Pondering one's mortality.

I wonder. If I should learn to die. Long before dying.  Because then I’m more likely to be prepared. For that sad and tragic event. That’s better, some folks tell me, than leaving one’s passing to the last minute. With little, or absolutely no forethought.  Though being unprepared may have merit. Gives one more time to focus on the pleasures of living. Of course, it’s possible to muse endlessly. About one’s mortality. But that may be unhealthy. Causing worry and stress. Thereby hastening one’s death. --Jim Broede

My spaced out stress.

Self-induced stress. I suspect that’s the most common form of stress. At least, it is with me. I have the option. To avoid stress. And to write it off. But I don’t always do that. I allow myself to be stressed. Often over trivial, nonsensical matters. Maybe because I have nothing better to do.  So I let stuff bother me. I suspect that most of us are in the same proverbial boat.  Victims of unnecessary stress. Makes me wonder. If some of us are addicted to stress. We need our stressful fix. Daily. But I’ve learned to space it out. Once a week is enough to satisfy me. --Jim Broede

Give me justice.

There has to be a higher level of being. Than what I am. Some call it the ultimate. Or god, the creator. I don’t have to reach the pinnacle. But I have the desire. To be far more than what I am. There is no justice. If I am blocked. By my creator. From achieving my goal. Of having a more substantial and thrilling and perceptive soul. --Jim Broede

To land safely.

Truth be told. I must confess. That I go through periods of foreboding. When I’m more pessimistic. Than optimistic. Don’t like it when I feel that way. So I try several tricks. To get back on track. Always have. That’s a good sign. But I wonder. Sometimes. If I’ll ever find the track again. And if it really matters. Because the world might come to a tragic end. True pessimism. True foreboding. The inability. To get out of a rut. Because it’s too deep. Too far off track. Maybe that’s the definition of depression. Which I have so astutely avoided. All my life. But am I capable. Of falling off the edge. Into an abyss. With no bottom. No landing. The equivalent of being sucked into a black hole. If that happens. The true test. Will be. To remain optimistic. As one falls. Confident. That one will land safely. In paradise. --Jim Broede

Call me Fearless Jim

I don’t get it. When politicians. Such as Donald Trump. Tell me. That I should be living in fear. Of illegal immigrants. Of refugees. And of people from Muslim countries. Fear. Fear. Fear. That seems to be the message. And we are supposed to elect Trump and other fear-mongers. To protect us. As far as I’m concerned. That’s hogwash. Trump doesn’t want me to trust anyone. Not even the news media. Instead, Trump wants me to look at him as the nation’s protector-in-chief. If I ever become that stupid, please put me out of my misery. Anyway, I’m trying to be a fearless fellow. A trustful lover of mankind, period. At the moment, the only person I don’t trust. Is none other than Donald Trump --charlatan, snake oil salesman and goofball. – Fearless Jim

Taking control.

A strange dream. So discomforting. I was having it over and over. I’d wake from the dream. And then go back to sleep. Repeatedly. Rather than let the dream go. I picked it up. Where it had last left off. Until I suddenly realized, I was dreaming. And I did what made sense. Got up out of bed. Stayed awake. To rid my mind of the strange dream experience. Because it was discomforting.  And it’s far better to feel comforted. Which I’m doing now. By taking control. Of my conscious mind. Yes. Yes. I’m off to a day. Of pleasant and happy thoughts. --Jim Broede

The honorable way.

Donald Trump is not my president. Or our president. That’s my position. That is, if I’m talking for the majority of Americans. Please wake up, Mr. Trump. The majority voted for Hillary Clinton. By a margin of almost 3 million. You won. Legitimately. But on an electoral college fluke. If you were a fair-minded and decent guy, you’d be president for all Americans. Not merely for your base. Which actually represents only a minority of Americans. Might be wise, Mr. Trump, to follow the example of other presidents. The ones that truly tried to represent everyone. Even the people that voted against them. That’s the way a president is supposed to operate. Honorably. Working for the common good. Not just for the good of his base. --Jim Broede

To lose our souls.

More and more. I am refusing to be a recluse. I venture out. Into the world. In places where there is no hostility. Refugees keep looking. Fortunate for me. I am not a refugee. I have found a haven. A retreat. We lucky Americans. Should help others find the way. Rather than banning them. Let's roll out the welcome mat. To the desperate and destitute. Like in the old days. That would make America great again. So much better than building walls. To keep everyone out. That's the way to lose our souls. --Jim Broede

Satisfying my curiosity.

Consider the effect on religion. Right here on Earth. If it’s found. That all kinds of intelligent life exist. Throughout the cosmos. On millions or billions of planets. What sort of religion, if any, do these beings practice? Do they all worship a god?  Is there a common bond? Shared by everyone.  I assume. That intelligent life has taken many human forms. But vastly different models, too. Some superior to human life. Yes. Yes. Give me the answers. Oh, if only I could live long enough.  To finally know everything. I’d hate to die. Before satisfying my curiosity. --Jim Broede

A true patriot, am I.

Donald Trump is my enemy. Not the media. Though they aren’t always my friends, either. Trump says we Americans need an enemy or two or three. And he tries to identify them. I’d rather select my own enemies. And I have very few. At the moment, only one. Trump. If I could get Trump out of my mind and my way, life would be much better. Of course, I’m often told to love my enemies. Believe me, I try. But I can’t get over the hurdle of loving, or even respecting, the president of the United States.  Maybe that’s what makes me a true patriot. --Jim Broede

My exotic world.

I’m elated. Thrilled. Jumping with joy.  Celebrating the possibility of life on seven Earth-size planets orbiting a tiny star. Yes, it’s all too far away to visit.  Actually, 235 trillion miles. It would take 40 years to reach these planets. Traveling at the phenomenal  speed of light -- 186,000 miles per second. But I might be able to catapult there. In less time. By achieving my dream of some day becoming a sprightly, fast-moving spirit. With the ability to explore the cosmos. In the same deft manner as the original creator.  Anyway, I read about this discovery today. In my favorite newspaper, the New York Times. Astronomers said that at least three of the planets, and maybe all, could be at the right temperature to have oceans of water. The ingredients for life. The closely clustered planets orbit a ‘dwarf star’ named Trappist-1. Think of our sun as a basketball. And Trappist-1 as a golf ball. That’s an apt comparison.  Meanwhile, I have an overwhelming desire.  When I go to bed tonight. To dream of an exotic world. Of seven planets. Teeming with life. --Jim Broede

A nation gone crazy.

