Crazier than Trump.

I’m convinced. Beyond a doubt. That Donald Trump is psychotic. Of course, I’m not qualified to make that judgment. But that doesn’t stop me. I’ve listened to psychiatrists. In the media. Coming to the same conclusion. That Trump has created his own world. That he’s losing contact with reality. That he isn’t thinking rationally. Though he’s still capable of putting a veneer on his mental illness. Yes. Yes. All sorts of interesting stuff. That sound credible. But then. I’ll concede. That I could be crazier than Trump. --Jim Broede

My inherent nature.

I find it hard to understand. Why men in power. Don’t show more respect for women. Of course, I’m not in power. And I have no difficulty showing great respect for women. My attitude wouldn’t change. If I were king of the world. Anyway, no matter my role, I’d continue to respect and love women. I’ll always try to savor and respect life. And especially women. It’s my inherent nature. --Jim Broede

I'm willing to learn.

Tax cuts. For the rich. Don’t make sense, as I see it. Congress tells me I’m wrong. That the nation’s plentiful deserve more money. To put in their coffers. That they are overtaxed now. And it ain’t fair. Maybe I’m stupid. I don’t get it. Just seems. As I look around. That the rich are too rich. And the poor are too poor. The logical solution, it seems, would be to find innovative and fair ways. To redistribute our beloved nation’s wealth. More to the poor. Less to the rich. If I have it wrong. Please pardon me. Set me straight. I’m willing to learn. --Jim Broede

Please, tell me a truth.

I wonder. If everyone in the world. Had to be truthful. For one week. No lies. All of us. Had to tell the truth. The whole truth. Nothing but the truth. The world, as we know it, would come to an end. Face it.  Lives have been built on a foundation of lies. Varying degrees of dishonesty. To ourselves. To others. We are so accustomed to lying. That we don’t even recognize it anymore. We no longer bother separating truth and lies. Everybody lies. For the sake of survival. A thoroughly honest man/woman would be doomed. Go a day.  Without telling a lie. Bet you can’t. We have no clue. In the unending search. For honest-to-goodness truth. Look in every nook and cranny.  Liars! Liars! Liars! Everywhere. Please. Please. Tell me a truth.--Jim

Being everything I want to be.

Trying to live life. The same way that I imagine it. That’s the challenge. Early on. I imagined being a writer. Therefore, I became a writer. In my own natural way. I simply decided to write. Badly, at times. But I got into a flow. And became better at it. I also imagined being a romantic idealist. So I became an  oddball poet and a lover and a dreamer. A free-thinker, too. Here I am. Trying to be everything I want to be. --Jim Broede

The most wondrous thought ever.

A thought. Is a stimulus. That moves me. Into another world. Imaginatively. I become a full-blown spirit. Able to go anywhere. I will be a traveler. Into the far reaches of the cosmos. With no limits. No travel restrictions. With direct access to the creator.  Yes. A face to face meeting. With the Divine One. And all it takes. Is a spark. Igniting the most wondrous thought ever. --Jim Broede

In the good old days.

I’m a political liberal. Who believes in compromise. Because we live in a country. With a mix of liberals and conservatives and moderates. Yes. All sorts of political persuasions.  I’d like to see us accommodate each other. The best we can. That’s why I’m for a parliamentary form of government. That allows for representation from all over the political spectrum. Which means. To get things done. It often requires coalition governments.  Two or more political parties banding together. In an effort to achieve mutual ends. By what has become the lost art of political compromise. We generally have a roughly even split in our electorate. In the Senate, for instance, it’s 52 Republicans and 48 Democrats. And on many politically critical matters, the vote often ends up 52-48. With no crossovers. Absolutely no compromise. I find that stunning. Instead of working out our differences, we allow a slim majority to call all the shots. I’m for compromise. No matter who’s in power. Let’s learn to be nice.  To each other.  Let’s work out deals that get support from both sides of the aisle. Isn’t that the way it used to be? In the good old days. --Jim Broede

To best suit the moment.

I’m faced with two choices. Daily. I can take an objective perspective towards life. One not influenced by emotions, opinions, or personal feelings. A view based in fact, in things quantifiable and measurable. Sometimes, I prefer being less factual. Less objective. In order to be happy. Simple solution. I embrace a more subjective perspective. One open to greater interpretation. Based largely on personal feeling, emotion, aesthetics. Presto. I become a happy-go-lucky guy. Believing what I truly want to believe. Subjectively. I highly recommend this approach. Flitting back and forth. Between objectivity and subjectivity.  To best suit the moment. And my immediate need. --Jim Broede

The vibrations of life.

