fit to elect Trump our president. It’s a national disgrace. I wish. That I didn’t feel this way.  About anyone. But here I am. Confessing. My horrid thought. About an individual. I should be in better control of myself. I’m not being very nice. But I can’t help it. Now and then, I have to acknowledge. That certain people turn me off. To the point that I can’t stand them. Makes me wonder. If I’m the unfair bad dude. --Jim Broede

Yes, I will have bloomed.

I’m looking for meaning. That’s why I muse. About life. Trying to make sense of it all. Right now. Before I go to bed. I’m planting some seeds. In my mind. In my soul. Hoping for a revelation. Maybe in a dream tonight. I believe in messages. Coming to me. From spirits. While I sleep. That’s when my spirit is most receptive.  No longer shackled to my conscious mind and  physical being. I suspect. That my spirit sneaks away. For a few moments. Unbeknownst to me. In my deepest slumber. And cavorts with other spirits. I look forward to the day. When I am no longer pulled between the physical and the spiritual. Yes, I will have bloomed. Into a full and free spirit. --Jim Broede

A moment of self-discovery

Thinking about life. Maybe that’s the best way to live life. Pondering. About this and that. In my early years. As a youth. I hadn’t yet learned to master the art of thinking. Oh, I had all sorts of questions. But I didn’t sense where I was going. I was gradually feeling my way. Into consciousness. As an individual. As a real being. Didn’t yet grasp who or what I was. Maybe I still don’t know. I’m still gathering thoughts. Trying to make it all add up. To something significant and meaningful. And glamorous, too.  I wonder. If it’s all a grand illusion. And that perhaps I’m not real. Could be that I’ll suddenly wake up. Or go to sleep. I’d prefer waking up. Into a moment. Of self-discovery. --Jim Broede

My philosophical bent.

I’m strictly an observer of world events. A spectator. With absolutely no control over the outcomes. Therefore, I don’t allow myself to lose sleep. Over the often sad turn of events. Stuff happens. Of course, I could make my life easier. By shunning news reports. By wearing blinders. Which I’m tempted to do.  But don’t. Because I’m motivated to stay informed. It’s my nature. To be curious. About how the world operates.  That’s why I spent most of my life as a journalist. Really, an observer who writes about what I see. Yes, a way to make a living. Now that I’m retired. I still write. About life.  Mostly for the fun of it. Don’t get paid any more. Just as well. Gives me the freedom to write as I please. Not by the dictates of others. Allows me to be more philosophical. Makes me wonder. If I would choose to be a philosopher. That is, if I had the opportunity to start life over.  I’d also consider pursuits as a stand-up comic or a monk holed up in a remote monastery. --Jim Broede

Laughing at life and death.

I think. Therefore, I am funny.  And I know it. Because I laugh. At myself. Doesn’t matter that others don’t laugh. At me. Or at themselves.  Thing is. That I recognize. Beyond a doubt. That I was born to laugh. I can’t get through a day. Without laughing. Especially when I’m sad. Laughter. Even if it’s forced. Gets me out of the doldrums.  I go into my act. As a stand-up comic. Making a fool of myself. I don’t mind. My Italian amore accuses me of being silly. At the wrong times. But I don’t know if there’s a right time or a wrong time. For humor. Take a funeral, for instance. A funeral is a disaster. Unless the mourners find reason to laugh. Over the absurdity of life.  And death, too.--Jim Broede

A thoughtless day.

I like to spend days thinking about stuff to think about. Putting them all down. On a list. Doesn’t mean I’ll think about them today or tomorrow or next week. Instead, it gives me satisfaction. That these subjects are worthy of thought. Whenever I happen to get around to it. Which may be never.  Because I have too much to think about. And if I think about everything. I’ll be overwhelmed. And might even go crazy. Little wonder. That I try to pace myself. I become a man of moderation. And I brag about it. To my Italian amore. I tell her. That she sometimes thinks too much. About too many things. But that she, too, can take a moderate approach. But it’s strictly her decision. After all, she is a profound thinker. And can handle more thought than I. Indeed, that’s meritorious.  But one can overdo a good thing. Best to get respite. By scheduling a totally thoughtless day. Once in a while. --Jim Broede

A journey of the spirit.