Was I the blind man? The one who didn’t see the coming light? Could be, I suppose. After all, here I am. Wondering how Trump won the presidency. When initially, I thought, confidently, that he had no chance. That he would be soundly rejected. But then, ever so slowly. I became scared. Flustered.  That he might win. Yes, by golly, like so many others, I’d miscalculated the mood of the fickle American electorate. How could it be? Now I know. Trump hypnotized the voters. In a deceptively entertaining way.  So brash. So outlandish. That people began to ponder. What would happen? If a political freak got to the White House. Therefore. Maybe out of curiosity. Barely enough voters. Took the calculated risk. To find out. And so, here we are. A witness to a potentially tragic chapter in our history. But hey, that’s the absurdity of life. And now I’m asking. Is there anything we can do about it? Or must we glumly ride out the nightmare. Of a nation gone crazy. --Jim Broede

Walking on water.

Fantasy. It’s a big part of my life. A nice way to escape reality. If for no other reason than to take a hard-earned break. From the turmoil and disappointments of the real world. I owe it to myself. To enter a fantasy land. Periodically. Where the impossible becomes possible. Merely by giving free rein to my imagination. Helps me, too. As a writer. In creating fanciful characters. Makes me feel. Like a divine creator. Allows me also. To perform amazing feats. Such as walking on water.  --Jim Broede

My arrogance.

Sometimes, I think of myself as a glorified and exotic animal. Sure. I’m pegged as a human being. At the top rung in the animal kingdom. More intelligent than my pet cat, Marcello.  But still, I’m physically constructed similar to other mammals. I function much like dear Marcello. But with a higher level of intelligence and consciousness. But there’s a limit on our life spans. Marcello and I are born. And we inevitably die. Our bodies return to dust, or nothingness. Except maybe I’m different from Marcello. In respect to my yearning. To live forever. To envisage a future. Perhaps in spirit form. I doubt that Marcello has similar thoughts.  He simply goes through the motions of living and dying. Without establishing an organized religion or a spiritual reality. Marcello doesn’t think of life in the Great Beyond. Though some argue.  That animals have souls. Frankly, I don’t know. Other than to declare, I’d rather be me. A glorified animal. Better  that. Than a mere Marcello.  The difference. I’m arrogant. Able to imagine and contemplate a future. --Jim Broede

Unique as unique can be.

I’d like to think of myself as unique. One of a kind. But at the same time, I’m merely just one of billions of people currently residing on Earth. And that makes me insignificant. Lost in the masses of humanity. Like a grain of sand on a remote beach. Makes me very much like everyone else. But introspectively, I recognize me. Specifically me. Consciously aware of my existence. Able to take control of my life. Able to experience emotions. Able to grasp stuff happening around me. Also, there’s no stopping me from pretending. That I’m unique.  A blend of many pursuits. A romantic idealist. A spiritual free thinker. A political liberal. A writer. A lover. A dreamer. Yes, I’ve identified myself.  Rather than allowing others to do it for me.  My way of feeling as unique as unique can be. After all, I have my own mind. My own spirit and soul, too. --Jim Broede

A goodbye to the truth.

Little wonder. That fake news is fast overtaking the truth. For the very reason that I retired from what once was the real news business. Because so many people didn’t want real and accurate news any more. They wanted to be entertained. With sound bites. And preposterous stories. With lies.  Entertainers have taken over society. And the political and news realm, too. It’s becoming impossible. To differentiate between fake news and the truth. Donald Trump epitomizes the shift in emphasis. He’s allowed to lie. Daily. To tell tall tales. That entertain. Trump is our new entertainer-in-chief. It’s obvious that he’s telling lies. But his supporters say that’s all right. That they want someone who has become larger than life. A celebrity. A master entertainer. A stand-up comic. It’s more important to be funny. Than to be serious. Yes, that’s what we have come to.  We have gone over the edge. Into the abyss. And what is it I am hearing? Screams of anguish? No. No. It’s rollicking laughter. A goodbye to the truth. --Jim Broede

Reason to laugh.

The acceptance of others. It’s so important. Yes, it’s called respect. Here's the truth. The other side of me. Sometimes, I find acceptance difficult. Even with people who cause me no harm. Funny, isn’t it?  I have an open mind. Or so I tell myself. But I confess. I’ve poked fun. At people with divergent views. On political, social and economic issues. For being closed-minded. When really, I’m the one being unfair. And intolerant. Like I’m Mister Know-It All.  Even Holier-Than-Thou. Traits that I detest in others. When really, it’s me that should mend my ways. And learn to be more kind and more understanding. Oh, maybe I am. Much of the time. But that’s not good enough. I should hold myself to a higher standard. By cultivating my conscience.  Giving others. The benefit of the doubt. Far more than I do. After all, it’s all-too-obvious that I don’t know it all. When I think I do. I make a fool of myself.  Now that’s funny. Something to laugh about. --Jim Broede

A trip lasting forever.

Solitude. Maybe that’s what I cherish. More than anything. Solitude. The nicest part of living alone. Oh, I like to be with people, too. Especially my Italian amore. But even when we are living together, we both need breaks. Periods of solitude. To be off by one’s self. For reflective moments. For escape. Into the inner sanctum.  Being alone without being lonely. Along an isolated seashore. Or in a primeval forest. Or like tonight. Sitting in quiet solitude. At home. Musing. About what it would be like. In the perfect harmony of solitude. Drifting. Drifting. On a grand tour of the cosmos. A solitary trip lasting forever.  --Jim Broede

My unending pursuit.

A good friend. And supporter of Donald Trump. Cautions me. To not get hot and bothered by Trump. She knows I’m a political liberal.  And that I abhor Trump. And virtually everything he stands for. I write to the friend. About Trump. And she writes back. With good advice. Either learn to laugh at Trump. Or ignore him. Pretend he doesn’t exist. Of course, that makes sense. Trump will be Trump.  And I can’t change him or the political climate. Might just as well get on with life. Focused on the stuff over which I have control.  In my unending pursuit of happiness. --Jim Broede

It works. Believe me.