I’m thankful. That I can think my own thoughts. Don’t have to go to books or the internet. I merely think. Doesn’t matter if I'm sitting down, nestled in bed or out for a walk. I spew random thoughts. In an endless flow. Here I am. Conscious and alive. Immersed in thought. How nice it is. Makes me thankful. Every day. For feeling the vibrations of life. --Jim Broede

Lodging my protest.

Well-intention friends and associates. Encourage me.  To ignore stuff. That I can’t change. In order to avoid being frustrated. Sounds like good advice. But I just can’t, willy-nilly, turn off my concerns about the many wrongs. Perpetrated. In this world. Daily. Instead, I am compelled to cry out. A lone voice in the wilderness. Knowing it won’t do any good. Other than knowing. That I am lodging my protest. --Jim Broede

A foundation of profound lies.

The same question. I ask myself. Over and over. What am I hiding? Often, I can tell. But not always. I suspect we all have something to hide. Indeed, a sad state of affairs. When one doesn’t have a clue. And gives up the search. I want no secrets. I’m bothered by people. Who amble through life. Without probing their subconscious minds. For the truth. I wonder. If not knowing the sometimes hard and brutal truth. Is the only way to survive. Perhaps we all live. On a foundation of profound lies.  --Jim Broede

I am the great Sherlock Holmes.

I’m curious. About people. And their motivations. Why they do what they do.  So I ask them. Sometimes, they have no answer. Maybe it’s a private matter. Or they may not know.  Often, they tell me. They satisfy my curiosity. For which I am grateful. Some people tell me that I ask too many questions. I’m leery of those people. Perhaps they have something to hide. If they are friends, I start acting like Sherlock Holmes. When I ask personal questions, they clam up.  And become annoyed. Yes. Yes. Then I know. I’m on the right track. That’s my style. Tell me. Tell me everything. I’ll figure it out anyway. Using my analytical mind.  I am the great Sherlock Holmes. --Jim Broede

If I still have a soul.

This is the way I feel. Sometimes. Fortunately, not all of the time. My world is crumbling. All around me. Maybe it’s my fault. I don’t fit anymore. In the political, social and economic order. I’m at odds. With too many friends and associates. Over how we relate to each other. Everything seems in disarray. No more peace and tranquility. I withdraw. Retreat. To the safety of my cocoon. Only now, I’m calling it my cave. A more hostile place than a homey cocoon. I’ve fallen. And can’t get up. Figuratively. Literally. Every which way. Yes, I’m confused. Descending. Possibly into depression. I’m fearful. Afraid. Scared. Uneasy.  I crave. To separate myself. From the rest of the world. Better to find solace. From within my soul. That is, if I still have a soul. --Jim Broede

In the core of my soul.

Maybe I think too much. About the wrong things. Does that mean I have to learn to control my thinking?  Otherwise, I may go crazy. With a jumble of random meaningless thoughts.  Ideas that aren’t mine. Or is it simply thoughts I reject? For good reason. Because they don’t fit the lexicon. In the core of my soul. --Jim Broede

I had become a thinker.

Writing. It’s the same as talking to myself. Yes. That is why I am compelled to write. I probably hadn’t learned how to think. Until I learned to write. I was fascinated. To see my created written words. On paper. Little wonder. I was born to be a journalist. The creator of my own journals. Right here. Broede’s Broodings. As a youngster. I excelled in penmanship. For good reason. I fell in love. With the shape of my own words. I was an artist. Painting pictures. With words. What could be better than that? I quickly learned to give meaning . To those wonderful words. That was the ultimate. My own meaning. I had become a thinker. --Jim Broede

Always a nagging fear.

One has to personally reach age 82. To understand what it’s like. Certainly, it’s not the same for everyone. But one thing’s for sure. It’s not the same as being 42. But it ain’t all bad. Rather, a mixed bag. I’d like to be 42 again. And know what I know now. That’s a plus. Knowing more. But physical decline sets in. No doubt about it. No more 7-minute miles. Inconveniences. Such as an enlarged prostate. Requiring frequent bathroom visits. More aches and pains. Less stamina. Fortunately, my mind is still intact. But hey, statistics show that half of those that reach their mid-80s, have some degree of dementia. Yes, always a nagging fear. But hey, I’ll take having survived this long. Better than the alternative. --Jim Broede

Proud to be a fifth wheel.