Planet Earth can’t be the only place with life. Far more intelligent than ours. Consider the vastness of creation. Billions of galaxies. Our Milky Way galaxy alone. Would take 50,000 light years to cross. Traveling at a phenomenal 186,000 miles per second.  Taking four light years, alone, to reach our closest neighboring solar system.  If we kept going. Forever. I’m betting on finding billions of planets. Similar to Earth.  Teeming with life. Such a journey may be impossible. Physically. But here I am. Imagining my spirit. Free of physical restraints. Connecting with kindred spirits in distant galaxies. Yes, life was designed. By the creator. To be a journey. To boundless spiritual love. --Jim Broede

My stylized truth.

I want to grasp. Whatever it is. That makes me unique. Separates me from others. Is that wrong? For me to crave to be different?  That’s why I steer clear of orthodoxy. Away from organized religions. I am suggesting. That Jesus himself.  Would be surprised. Amused by the religion called Christianity. Jesus would be Jesus. One of a kind. And that’s precisely what he would encourage the rest of us to do. To find our own individual and unique ways. Not as robotic members of organized religion.  Jesus was a heretic.  Probably still is. Wherever he’s thriving. Probably in the spiritual realm. Anyway, that’s my take. My stylized truth. As a spiritual free-thinker. --Jim Broede

In this crazy world.

Believe it or not. It may be good. That Donald Trump is crazy. I’m crazy, too. And really, beneath all my craziness, I’m not a bad guy. Of course, I’m misunderstood. That’s the nature of crazy people. To be misunderstood. I’m crazy enough to find my fellow crazies somewhat refreshing. Not all bad. Yes, there’s good crazy. And bad crazy.  And often it’s difficult differentiating between good and bad. Especially in the realm of politics. Some days, I conclude that it’s all bad, bad, bad. But I’ve also discovered. In all sorts of ways. That something good sprouts from something bad.  I’ve seen it happen. Bad times turning into good times. Miraculously. What if Trump turned into a miracle worker?   Stranger things have happened.  In this crazy world. --Jim Broede

My link to reality.

I have to think. About being alive. In order to be truly alive. Otherwise, I am going through the motions. On autopilot. I am alive. When I am conversing. With my spiritual being.  That is the real me. The spirit. Rather than the physical being. My spirit is in a container. A body. When I look in a mirror. I see the physical vessel. But that is mere façade. A hiding place. For my spirit. The real me. Though come to think of it. My spirit has no reason to hide. Because  the spirit is invisible. Only I know of my spiritual existence. With absolute certainty. Because I have a conscious awareness. Of my spirit. Yes, spirit is consciousness. My ongoing string of thoughts. My link to reality. --Jim Broede

Dream as you please.

I avoid foisting my ways or myself on others.  Yes, I want independence. Freedom. Without doing harm to others. I talk and write about my philosophy of life.  But that’s all it is. Talking and writing. Meant sometimes to stir conversation. Dialogue, for instance, over spiritual and religious matters.  Stuff dealing with the essence of life. Understanding and tolerance of each other.  Puzzles me, no end.  Why can’t we find ways to get along? Must we settle our differences with violent conflagrations? Little wonder. I crave becoming spirit. Alive and thriving. In a violent-free nonphysical existence. In a realm where pure love prevails. Yes, it’s a dream. My dream.  As for you. Dream as you please.  --Jim Broede

The wonderful absurdities.

My approach to life works for me. Not necessarily for others. Thing is. I know me. Up close, Intimately. I understand my needs. My wishes. My desires.  Call me unique. One of a kind. Sounds a little egotistical, doesn’t it? But really, I’m a humble fellow. Merely exercising my right to do what’s best. For me, in particular. Of course, others have the same right. To tailor their lives. In their own unique manner. In whatever way works. Better being true to one's self. Rather than being a copycat. Yes, think for one’s self. A good adage to follow. Even though that may lead to mistakes. But what the heck? Blunders can be converted into learning experiences. Yes. Yes. I have benefited. From errors in judgments. That turned into blessings. As I stumbled  into good times. Another example of the wonderful absurdities of life.  --Jim Broede

Sure beats being unhappy.

I was asked. To divulge my secret. For happiness.  Had to think for a while. Before concluding. There’s no secret. Instead, simply choosing to be happy. That’s all it takes. There must be 1,000 ways. Pick a different way. Every day.  My favorite. Is a daily reminder. That I’m in love. Not only with my Italian amore. But with life. With writing. With walking. With dreaming. I’m even in love with my ability to complain. About things. About politics. About the absurdities of life. Mostly, I’m happy over being alive and conscious.  Able to sense being a reasonably free spirit. Able to count my blessings. Able to overcome moments of sadness. By simply choosing to be happy.  Sure beats being unhappy.  --Jim Broede

The better word is idyllic.