A gentle reminder, folks. If you put someone in a nursing home. Show up every day. Be a protector and advocate. Don’t ever abandon anyone in a nursing home. It’s likely to lead to disaster. It’s inhumane. I’ve seen the abandoned. While caring for Jeanne.  I’ve tried to intervene. To become their advocates.  There are some good and  dedicated staff members. But there are employees who shouldn’t be there. Their hearts aren’t into it. It’s just another job. Of going through the motions. But some really do care. That’s the good and encouraging news. Life has down sides. But good sides, too.  I want good vibes. Morning, noon and night. That’s the most effective way to treat dementia.  You might think that some with dementia are totally out of it. They aren’t. They respond to good vibes.  Especially if the good vibes come from everyone. At the start, I had to fake it a little bit. But before I knew it, the good vibes had a positive effect on me, too. There was no more faking. I was a true believer. In good vibes therapy.  It works. It works. It works. Believe me. Every time I enter a nursing home. I practice. I turn it on. I love to take someone out.  For a walk. And if they can’t walk, I’ll push a wheelchair. Fresh air. Movement. It’s all part of my arsenal of good vibes. --Jim Broede

A teacher of good vibes.

I’m not sure if anyone is initially prepared for the Alzheimer’s care-giving journey. Indeed, it’s on-the-job training. Some learn better than others. Some fall by the wayside. And I feel their pain and anguish. I survived it. And became a better human being in the process. A better care-giver, too. Wish I  knew at the beginning what I knew at the end. Learning to pace one’s self. To take care of one’s self. It’s so important.  If you become exhausted mentally and physically and emotionally, you’ll be in trouble.  That’s the pity. Of so many, many of the 24/7 care-givers.  They don’t take care of themselves. They can’t go it alone. They need help. They need respite. And some don’t get it.  That was me. For a while. Until I succumbed. And put Jeanne in a nursing home. That’s when I really became a very good care-giver. Because I was a supplemental care-giver. There 8 to 10 hours daily. Didn’t miss a single day in 38 months.  I hand-fed Jeanne. In the quiet comfort  of her room. So much better than the disruptive congregate dining room. I was face-to-face with Jeanne.  We looked into each others' eyes. I brushed her teeth. Rinsed her mouth. Took her out daily. In her custom-made wheelchair.  Year-round. Even in hostile Minnesota winters. Wrapped in a thermal sleeping bag. Personally gave her a shower. Every night. After learning that the nursing home offered only one shower a week. I gave her massages, too. Nightly. As she fell asleep. To soothing recorded music. From her earphones.  This was all part of what I call good vibes therapy. I insisted that Jeanne be exposed only to good vibes. Always. From me.  From visitors. From the staff.  I became a teacher of good vibes. And yes, a decent care-giver. Because I was rested. Revived. And with Jeanne for 10 hours. Instead of 24.  I was there most of her waking hours. Caring. Caring. Caring. But then I went home. And took care of myself. So that I would be ready for the next day. I wasn’t an exhausted 24-hour care-giver anymore.  I was a loving and efficient care-giver. In so many meaningful ways. I could write a book. About what I learned on the 13-year Alzheimer care-giving journey. Instead, I merely stick around. On the Alzheimer Association message boards. In musings. Eight years after Jeanne died. To let other care-givers  know. There is life after the Alzheimer’s experience. Yes, I have gotten on. Learned to be who and what I am. A lover. A dreamer.  Amazing, isn’t it? What comes in the aftermath. Keep the faith, I tell other beleaguered care-givers.  Life gets better and better and better. Give it time. But above all else, take care of yourselves. So that you can truly care for and about others. --Jim Broede

Just knowing, feels good.

I’m happy. To settle for what I have. With no laments. Over what I don’t have. In other words, I’m generally satisfied with life. Sure, I could wish for more. And occasionally I do. But then I catch myself.  And decide to settle for less. Simply because that’s the right thing to do.  Maybe that’s the source of my happiness. Staying true to myself. At least when it comes to the important matters. In my roles as romantic idealist, spiritual free-thinker, political liberal, lover and dreamer. Believe me. It feels good.  Just knowing who and what I am. --Jim Broede

A nightmare.

I awaken. In the middle of the night. Either laughing. Or crying. Sometimes in a state of high anxiety. Strange, isn’t it? I must tell my psychotherapist. Such a wide range of emotion. Being experienced in my sleep. I’m imagining. That I’ve become a novelist. Writing masterful fiction. A preposterous story. Yet it seems so real. The main character in my novel is both hilariously funny and very, very scary. A rich business tycoon. With a narcissistic personality. A shrewd manipulator. Turned politician. A pathological liar, too. Through a weird series of events, he becomes the president of the United States of America.  And that’s where the awful phase of my recurring dream begins. I wake up. Trembling. Terror stricken. And worst of all. I’m unable to convince myself. That it’s all fantasy. That it ain’t real. Little wonder. That I need to see a psychotherapist.  It’s a nightmare. That won’t go away. --Jim Broede

The place to be.

I have a soft spot. In my heart. For our 11 million illegal immigrants.  I’d not round them up. For deportation. Instead, I’d look the other way.  And encourage them to stay. And become American citizens. I’m assuming. That the vast majority of the immigrants came. In search of a life better than the one they had in their homelands. I hope they’ve found it. It would be cruel to send them back. Especially the ones that are settled. And happy. Of course, it could be argued, that they should have come by legal means.  But let's be kind and forgiving Americans. I’m also for letting in big numbers of refugees. They are likely to appreciate America. Let them follow in the footsteps of many of our ancestors. Including my paternal grandfather, who sneaked in illegally at the turn of the 20th century. Fortunately, he wasn’t rounded up and sent back to Germany. Instead, he quickly fell in love with America. An easy thing to do. After all, we are a melting pot of many nationalities. Little wonder. America is the place to be. In one’s pursuit of happiness. Yes, let’s keep it that way. --Jim Broede

Beyond a doubt.