An acquaintance tells me that she’s uncomfortable. Being plunged into social situations with couples. Because she’s unattached. Yes, without a partner. Thus making her feel like a fifth wheel (her term). Now, isn’t that too bad? That she can’t find a way to adjust. And fit in. Comfortably. No matter the circumstances. Heck, I’m a fifth wheel. No matter where I go. I’m a natural-born oddball. Doesn’t bother or hinder me. It ain’t paramount that I fit in. Neatly. Actually, I thrive. When I’m me. The odd fit. I’ve spent my life as a proverbial fifth wheel. To my easy-going delight. Proud of it, too. --Jim Broede

Give me time to ponder.

I’ve been called a laggard. By a friend. I’m not taking offense. Because I like to lag. To take my time. To move slowly. Sluggishly, if necessary. The friend is annoyed. With me. For needlessly postponing decisions. Of course, I’m critical of the friend. For making too quick decisions. That one may live to regret. I keep asking, ‘Why the hurry?’  I’m for taking time to ponder, ponder and ponder again. --Jim Broede

Forever. For both of us.

Generally speaking. The three most important people in my life. Happen to be me, myself and I. This is a somewhat shameful confession. Puts me in the same class as egomaniac Donald Trump. And probably with much of mankind. For the past 10 years, I’ve made my Italian true love, Cristina, the second most important.  I rank a notch higher. Admittedly, for a selfish reason. I have to be around. In existence.  Alive and functioning. To have Cristina in my blissful life. Otherwise, it would be all for naught. If I die, everything is kaput. Gone. For me. Therefore, I must remain a survivor. First and foremost. In order savor and love dear Cristina. Of course, it also means Cristina has to stick around. Little wonder. I want forever. For both of us. --Jim Broede

The Perfectionist.

Not sure if I should write off anyone.  Perhaps everyone deserves another chance. Even the worst of the worst. That’s why I think. That in the end, the creator saves everyone.  Meaning that he has created the perfect world. Maybe a more appropriate title for the creator would be The Perfectionist. --Jim Broede

Do you understand?

In a sense, we are all sick. The world is sick. And I don’t always know how to deal with it. I feel trapped. Don’t know if I should be angry. Or more compassionate. More understanding.  At the same time, I love life. And despise life, too. What am I to do? I ponder that question all the time. For me to fully appreciate and savor life, I have to find ways to survive and thrive. Do you understand? -Jim Broede

In my good graces again.

I am somewhat annoyed. Maybe even angry. With a German woman named Brigitte. I won’t go into all the nitty-gritty details. Other than I don’t have to be angry. It’s my choice. It’s not Brigitte’s fault. After all, Brigitte is just being Brigitte. And I have no right to demand that Brigitte be someone or something else. People have the right to be themselves. Of course, I can wish. That an action taken by Brigitte didn’t make me angry. But that’s totally up to me. Therefore, at this very moment. I have decided to no longer be annoyed or angry. Yes. Yes. Brigitte is in my good graces again. --Jim Broede

A return to the good life.

Allow me. To march through life. Out of step. Away from the modern world. Yes. Yes. In my own way. At my own pace. Like it was in the Stone Age. Three million years ago. Before the emergence of political, economic and social movements. When man lived in caves. And invented stone tools. In order to survive. That’s what I am. An inherent cave-dweller. Looking for a safe place to hide.  From the manipulators of the modern world. I want the simple life. Nothing more complex. Than protecting myself from perils. And seeing to it that I gather enough food. To survive. Sitting around a fire. In my precious cave. Like my prehistoric ancestors. Ah, for a return to the good life. Once again. --Jim Broede

Looking down. On the ant hills.

I wish. To some day recognize superior forms of life. That may be observing us. At this very moment. Without us knowing it. Because we are too blind, too stupid, too ill-equipped. To be on their level of intelligence. Imagine the gap that separates us.  Take an ant, for instance. With no possibility of ever grasping the reality of human life. Despite sharing the same planet. Meanwhile, I and other humans can easily grasp the nature of life in an ant colony.  Indeed, a blessing. For us. That we have the ability to directly observe and understand the ants. The so-called lower forms of life. Chances are. We humans are being observed, too. By vastly higher forms of life. Who perceive us. As low-lives. In much the same manner. As we look down. On the ant hills. --Jim Broede

Give me a precious prize-less life.