Staying in a groove. It’s so important. A natural flow. That’s what I call it. Yes, a groove. That’s why I write. Muse. Always finding a way. To feel alive. Better that. Than going through the motions. Most days. I feel like a river. Flowing. Meandering. Through a countryside. In my younger days. There was more turbulence. Rapids. Rapids. Waterfalls. I used to dance. To Beethoven’s 7th Symphony. Now I settle for an adagio. Smooth. Smooth. Life was meant to be tranquil. The better word is idyllic. --Jim Broede

Nothing to say.

I’d like to make musing a daily requirement. For everyone. That would give me insight. Into my fellow beings. I would be fascinated. By what they choose to muse about. Perhaps trivia. All depends. On the interpretation that I give to it. As the reader. Funny thing. About words and thoughts. We are allowed to find our own meanings. A single thought. May have 10 different meanings to 10 different people. Take a poem, for instance.  When I read poetry. I relate it. To my own experience. That is, if I can. Of course, I’m supposed to discover. In my own words. What the poet is trying to say. But better. To determine. How the poem affects me. The same goes. For others' musings.   I wonder. About people who have nothing to say.  --Jim Broede

My endless love affair.

As a youngster, I was hauled off to Sunday school. For brainwashing. Before I had the intellect to make up my own mind. About religious and spiritual matters. I was being told, presumably for my own good, what was proper and decent and correct.  Fortunately, I eventually learned to think for myself.  And became a spiritual free-thinker. Thereby believing what I really wanted to believe. Didn’t matter whether others thought I was right or wrong. I decided there is no absolute right or wrong. Especially when it comes to spirituality. Therefore, I began to tailor my thinking. In ways that suit me. I don’t follow the dictates of any organized religion.  Yes, call me a free-thinker. I like the term. Of course, I’ve been advised and cautioned by some proponents of organized religions, that I’m likely to end up in hell. But I’ll take my chances. By steering my own independent path. Turns out, that I don’t even believe in hell. Instead, I believe that I have an everlasting spirit. That will eventually leave my physical being. Allowing me to drift into another dynamic dimension. Where I can continue my endless love affair. With life. --Jim Broede

Expressing myself. Freely.

I’m in love. With life.  That’s the nicest thing about life.  The ability and opportunity to fall in love.  That’s why I am here. To love and to be loved. And to have lofty dreams. There’s no need to debate religion and spirituality.  Because everyone is entitled to their own beliefs. It’s an individual thing. There’s no need or desire for me to impose my way on others. We are very unique individuals. All of us. Free to choose our own way. Everyone must find his/her own truth. Without imposing it on others.  Meanwhile, I try to be a good listener. In an attempt to understand others.  Another thing. I love to muse. About any and everything. Maybe it’s that I find life very, very fascinating. So wonderful. To be alive and conscious. And to be able to express myself. Freely. --Jim Broede

By my own creative design.

I’m spiritual. Not religious That’s where some of my dear friends and  I diverge. Which is all right. To each his own. One isn’t required to follow the dictates of a particular religion. In order to advance to the idyllic afterlife. Even atheists qualify. That’s by grand design. Everyone is entitled to believe whatever they want to believe. Individual choice. I choose to steer clear of organized religions. I call myself a spiritual free-thinker. I believe in the spirit. Not in religions. I am dedicated to becoming a spirit. Free to roam the cosmos (all of creation) as an indestructible, nonphysical spirit. Wow! Grand and glorious freedom. Like god, so to speak. I’ve been led to believe this. In my other roles. Here on Planet Earth. As a romantic idealist, a lover, a dreamer. I don’t have to be a ‘Christian’ to be saved. Wouldn’t matter if I were a Jew, a Hindu, a Muslim, a Buddhist or an atheist. Even savages in the wilderness are saved. Entitled to an afterlife. Makes me an optimist. A positive thinker.  A true believer.  You and I are both saved, dear friends. We choose our own paths. You can link up with your Jesus. In the afterlife. And I can go on my exploration of the cosmos. And if I bump into Jesus along the way, I’ll embrace him. As a spiritual friend. As a fellow spiritual philosopher.  Not necessarily as a savior.  Of course, there’s a possibility of no afterlife. That death is death. The end. Absolute nothingness.  But as long as I am an alive and conscious being, I have the option to protest. To insist on an afterlife. By my own creative design.  That keeps me going. Keeps me happy. Keeps me contented. --Jim Broede

A national shame.