Call me. More an introvert than an extrovert. I turn my thoughts more inward than outward. Don’t know if that’s a good trait. Or bad. Probably doesn’t matter. It is what it is. Doesn’t matter whether one has blue eyes or brown eyes.  Or whether one is right-handed or left-handed. Anyway, I’m inclined to believe. That it’s better to be an introvert.  Because I want to connect to my spirit. And I have the notion that the spirit is the interior portion of my being. Can’t prove it. Yes, there’s so much that I can’t prove. Beyond a doubt. Instead, I speculate. Take educated guesses. And mostly attempt to believe what I want to believe. Might as well.  Sure beats not believing anything. Used to be that I was a thoroughly Doubting Jim. Even doubted my own existence.  Wasn’t until I started to fall in love. With someone. Or something. That’s when I finally believed in something. Beyond a doubt. --Jim Broede

Fully aware.

Yes. Yes. This is a way. To stay out of depression. Simply by keeping control. Over my mind. I inherently want to do. Whatever is good. For my mind. I know. Instinctively. What brings me happiness. It’s to fall in love. With someone. Or something. Mostly, I’m in love with pure thought. A conscious awareness. That I have a unique mind. At this very moment. Fully aware. Of my existence. That’s exactly. What I’m supposed to be. Fully aware. Of my happiness. No more. No less. --Jim Broede

Deep down. In my soul.

Always. I try to have something on my mind. A thought or two. Elusive thoughts. That come and go. Unless, of course, I sit down at my computer. And manipulate the keyboard. As I’m doing now. Often, it’s a form of psychotherapy.  Because I’m asking, ‘Why is this particular thought coming to mind?’ Maybe for no reason. But I’m free to find a reason.  By thinking some more. In essence, by letting my mind flow. And wander. From this thought. To another and another and another. An endless chain of thought. Not knowing where it’s taking me. That can be the thrilling part. Of a thoughtful journey. Yes. Yes. I’m blessed. With an imagination. Living proof. That I have control over mind. I can choose. To be happy. Or sad. But invariably, I pick the happy course. Because that’s the way I’m programmed. Deep down. In my soul. --Jim Broede

The meaningful stuff.

I undergo psychotherapy. Daily. It’s so convenient. Because I’m my own psychotherapist. I know myself. Intimately. That makes the job fairly easy. Occasionally, I try to lie to myself. But my conscience intervenes. And forces me to tell the truth. I went to a professional psychotherapist today. Just for a change of pace. She was good. But not as good as me.  I’m a natural. And I’ve been playing the psychotherapy game most of my life. I also work for free. And I’m on call round-the-clock. Allowing me to nip my psychological problems in the bud. Of course, I could hang up a shingle. And offer psychotherapy services to the public. But I’m not interested in making a buck. More evidence of my head being screwed on straight. Yes, it’s obvious. I’m well-balanced.  And versed on the meaningful stuff of life. --Jim Broede

Too busy laughing.

Me worry? Heck, no. I am learning to love the chaos in Washington. By looking at real life as a soap opera. With one preposterous plot after another. A cliffhanger every day. With a cast of characters. Directed by Donald Trump, the clownish impresario.  Sometimes, I tell myself this must be a put on. An entertaining surreal extravaganza. But here it is. Real life. With no set script. All of the actors improvise.  Spectacularly. They make it all up. Every day. Every moment. In an effort to dazzle, if not scare the audience. Not only the citizens of the United States of America. But the entire world. We’re all enthralled. Taken in. Hooked. Yes. Yes. America! The Greatest Show on Earth. Greater than a P. T. Barnum three-ring circus.  Indeed, I have no time to worry. About the plight of our nation. I’m too busy laughing. At the absurdity of it all. --Jim Broede

My new calling.

I know. I know.  Occasionally, I take life too seriously. And get upset. Over matters beyond my control. Of course, that’s a waste of time. And it’s not good for my physical, mental and emotional health. Yes, I’d be better off. Taking life less seriously. By focusing on the funny and absurd side of life. By setting aside  time, daily, for laughter. If I can’t find something to laugh at or about – it’s time for psychiatric help.  I’m at my best. When I’m downright silly. Especially when someone tells me to get serious. Indeed, I have to take a stand. Draw a line. Make a declaration. That life wasn’t meant to be taken seriously. Yes, that’s why I’m gonna pursue my new calling.  As a stand-up comic. --Jim Broede

For the nation's sake.

I suspect. That our president. Donald Trump. Would be a much better president. If he saw a psychotherapist regularly. I am setting an example. By going to see a psychotherapist. This Thursday. To help me deal. With the likes of Donald Trump. I need to get my head together. And so does Trump. The thing is. I know it. But Trump doesn’t. Of course, here I am. Living in the wilds of Minnesota.  Relatively harmless. To anyone but my crazy self. Trump, on the other hand, is in a position of great power. He could cause indescribable harm. Not only to the U.S. But to the entire world. Trump has to learn to move cautiously.  And to think things through.  Rather than acting on impulse. Psychotherapy sessions could make a difference. Therefore, I plead. Please, Mr. President. Go into psychotherapy. For your sake. But more importantly, for the nation’s sake. --Jim Broede

To keep me enchanted.

Always. Always. I’m looking for those who don’t think like me.  Who don’t share my views. About life. About politics. And social issues. And religion.  All sorts of matters. So that we can have discussions. And maybe teach each other. Stuff that we hadn’t considered before. Even if we continue to disagree. That’s all right. I’ve learned to understand and often respect people with widely different perspectives. I have no desire to live with my clones.  Rather, I’m looking for those capable of mutual respect.  Curious people. Who love life. In large part. Because we aren’t robots.  We have minds of our own.  Yes, give me unique characters.  To keep me enchanted.  --Jim Broede

A better place. Without me.

I wonder. What it would be like. To withdraw from the world. For a year or two.  Shut off completely. From what’s happening back in civil society. No news.  No contact with the outside world. Isolation. Similar to being stranded on a desert island. I’d get by. As long as I had food. And books. And pen and paper. That would be sufficient. Anyway. I’d likely feel good about the experience. Though I’d miss my Italian amore. And a few friends. But it would be an interesting experiment. I like the notion. Of being separated from the rest of mankind. Of course, I’m generally a curious fellow.  Keeping tabs on current events. I’m reasonably social, too. But I could put that all aside. And use the opportunity of self-exile to stir my mind.  With deep thought. Including conversations with myself. And with spirits, mythical and otherwise.  Upon return to civilization, I’d hope to have discovered. That the world became a better place. Without me. --Jim Broede

Is that asking too much?