Maybe my standards are too low. Because I'm willing to settle for a consolation prize. Actually, I'd be better off. Without a prize. I lower my standards.  By competing for a prize in the first place. Life shouldn't be the pursuit of prizes. Indeed, I can settle for a precious prize-less life. It'll do me good,  --Jim Broede

Some consolation.

 Being considered an old man. Don’t know if I’ll ever get used to it. But that’s the way it goes. Now that I’m an octogenarian.  Happened to me. Two years ago, and counting. I don’t want to consider myself old. I’d like to quit counting the years. To forget my age. Because when I’m constantly reminded of it. I occasionally go into a funk. And start to feel old. It’s unfair. That one must confess to his age. For the sake of truth. I’d rather be a liar. That would help me feel better. I might even start believing my lie. Anyway, it annoys me. When I’m in a roomful of people. And I look around. To discover that I’m the oldest. Yes. Yes. I know I should be proud of such a distinction. As an elder statesman. But still, some youngsters consider me an old fart. A modern-day Methuselah. Of course, I try to laugh it off. And brag that I’m 114. That I look young. For my age. That tends to get me more respect. As a relatively youthful looking old man. Some consolation. --Jim Broede

I'll settle for a nap.

Sleeping. That’s one of my favorite pastimes. I hardly ever go a day. Without napping. Gives me an opportunity to stop thinking for a while. To clear my mind. Sometimes I suspect that I think too much. Even in my sleep, I find myself thinking. Drawing all sorts of trivia. From my silly subconscious. Stuff for me to analyze. When I’m fully awake. Of course, when I die. There’s a possibility I’ll stop thinking. For good. But hey, wait a minute. That may not be so good. If I go into permanent sleep. I’ll miss my other pastime. Thinking. Thinking. I want to think forever more. All I need is an occasional nap. That’s gotta be better than death.  --Jim Broede

Tell me. It's only a nightmare.

I see crazy people. On the loose. Walking around. They should be in out-patient treatment, at the very least. Maybe even locked up. Because of very serious mental health issues. Of course, that’s my warped and biased opinion. Furthermore, I’m not qualified to make these judgments. Could be that a case could be made against me. That I’m the one that should be put away. I’m eccentric. Unusual. An opinionated gadfly. But does that make me as crazy as our president, Donald Trump? I’m not asking just to be funny. Trump is a loony tune. I’m roundly chastised. By some of his supporters. For saying this. Trump is their political hero. Their guru. They believe that Trump will bring about much-needed political change. And here I am. Convinced. Beyond a doubt. That Trump is dangerous. To himself. To our country. To the world. Trump has been labeled a narcissus by armchair psychiatrists, like me. I wonder. How it could be. That a crazy man was elected president of the United States of America. It’s driving me over the edge. Into  crazy land. Please, tell me. It’s only a nightmare. I’ll wake up soon. To discover there’s no Donald Trump. --Jim Broede

Yes. Yes. God, himself.

I may choose. Some day. To come back to life as a tree. Or as an inanimate object. Such as a rock. That becomes part of a rocky cliff. Overlooking a spectacular sea. That’s the purpose of life. To feel what it’s like to be. Any and everything. Maybe I’ll choose to be a light beam. Traveling. Forever. Through the infinite cosmos. Maybe I am my own creator. With limitless options. Yes. Yes. God, himself. --Jim Broede

The funny side of worrisome life.

I dream. Of getting through life. Without a single worry. Everything going smoothly. Now and then. I have days. When that dream comes true. But then I start to think. Too much. About what might go wrong. And it does. Yes. Yes. I bring trouble upon myself. I find reason to fret. Even over no apparent reason. Maybe because that’s the way I was raised. Trained to anticipate danger. In an attempt to head off any peril. Thereby triggering a sleepless night. Over what proves to be needless worry. Of course, I later joke about it. In an effort. To persuade myself. That life is very, very funny. --Jim Broede

Fortunate old me.