Growing up. In a small town (population 10,000). In Wisconsin. Sheltered me from the real world. I had little clue of the racist divide in America. After all, we had only one black family in town. A token oddity. But my eyes began to open. When we visited relatives. In Chicago.  Sad to say, I had racist relatives. I heard the slurs against blacks and Jews. When a black family tried to move into white suburban Chicago, the whites protested. Threw rocks. Set fires. And destroyed the apartment building. A blatant message. To blacks. To stay away. To stay in their ghettos. Yes, that was the late 1940s. After World War II. When hypocritical Americans castigated the Nazis for their genocide. Twenty years later, in the 1960s, I went to work as a journalist. In Florida.  And I saw segregation at its worst.  Separate schools. Separate restaurants. Separate swimming beaches. Separate drinking fountains.  Separate everything. In fact, black families didn’t live in exclusive white communities. They resided in the adjoining black ghettos.  Didn’t take long. For me to join the local chapter of the NAACP. Yes, the civil rights movement was underway. Things have changed. For the better. But still, there’s a long way to go. America is still racist. At the core. Lingering forms of racism remain. Yes, fellow Americans. It’s a national shame. Time for action. --Jim Broede

Puts my mind at ease.

Can’t say that I’ve ever been lonely. Because I always have me, myself and I. For company.  That’s quite a bit of camaraderie to fall back on. Of course, I also have my Italian amore. And several dear friends.  Even if I were abandoned by all my friends and associates, it would be no cause for alarm or panic.  After all, I’d still have the three loyal musketeers standing by my side. Namely me, myself and I. Yes, they are as reliable as reliable can be. They have my complete faith and confidence. They will stick by me. Especially in time of dire need. Puts my mind at ease. --Jim Broede

Time to face the truth.

Some of my best friends are racists. And they don’t know it. No. No. That’s wrong. They really know it. Instead, they won’t openly admit it.  They try to fool themselves.  Or maybe it’s that they are too ashamed. To face up to the truth. Many of our nation’s illustrious founders were racist. Of the worst kind. They owned slaves. Others may not have owned slaves. But they tolerated slavery. Overt racism. They thought of black people as inferior.   They thought of women as inferior, too. They thought of white men as superior. Especially rich white men. Those are some of the guiding principles. On which our nation was founded. And vestiges of these principles still remain. Less overtly. But nevertheless, racism is still a part of the American fabric. Inbred. Deep into our founding roots. We proclaim that the past is the past. That we’ve moved on. To a much better society.  But I don’t believe it.  We pass laws and rules. That make us feel better. But as a society. And as individuals. Many of us fall short.  No. No, we say. We’ve even elected a black president.  To two terms. Which is marvelous. On the surface.  But think about it. Barack Obama was stymied. Throughout his presidency. By racists who opposed his agenda. At every step. Not because of the issues. But because he was a black man. In a White House. Built by slave labor.  The white house was supposed to be exclusively. For white folks.  Black folks entered by the servants’ door. Think about it. Our president-elect. Ready to take office on Friday.  Became a candidate and the people’s choice. By campaigning for five years. Declaring that Barack Obama was an illegitimate president. That he wasn’t a U.S. citizen. Alleging that he was foreign born. Perhaps in Kenya. And that he might be a secret Muslim.  Many of Donald Trump’s followers. Still believe Trump’s ruse. Because they are racists. That’s why Trump won the election. He corralled the racist vote. He’s a racist in racist America.  Please tell me. In good conscience. That this ain’t true. You can’t. Because racism lives. Right here. In America. The so-called home of the brave and the land of the free.  I know better. We all should know better. Yes, America. It’s time to face the truth. ---Jim Broede

Looking for a blessing.

Coping. Coping. Coping. I always find ways to cope. That's a fun part of life. The ability to adjust. To make the best of every situation. Always. Always. There's a blessing. Hidden beneath the surface. It's merely a matter of looking. --Jim Broede

Ancient history.