I have an overwhelming feeling. That I’m running out of time. Used to be. That I had time on my side.  I didn’t worry. About the looming absence of tomorrows. I was optimistic. That I’d make it out of my 50s, 60s and 70s. I’m going to reach the end of the road. Most likely. Somewhere in my 80s.  Maybe sooner than later. I’m allowing myself. To be occasionally consumed by such a depressing thought. I know. I know. I should come to terms with my mortality. And be grateful that I’ve made it this far. I’ve beaten the odds.  I should learn to die gracefully. And accept the notion that my spirit will survive. I should look forward to life in the spiritual realm.  Despite the doubts. Can’t say I’m a true believer in anything. Hey, I might not even be real. Only someone’s dream. If that someone wakes up, maybe that will be the real me. Oh, I have so very many fantasies. A boundless imagination. Maybe that’s my salvation. The way I get through life. Yes, I’m imagining all of the possibilities. Nothing is too preposterous. As long as I am a conscious, pulsating, thinking being. That’s the way I want to stay. In one form or another. Is that asking too much? --Jim Broede

Lost art of human decency.

It’s time for the political right and left to acknowledge each other. In respectful ways. Instead, they keep working at cross purposes. Little wonder. They don’t get things done. It’s called gridlock. I’m for cultivating political friendships. On both sides of the aisle. Treating each other fairly. In the search for the common good. We’re Americans, aren’t we?  Can’t we find common ground? Win-win agendas. Everyone gets something. Compromise shouldn’t be a dirty word. Let’s have polite debates. More movement. Toward the middle. In order to accommodate each other.  Let’s learn to be reasonable. Let’s find ways to get along.  Let’s revive the lost art of human decency.  In the sadly sordid political realm.--Jim Broede

Walk. You won't regret it.

Go for a walk. Every day. Without fail. That’s my recommendation. For everyone. But especially for beleaguered Alzheimer care-givers. As for the length. The longer, the better. But one doesn’t have to break speed records. Just go. Outdoors. Breathe in the fresh air. Walking was my salvation. When caring for dear sweet Jeanne. All those years. Half of the time, I was pushing Jeanne. In a custom-made wheelchair. Didn’t matter. If it was winter. In Minnesota.  We proceeded. With Jeanne wrapped in a thermal sleeping bag. Occasionally. We were reported. To the police.  By people who thought Jeanne shouldn’t be out in inclement weather. Nonsense. Jeanne always enjoyed the outdoors.  And even the frigid fresh air. Made her smile.  The secret. Dress properly. And one will survive a Minnesota winter. I’m hooked. Addicted. To walking. To fresh air.  You can get hooked, too. Take a break. Walk, walk and walk some more. You won’t regret it. --Jim Broede

I'm the protagonist.

Novelists create stories. But I use my imagination. To create my life.  To live what might seem like a fantastic story. A new chapter every day. And I’m the protagonist. The teller of the story. That I am living. This is not wishful thinking.  Not a novel. But actual life of a romantic idealist, a spiritual free-thinker, a political liberal, a writer, a lover, a dreamer. --Jim Broede

Looking for reassurance.

There are worse fates than growing old. Take me. I’m 81. And have no serious complaints. Certainly, it’s better than being dead.  I’m a survivor. I’ve outlasted many friends and associates. A glance at the obituary page. Shows many expiring in their 40s, 50s, 60s and 70s. I would have hated dying before my time. Fact of the matter. I’m in no hurry to die. Though I might change my mind. If I were decrepit. Unable to move about or think sensibly. Used to be hard for me to imagine.  Ever becoming an octogenarian. But here I am. Still walking 10 miles a day.  And writing about the good and grand life. Oh, I’ve had occasional pitfalls. But it seems like I’ve been happy forever and ever. But that won’t stop me from seeing a psychotherapist. This week. Just to see if my head is screwed on straight.  Think it is. But I need reassurance. --Jim Broede

Please forgive me.

Hate to admit it. But there are certain people  I dislike. Because of their looks. They look evil.  I don’t trust them. They don’t even have to open their mouths. The first time that I focused my eyes on them, I told myself, ‘I don’t like these guys.’  Maybe they radiated bad vibes. Can’t say for sure. I know. I know. I’m not being fair. I should give the guys a chance. And not merely judge them. Based on their facial features. Deep down. Beneath the surface. They may be very decent and good people.  Okay. Okay. I confess. I have in mind two ugly politicians. Both Republicans. Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell and Texas Senator Ted Cruz. I beg them, please forgive me. Could be, they don’t like my looks either. That would make me feel better. --Jim Broede

All sorts of clues.

I’ve thought about suicide. Who hasn’t? Such thoughts are a normal function of living. One has the option. To not live. To take one’s own life. People do it every day. Maybe they get plain tired of living. Please don’t get me wrong. Never have been suicidal. But my dad committed suicide. When he was 38 years old. Statistically, that’s supposed to make me more prone to suicide.  Of course, here I am. At age 81. Still in love with life. It would be a shame. To check out voluntarily. While I’m in love. I have many reasons to savor life.  Meanwhile, I try to put myself in my father’s shoes. To understand his suicide. He wasn’t in love anymore. With life. Of course, if he had had the will. The proper insight. And counseling. Maybe he could have fallen in love again. I could have been his psychotherapist. If I had known what I know today. But I was only 13 at the time. I had no clue. Time makes a difference. I’ve since collected all sorts of clues. About the whys and wherefores of life.  --Jim Broede

Also known as respect.

I love freedom. And ideas. And tolerance. Always have. Maybe that’s what makes me what I am. A fellow that finds ways to get along. With almost anyone. Even the worst kind of politicians. Because I bend over backwards to listen. And to be tolerant and respectful. That’s all I ask in return. Let’s talk. And truly listen to each other.  About politics. About religion. About economic and social matters. And about life, in general. Even if we differ, let’s try to be friends. Is that asking too much? Turns out. That people with widely different views on life can co-exist. And live with each other. By practicing tolerance. Yes, people are different. And that’s a blessing. Personally, it would be scary living only with those that agree with me. That’s the fastest and surest way to become an ignoramus. I’m open to new ideas. To different points of view.  Especially when my friends, associates and total strangers come into the discussion  acknowledging that they don’t know everything about everything. I’m the first to admit. That I have a lot to learn. That I’m not the smartest kid on the block. Actually, I don’t know if I’ve ever met the smartest. We’re all in the same proverbial boat.  Fishing for answers. For ways to live life decently and happily. To the fullest. Seems to me, that usually happens. When we grant each other. A high degree of freedom. And tolerance.  Also known as respect. --Jim Broede

What lies beyond?

I put no limits on my thoughts. I go wherever my imagination takes me. That's how the creator created the cosmos. With his fertile imagination. An imagination should know no bounds. Tell me, what lies beyond the cosmos? I intend to find out. --Jim Broede

A refreshing outlook.

I refuse to be god-fearing. I look at my creator as the creator. I prefer that over the term ‘god.’  I give him credit.  For creating me. I can’t speak for others. That’s their choice. As to what to believe. My creator is a creator of love. Not to be feared. He doesn’t even require me to believe in him beyond a doubt. Doesn’t matter. He treats religious believers and atheists alike. He tells me that some atheists live more pure lives than the believers. And that’s why, ultimately, he saves everyone. Because he practices pure love. Pure forgiveness.  Everyone is saved. Even those who lived before the creation of organized religions.  Even before civilized societies. Actually, he has doubts about whether we’ve ever had a truly civilized society. Maybe that comes only in the spiritual realm. Maybe ‘completely civilized’ is meant to be impossible in the physical realm. Who knows? My creator wants everyone to get a taste of physical existence. To pave the way for spiritual existence. Then it’s an entirely different ball game.  Everyone automatically falls in love. With the spiritual. Because they know instantly that it’s far better than the physical. They are enamored with their new life.  It is bliss. Doesn’t matter whether it’s called Heaven or Nirvana or Valhalla or Paradise. And everyone finally learns the truth. That their ‘god’ was not to be feared, after all.  All this time, he was to be taken as the god of love and total forgiveness. And that’s what we all should be. Creatures of love and forgiveness. At the very moment we arrive in Paradise, or whatever you want to call it. Call me a Pollyanna. Call me weird. Call me crazy.  Doesn’t matter. As long as I see the light and arrive in my version of Paradise.  By the way, my creator has created physical life. On many, many other planets in the infinite cosmos. Millions. Billions. Trillions. Life abounds. What can be more thrilling than that? Especially if we all end up in a spiritual Paradise. Call me an optimist. A believer. Better that than living in fear of the gods. How’s that? For a refreshing outlook on life and eternity. --Jim Broede

See you all there.

I’ve listened. Avidly. To Muslims, Jews, Hindus, Buddhists and Christians. Studied their beliefs. From top to bottom. And I still prefer my route. That of an independent spiritual free-thinker. But I have the highest regard and respect. For the other religions. They are all right. For the right people. To each his own. It’s my belief that they all qualify for advancement to the spiritual realm. They all may travel different routes to get there. But in the end, they all wind up in the same place. Paradise. Believe me. I love ‘em all. Yes, my vision. Of a perfect world. I’ll settle for nothing less. See you all there. --Jim Broede

Better than forever.

I wonder. How one should define forever. If I live for only 80-some years, maybe that’s  my forever. I sprang from nothing. And perhaps return to nothing. Time would cease for me.  An existing world would become irrelevant.  For me. Chances are. There are millions of other worlds. Scattered throughout the cosmos.  And life will go on. For the living. With an entirely different cast of characters. From those that existed when I was alive.  Soon, there will be no one left from the 19th century. Makes me wonder. If the creator. Has the option to move back and forth in time.  Or if the creator died long, long ago. By committing suicide.  Because that seemed a better option than living forever. --Jim Broede

Without explanations.

Occasionally, I have an anxiety attack. Shows I’m not perfect. I hate to admit. That I ever become anxious. Rather have everyone think that I’m always in full control. But I suspect. That most people have anxious moments. Imagined fears. That all is not right. And perhaps disaster looms around the corner. Lately, I’ve been having anxiety. For no apparent reason. Which probably means something hidden in my fragile psyche.  Though I’m told, it could be the result of an overactive thyroid gland. Always. Always. Some kind of explanation. Maybe it would be better. If I learned to get on with life. Without explanations. --Jim Broede

Believing in the impossible.

The impossible. The impossible. The impossible. That’s what I want out of life. Nothing less than the impossible. The fact that I exist. In this world. A reality that seems almost impossible. But here I am. Yes, if teeming so-called intelligent life is possible on Planet Earth. It doesn’t take much more for me to believe. In the impossible. --Jim Broede

A nice & pleasant thought.

I’m assuming that the creator is a spirit.  Not someone of flesh and blood. Instead, someone that envelops all of creation. In a spiritual way. That’s the creator communicating with us. Directly. Through the spirit. But maybe our spirits are still in the embryo stage. Still in the womb. Ready to be fully born. At the moment of our so-called physical death.  Imagine that. Being in the same spiritual realm. With the creator himself.  Such a nice and pleasant thought. --Jim Broede

A believer. In the spirit.

As I see it, everyone is entitled to his/her own religion.  Or no religion at all, for that matter. Yes, I believe in freedom of choice. I am, personally, not very religious.  Instead, I’m spiritual. There’s a difference.  Religions tend to be organized. Often with rigid systems of belief. That must be endorsed or adhered to. In order to qualify for membership. That’s certainly not for me.  Nobody tells me what to believe. I simply believe what I want to believe. Mostly in the existence of a spiritual realm. No doubt, I have a spirit. And I suspect that most everyone has a spirit. That’s what I cultivate. My unique spirit. My unique soul. As far as I can tell, spirit and soul are essentially one and the same. It’s up to me to explore the dynamics of my free-thinking spirit. Yes, I’m proud to say. My spirit thinks for itself. My spirit also has a desire to escape, eventually. So it will no longer be encapsulated in my physical body. Thus making it a complete and genuine free spirit. Of course, this may sound like nonsense. Especially, to people who favor the security and safety and comfort of organized religions. Many such folks prefer being told what to believe. As for me, I prefer to be free to think for myself. Without the dictates of an organized and traditional religion. So here I am. A self-styled spiritual free-thinker. A true believer. In the spirit. --Jim Broede

In of all places.