Can you tell?  I am well. Mentally and spiritually. Even when the world isn't well. I don't let it get me down. Because I have significance and glamour in my life. Yes, I am in love. Can't remember a day when I wasn't in love. It must have been long, long ago. Ancient history. --Jim Broede

In the unreachable beyond.

I wonder. If paradise is a myth. No such place. Because creation was designed. Without a paradise. Of course, that doesn’t stop anyone from yearning and dreaming of paradise. Maybe that’s the ultimate irony of life.  To search. With confidence and faith. Only to discover that paradise always lies in the unreachable beyond. --Jim Broede

A moral quandary.

My inclination. Is to divide humanity. Between the decent folks. And the not-so-decent. Of course, I prefer associating with the decent. But I can’t always be sure which is which. Eventually I learn.  The hard way. By bitter experience. I try to keep an open mind. Before making a judgment call. Many of us keep flitting back and forth. In our daily lives. Between vile and decent acts. We are feeling our way. I can be a bad boy or a good boy. I’m tempted, for instance, to treat indecent people indecently. From a moral point of view, maybe that’s not right. Two wrongs don’t always make it okay. Take the matter of capital punishment. It’s probably wrong to execute murderers. Anyway, I like to engage in conversation. Over the definition of right and wrong. In many situations, it’s difficult making a distinction. Thereby, leaving me in a moral quandary.  --Jim Broede

Not least, an odd fella.

Always. I try to treat each day as special. As if it were a holiday. I don’t always succeed. But most times I do. Because I like the thought. Of being alive and conscious.  Makes me and everything feel special.  I take time. To reflect. On the significance of it all. Mostly, that I am in love. With life. In so very many ways. And that I have this precious day. To seize the opportunity to savor life. By counting my blessings. Such as, the successful pursuit of happiness. Yes, I acknowledge the travails. Of an imperfect world. But still, that doesn’t stop me. From being a lover and a dreamer. And not least, an odd fella.  --Jim Broede

Amidst all the turmoil.

I like Putin and Russia.  Donald Trump likes Putin and Russia. Ah, common ground. I like the idea of the U.S. and Russia being super powers. Working together. To make the world a better place. It would be all right, too. If China joined in. And made it a triumvirate. Three behemoth powers. Guiding the way to the common good. That’s one of my nicest dreams. Of course, maybe I’m having a nightmare. Doesn’t really matter. What will be, will be. I’ve lasted 81 years. Through a world war. And other conflagrations. And assassinations.  And political upheavals.  Didn’t stop me. From falling in love. With life. Strange, isn’t it?  Wonderful, too. To feel blessed. Amidst all the turmoil. --Jim Broede

Taking stock of my life.

My dearest friends (who happen to be neighbors) don’t really know me. Because they forget. That I live in odd ways. They think I’m supposed to follow a script. A familiar pattern. Familiar to them. So when I deviate from my usual mode of operating, they become alarmed. They think that maybe I’m becoming too odd. For me.  And they begin to wonder. If perhaps I’m losing it. Now that I am 81, and counting. After all, this is the age when mental and physical infirmities set in. Such as dementia. This amuses me. Sure, I’m not as spry as I used to be. Physically. Mentally. But I’m still very much with it. I know what’s going on. I’m very perceptive. They notice that my walking gait has changed. Or so they think. But my gait has always varied. From day to day. They never noticed before. But now they notice. Because they are suppose to notice an older man. For clues of decrepit. Not realizing that I’m affected by my mood.  Always have. Always will. If I’m in deep thought, I walk bent down. Looking at the ground.  Like when I’m reading a book. Other times, I’m out to clear my mind. I walk more briskly. Head up high. Looking straight ahead. Noticing the environs. Listening to the birds. That’s me. That’s my style.  Some days I walk like an old man. Other days like a young man. I recently bought a new vehicle. An SUV.  A  Chevrolet Trailblazer. The biggest vehicle I ever owned. I baby it. Take good care of it. Protect it. Even to the extent. Of driving my old and rusted beater, a 1997 Oldsmobile Cutlass, into town on a snowy day. The neighbors think I’m nuts. But I have a sentimental attachment to my old car. I still like to keep it in use. Even if that seems odd.  Doesn’t matter what the neighbors think. I have my reasons. And it’s not that I’m afraid to drive the better and more durable and adaptive vehicle. It’s that I’m merely odd. I follow my odd instincts. Because I’m not afraid to be very, very odd.  My neighbors seemed alarmed last night.  When learning that I missed a scheduled physical therapy session. For my injured shoulder. They jumped to the hasty conclusion that maybe I forgot. No, I didn’t. I called to cancel the session. Because we had heavy snow the night before. And instead, I spent the day shoveling the driveway. And clearing snow from the roof.  They thought that was ill-advised, if not odd, for a man my age. And in need of physical therapy. But I felt good. Before and after. In fact, I felt like a 31-year-old man.  Odd as that may sound. Yes, I’m very much with it. Still alive and conscious. And in love. With my Italian amore. And with life. I know exactly what I’m doing. On a break at the moment. At the computer. Taking stock of my (unusual and idyllic) life. --Jim Broede