Donald Trump is a freak. Don’t get me wrong. That’s not necessarily meant as insult. After all, I’m a freak, too. Eccentric. Unusual. Odd. A bit crazy. Goes to show that Trump and I have something in common. We’re freaks. Of course, I’m not dangerous. I’m a mere harmless nobody freak. Hidden away in my own remote corner.  Trump, meanwhile, is president of the United States. Could he pose a freakish danger? Consider. He has a finger on the nuclear launch button. He could start a colossal and devastating war. On a freakish whim. Consider. He’s easily angered. Consider. That he’s hugely self-absorbed. In love with himself. A narcissist. Thin-skinned, too. Consider. Watches cable television. Incessantly. As a main source for his news. Consider.  Fires off bombastic and huffy tweets. In the middle of the night. Yes. Yes. So very much. It all adds up. To freakish behavior, doesn’t it? Sounds scary. The potential perils of a freak. Residing. In of all places, the White House. --Jim Broede

If my dreams came true.

I like people. Who agree to disagree. In nice ways. Too bad. That isn’t a way of political life. Politicians have learned to be nasty to each other.  To take no prisoners. It’s their way, or the highway. No room for compromise. The world has to be divided. Into winners and losers. Of course, I don’t like it. But I have no influence in the matter. Stuff happens. And I walk away. Annoyed and disappointed. But I’m trying. To not let it bother me at all. To accept the world and politics. Exactly as they are. If I had my way. I’d redesign American government. With a brand new modern-day constitution.  I’d promote a parliamentary form. With proportional representation. Where coalitions form. To accomplish the common good. Ah, a prevailing spirit of camaraderie. And human decency.  Wouldn’t it be nice? If my dreams came true. --Jim Broede

They tell me I'm weird.

I have several weird friends. Who are devoted to Donald Trump. They voted for him. They adore him. With them, it’s almost a religion. A blind faith. In Trump. They admit. That Trump tells lies. But that doesn’t bother them. The ends justify the means. Better, they argue, to believe what one wants to believe.  And to hell with the facts and the truth. Better to proceed on blind faith. And that’s exactly what it is. Religious fanaticism transformed into political fanaticism. With uncanny fervor. To my weird friends, Trump is equivalent to a walking, talking messiah.  A savior. That includes my own sister. I encourage her and other afflicted to see a psychoanalyst. To get their heads together.  But they think I’m the crazy one. That I need counseling. That I’m the weird one.  --Jim Broede

The most wonderful dream.

I dream. Pleasant dreams. Can’t remember the last time I had a nightmare. Most dreams don’t need interpreting.  They come. To be enjoyed. To soothe my psyche. Though if a dream seems puzzling. I look for a meaning. Often, multiple explanations. Customarily, I choose the most positive one. Could be that my dreams are expressions of my spirit.  Attempts to communicate with my physical being. Makes me wonder. If I’m a two-part being. Having the ability to divide. To separate. Allowing me to leave my physical existence behind. In favor of a spiritual destiny. A true parting of ways. Yes, the most wonderful dream of all. --Jim Broede

Beyond belief.

I’m an explorer. Of two worlds. The inner world and the outer world.  And most of my time is spent in the inner world. Which I find most fascinating. And so easily accessible.  And less hostile than the outer world. Though there’s some things nice to be said of both worlds. I list my occupation as writer. But if truth be told, I’m more explorer than writer.  I suspect that most of us were born to be explorers. Otherwise, we would merely be going through the motions of living. That may apply, too, to those who rarely, if ever, venture into the inner world. That’s where I have made my most profound discoveries.  Such as the existence of an intangible spirit, also known as soul. I suspect that’s my real being, my real self.  It’s there.  Behind my façade. Otherwise known as my physical shell.  Which eventually crumbles into nothingness. It has no lasting relevance. A spirit/soul is eternal. Little wonder. That’s why I am motivated to explore the inner world.  It captures my imagination.  Beyond belief. --Jim Broede

It's up to me.

I marvel. At the stuff I can do. Rather than at what I can’t do.  For instance, I can think thoughts. That make sense. And not least. I can imagine. Being a spirit. Able to visit other galaxies. I can imagine talking to the creator. Directly. I’m also able to create. My life. And make it seem real. Not mere imagination. There’s no stopping me.  From declaring and believing that I am alive and in love.  And that I am fully able to manage my life.  Even when things seem out of control. Yes, I have a sense. Of when I came into being. Though I don’t know why.  Don’t know the purpose. But that’s no problem. Because I have the option. To find my own purpose.  That is my ultimate freedom. It’s up to me. --Jim Broede

Good enough.

I like people. With talent. That I don’t possess. Doesn’t make me the least bit jealous. I appreciate talent. In others. Oh, I wish. That I had more talent. To play professional baseball. To sing brilliantly and melodically. Yes, to carry a tune.  To dance gracefully, too. But I never lament. For lack of talent.   Because I am who I am. And that’s good enough. I have no compulsion. To be anyone else. Best of all. I know. That a spirit. Lives inside me. --Jim Broede

My fondest dreams.

Taking control. Of one’s life. That’s so important. I want to control me. And my reaction to adversity. Better that. Than to allow others to control me. Though I make exceptions. By allowing my true love. And maybe several trusted friends. To hold some  sway over me. But I attempt to steer clear of controlling others.  Better to encourage others to be themselves. Unless it’s obvious they need help. I’d like to take control of certain political situations. But recognize that’s impossible. Beyond my control. However, I make it through the day.  Under temperamental control.  I am slow to anger. And avoid it. Best as can. Giving me a sense of being a reasonable human being. I’d be nice. If everyone could do that. That’s one of my fondest dreams. --Jim Broede

An easily managed life.

To relax. I practice biofeedback. Mental and physical tricks. That put me at ease. I don’t like to be distraught or upset for any prolonged time. After all, it can raise one’s blood pressure. Sky high. But I know how to deal with it. By taking charge. By soothing myself. By sitting down. In an easy chair. Placing my hands on my thighs. And slowly rocking back and forth. While massaging my thighs.  Rhythmically.  Yes, biofeedback at its best. Also  known as mind over matter.  In less than two minutes. My blood pressure dropped dramatically. From 175/92 to 108/74. Of course, it’s my fault. For allowing my blood pressure to soar in the first place. But then, that’s life. Full of ups and downs. But easily managed. --Jim Broede

Better to be plain old me.

In order to be a success. I don’t want to be forced or conned into competing against other people. Life shouldn’t be meant to be unrelenting competition. Against others. Instead, I should be competing against myself. In a relaxing manner. At a slow and leisurely pace. For pure enjoyment. I don’t have to be better than the next guy. But that’s not the way the world is set up. Especially in America. If I enter a marathon or a tennis match or a golf tournament, I’m supposed to be better than others. To win. To defeat others. No. No. No. That’s not me. I’m into the game. For the fun. For pleasure. Being the best. Isn’t my goal. Instead, my goal is to relax. To be at ease. With myself. I don’t need to win the best job. Or the most friends. Or to become monetarily rich. Better to be a decent and honest fellow. To live with my conscience. To be at One with my soul. With my inner self. I used to jog 13 miles. And I used to run a 7-minute mile. I was encouraged. By friends. To enter a marathon. I declined. For good reason. To save my soul. I had no desire to compete against others. To the contrary. It wasn’t necessary to be better than others. To see the guy running just ahead of me. And then compel myself. To pass him up. And then get ahead of the next guy and the next and the next. Getting to the head of the pack. Ain’t the purpose of my life. I want to be a winner. In my own way. Without annihilating the next guy. Better to live. Just being plain old me. I don’t have to be better than others. I refuse to make life an all-out competition. --Jim Broede

My own soulful paradise.

No sense. In allowing the real world to get me down. Doesn’t really matter. When events beyond my control go awry. Such as electing a disaster as president. I’ll still survive. And not lose any sleep. Because I know what to ignore. And what to savor. I’m still able to fall in love. Despite the political melodrama. The abhorrent conflagrations. The inhumanity. The devastation. I still go for long walks. And breathe fresh air. And read books. And listen to music. And wish to live forever. Yes, I know the trick. To make life worthwhile and idyllic. Isolating myself. From the bad stuff. By creating my own soulful paradise. --Jim Broede

There's no stopping me.

I become. By imagining. What I want to be. A romantic idealist. A spiritual free-thinker. A political liberal. A writer. A lover. A dreamer. Yes, it all starts. With my imagination. Often, the first step is to dream dreams. I go in hot pursuit of my most cherished fantasies. That’s how I became a writer. As a youngster. In the sixth grade. I started publishing a neighborhood newspaper. Focusing on writing. News and feature stories. Some of satirical nature. About my neighbors. Of course, I needed the tools of my craft. A typewriter. So I asked my parents for one. And suddenly there it was. Under the Christmas tree. I also commandeered a gelatin printer. Called a hectograph. From which I ran off copies of the Riverlawn Gazette. Selling for a penny a copy. But I became rich. From fabulous tips. And garnered much attention. In my hometown. Yes, I was off to a newspaper career. By not only imagining what I wanted to be. But by actually doing it. Of course, it all needed a beginning. A seed. Planted in my mind. Other seeds were quick to follow. The best seed of all. Has sprouted in my eternal soul. Here I am. A full-fledged spiritual free-thinker. Who’d have thought? I could become. Anything. In the realm of my boundless imagination. Even a lover. And a romantic idealist. There’s no stopping me. --Jim Broede

Keep it going everyone.

I’m learning. To be the natural me. When I wrote for newspapers, I followed more traditional ways of writing. After retiring. I declared, to hell with tradition. I’ll write as I please. And not to the dictates of an editor. My blog. Is my blog. My postings in other forums, are my postings. I stay flexible, too. On subject matters. Musings and broodings, for instance. Should be real musings and broodings. About any and everything. Stuff that comes naturally. I want flexibility. When it comes to rules. I write as I think. Spontaneously. In spurts. I’m speaking in shorter sentences, too. Again, doing what comes naturally. My style is for me. Your style is for you. That’s the way it should be. To each his own. Let’s learn to tolerate and appreciate. Each other. Might be a good lesson. For politicians. I’m for less rambling. And more getting to the point. And let’s excel at listening. Yes, listening, listening, listening. I’m listening to so many others. To you. And often I like what I’m hearing. I’m impressed. Keep it going everyone. Please. --Jim Broede

Slowly. Leisurely.

Living a slow and leisurely life. I like the idea. And the goal. Don’t always achieve it. But I’m getting better at it. By learning to say ‘no.’ To folks who prod me to do more. Too much, really. I’m attracted mostly to associates who encourage me to slow down. To slacken my pace. Some suggest that less is more. I agree with that concept. Years ago, I quit being a 24/7 care-giver. And became an 8-10 hours a day care-giver. Allowing me to set side time daily. For much-needed respite. One of the wisest decisions I ever made. Yes, like magic. Presto. I became a more efficient, more effective, more loving care-giver. Rest. Rest. Rest. Made the difference. Put me in genuine mood for caring. I started to resonate good vibes. All the time. I benefited. But so did everyone around me. Of course, I have an occasional relapse. Trying to do too much. But not for long. I take charge of my life once again. Slowly. Leisurely. --Jim Broede

As I once imagined.

A confession. Don’t always feel safe. When venturing into the world. I occasionally feel high anxiety. Hard to say why I’m uneasy. I feel safe. When I’m alone. In my home, also known as cocoon. Out in the woods. On a mountain top. On an isolated seashore. All those places put me at ease. Especially if no one else is around. Of course, I feel safe, too, with my Italian amore. And several other friends.  But overall, I’m leery of the rest of the populated world. Especially power elites or ruling class. The politicians. The bureaucrats. The capitalist oligarchs. People such as Donald Trump. And his associates. I don’t trust religious fanatics, either. Though some of them are more funny than dangerous or hostile.  Oh, one more thing. I don’t mind meeting total strangers. Which may seem odd. But consider my underlying motive. Looking for people I can trust. To prove a point. That the world isn’t all that hostile and unfriendly. That maybe I have a grossly warped view of mankind. Really, it would be a pleasure. If I learned. Beyond a doubt. That the world isn’t nearly as bad. As I once imagined. --Jim Broede