My anger-free life.

Maybe it’s my imagination. That I sense anger and hostility. Sprouting up. All over. Here I am. Trying to live a happy life. But every time that I turn on the TV or read a newspaper. For the purpose of catching up with the news. I hear the diatribes of angry people. Throws me into momentary despair and despondency. Knowing that I’m living in an angry world. A world gone mad. Little wonder. That I retreat to the safety of my cocoon. Where I pursue the good and happy and anger-free life. Albeit, as a recluse. --Jim Broede

The good side of reality.

I hate to admit it. But there are some people I don’t like. Even though I’ve never met them. Yes, I’ve made judgments. From a distance. And maybe that’s not fair.  But still, I’m turned off. By certain politicians, for instance. I can spot the ones with mean spirits.  So mean, that I don’t even give them the benefit of the doubt. Yes, there are some very nasty people in this world. Wish it weren’t so. But reality is reality. On the other hand, I personally know some very decent and loving people. That’s the good side of reality. --Jim Broede

Making the best of it.

Thing is. I have so much to love. Not the least, being this moment. In the realm of the conscious. The ability to have a precious thought. And then another and another and another. There for the savoring. Though I have no guarantee of a future. That shouldn't bother me. As long as I have now. Might as well make the best of it. As a lover. --Jim Broede

Even an atheist.

Hey, I’m assuming that death isn’t death. Instead, it’s a transition to another form of life. Maybe as spirit. Into another dimension. Free of physical-related maladies. Including Alzheimer’s. Because one is no longer physical.  If I’m wrong about this. And death is death.  Absolute nothingness. I won’t be around to know it.  Until then, I’ll try to live happily. Believing what I believe. Yes, faith. In the afterlife. Religion has nothing to do with it. Anyone can believe in the afterlife. Even an atheist.  --Jim Broede

A paradise without politics.

More and more. I am convinced. That I live in a world. Dominated by dirty and rotten and immoral politics. Over which 99 percent of us. Have virtually no understanding. And thereby, no control. Furthermore, those of us who enter the political arena. Are caught up. In a quagmire. Often referred to as a swamp. That politicians claim must be cleaned out. But that is no more than mere rhetoric. Because the swamp is filled with quicksand. That automatically pulls down and  consumes and destroys  anyone with good intentions. The corruption is so pervasive. That reform is impossible. Good intentions. Such as those of Barack Obama. Can get nowhere. That’s the futility of it all. One cannot succeed. In the realm of politics. Unless one’s intent is to be dirty and rotten and immoral. Yes, a very odd form of success. Because it amounts to failure. In what should be efforts to achieve the common good. Sad. Sad. That the common bad prevails. Forever. Unless we find a way. To escape the political world. And that is precisely what I am trying to do.  Please. Please, dear creator. Destroy the world of politics. So that we all can live free. In a paradise without politics. Where decency and the common good prevail. --Jim Broede

Please, give me 9000 lives.

I have a feeling. That I will have the opportunity. To live my life. Over and over again. Not the exact same life.  But as the same being. Under altered circumstances. Consider the undeniable fact every life has infinitesimal pivotal moments.  When one could steer in a different direction. For instance, declining a job in Minnesota. Instead, accepting another offer. Elsewhere. A different place. A different situation. Different people. One’s life could be changed. Dramatically. By that single decision. I won’t know how. Unless I’m able to relive it all. The same me. In another life. But it really won’t be the same me.  Through and through. Because I’ll be influenced. Swayed. Merely by being in a different place at a different time. I’ll marry someone else. Or maybe I’ll remain single. Or maybe my life will be shortened.  As the result of a tragic  accident. Yes, being in the wrong place at the wrong time. I’d not mind. Living my life over and over again. Just to make such a discovery. If for no other reason. Than out of curiosity. Similar to being the proverbial  cat. With nine lives.  But please, give me 9,000 lives. -Jim Broede

In the way that counts.

I'm more convinced than ever. That animals have spirits/souls. I am still connected to Loverboy.  His spirit lives. Inside me. It's even more profound than his physical presence. Which I have no more. But doesn't really matter. Because he's living inside me. In the way that counts. --Jim Broede

That's all I need.

I like it. That I have an Italian amore. Otherwise known as Cristina. My true love. Cristina is with me. Everyday.  Even when we are separated. By an ocean and thousands of miles.  That doesn’t matter.  Because there’s a meaningful spiritual tie.  That’s the difference. Between ordinary love and true love. I feel Cristina’s presence. At any time. Doesn’t matter if she’s in Sardinia. And I’m in Minnesota. That’s one of the niceties about our relationship. Togetherness, 365 days a year. Daily contact.  One way or another. But always a guaranteed spiritual connection. True love. That’s all I need from life. --Jim Broede

To be the creator.

Thinking. Thinking. Thinking. That’s my preoccupation. I’m thinking. About something or other. Sometimes about not being able to think. Losing the ability to think. Fortunately, I refuse to stop thinking. If and when that happens, I suppose, that’s the end of conscious life. Can one still be alive? Without conscious thought? And merely go about the motions of  life. Without a thought? Can one forget to think about anything? Does one need a physical presence to be alive with thought? Can I leave my body? Perhaps in a dream.  And still exist? As a mere thought.  I crave. To be a body-less thought. A spirit. That moves about. To anywhere one desires. In the infinite cosmos. Then I would know. How it must feel. To be the creator. --Jim Broede

What the world needs most

I judge people. By trying to gauge their decency level. I muse. To myself. ‘Is this guy or gal likely to do the decent thing?’ Sooner or later, I get the answer. Of course, I like to associate with decent people. They tend to be trustworthy.  And fair-minded. I wish the world was full of decent politicians. There are some that fit the bill. But not near enough. Especially at the higher levels.  I’m leery. Wary. Cautious. About one in particular. Yes, it’s Donald Trump.  I’m afraid that he’s not a very decent fellow. Maybe I’m being too judgmental. But from what I’ve seen so far. I’m of the mind. That Trump is not to be trusted. He’s more in love with himself. Than with other people. And the country.  Furthermore, he’s mean-spirited. A shyster, too.  If Trump had a true sense of decency,  he’d wake up. To reality. That he was barely elected president. In fact, he didn’t even get a majority of the popular vote. A decent human being would recognize such a fact. And do the decent thing. By looking for decent ways to bring a divided nation together. By being reasonably fair to the majority of voters who didn’t vote for him.  Imagine that. Being a decent and fair-minded president. Finding the sort of common ground that brings feuding factions together.  In a spirit of cooperation and compromise and goodwill. It’s commonly called human decency. Exactly what this world needs. --Jim  Broede

Hold on everyone.

Donald Trump is a freak. A charlatan. A snake oil salesman. A liar.  But above all else. A celebrity. Maybe the most famous person in the United States. Maybe the most recognized name in the world. And soon to be the next president. Because he’s a genius. When it comes to manipulating the tools that make him a celebrity. The media. The news media. The social media. Every media. By being outlandish. By being a freak. By being like no one else dares to be.  He’s enamored.  By a solid base of—let me say it ---suckers. Who have little idea of what he stands for. Other than he wants to rock the boat. And make America great again. Yes, a meaningless slogan. His supporters have no idea of where Trump stands. On the issues. But they believe. That he’s a modern-day messiah.  That when push comes to shove. He’ll  deliver. They have faith. Of religious proportions. They are true believers. In Donald Trump.  Almost as if he’s the Second Coming. Of course, I’m frightened. I wish it weren’t so. But it’s happening. It’s the new political reality. In my homeland. Trump has pulled off the biggest political upset. Ever. Right here. In the land of the free and the home of the brave. And the politically witless. Despite not even garnering a majority of the popular vote. Indeed, an amazing freak feat. Pulled off by a celebrity freak. In true freakish style. Yes, that’s my take. On the new reality. Hold on everyone. We are in for a freakish ride. Happy New Year! --Jim Broede