The day may be coming. When I quit living as I please. That’s the nature of aging. One slows down. Physically. Mentally. I used to run 7-minute miles. Now I walk 15-minute miles. I used to write stories. On short deadlines. Now I take my time. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not complaining. Yet.  I accept my limitations. And make the most of it. But what if some day I can’t function up to my self-imposed standards? That could be troublesome. I’m sounding like an 82-year-old man.  Wishing he never had to grow old. But then, that’s better than the alternative -- dying before my time. Fortunately, I’m not worrying about tomorrow. Because I’m busy relishing today. --Jim Broede

Living life. In grand fashion.

Weathering the storm. It’s an idiom I use frequently. Because life is full of storms. I love to ride out storms. That’s what I see many of you doing. Here in musings. When I was caring for Alzheimer-riddled  Jeanne, we dared to venture out. In a wheelchair. In the middle of a thunderstorm. Jeanne loved it. I loved it. Primarily because I witnessed Jeanne loving it. Yes. Yes. So many ways to reach someone with dementia. To experience turbulent weather. In the winter, I tucked Jeanne into a thermal sleeping bag. Nestled in the wheelchair. Out we went. Into the blustery blizzard.  Jeanne was delighted. So was I. But someone notified the police. Suggesting that Jeanne was being endangered.  My. My. How people get it wrong. Jeanne was being stimulated. Imagine that. We were merely weathering the storm. Living life. In grand fashion. --Jim Broede

The fully-savored life.

I’m thinking ahead. To the holidays. Meeting dear Cristina. In the French province of Brittany. For two glorious weeks. We’ll stay. In a rented house. On the sea. It’s almost as if we are already there. That’s a nice thing about life. Not only the present. But the before and after, too. Life is meant to be fully savored. --Jim Broede

Paving the way for a restful night.

A good night’s rest. Free of worry. That’s all I need. For an invigorating and productive day. Sure, I could find reason to worry. About something. Every night. But I choose not to. Because I owe it to myself. To not worry. It’s bad for the psyche. And completely unproductive. Therefore, it would be stupid to worry. And I’d rather feel smart. As I go into the next day. I’ve set the stage. For success. In fact. I’m so confident. That if an obstacle gets in my way, I kick it aside. And get on with business. Really. What I’m doing. Is paving the way. For another restful night. --Jim Broede

Blame the devil.

I have a nasty side. Don’t we all? Of course, I try to suppress it. But still, occasionally I act like Donald Trump. Downright nasty. I regret it. But I still do it. Maybe the devil has taken control over me, too. --Jim Broede

I'm on. Round the clock.

I try to live a 24/7 life. By recognizing. That I’m subject to call. Round the clock. Of course, I get my sleep. But I allow myself to be awakened.  By a thought. At any time of day or night. Even on holidays. I have no prescribed time off. Though I take it. When needed.  --Jim Broede

A musing thought.

I’m fascinated. By the nature. Of friendships. By what it means. To be friends. I’ve been thinking about it lately. More than usual. Not for any particular reason. Other than I’m fascinated by the subject. What is friendship? Do friends draws lines with each other? Is there such a thing as unconditional friendship? Or does it take love?  For anything to be unconditional? Like I say. I’m fascinated by the thought. Enough to muse about it. --Jim Broede

The amazing upside.

Even when life is difficult. And harsh. I try to stay upbeat. And muse in lighthearted fashion. About frivolous stuff. It’s a way to divert my mind. A form of respite. A way to compartmentalize. And to bring balance into life. I highly recommend this approach to problem-plagued care-givers. It helped me cope. Got me through it all. By focusing on the sunny and funny side of life. There is an amazing upside, you know. --Jim Broede

Amazing. Amazing. Amazing.

Living as a 24/7 Alzheimer caregiver. Yes. Yes. That can be easily construed as a dysfunctional situation. Certainly, it’s not normal. But I tried to make it functional. Really, without success. Initially. I was unable to take adequate care of Jeanne and myself. All at the same time. When I was on a 24/7 schedule. It was impossible. I was stretched thin. I was mentally and physically exhausted. Out of sorts. Basically dysfunctional. Wasn’t until I put Jeanne into a nursing home, that I became reasonably functional. I was able to remain as a dedicated and untiring on-the-scene caregiver. For 8 to 10 hours a day now. For 38 straight months. Tending to Jeanne. Without missing a single day. Sure beats those unrelenting 24-hour shifts. I had help. From others. Including the nursing home staff. I was captain of the team. Jeanne’s advocate and protector. I saw to it that everything went right. I gave Jeanne a daily shower. Hand-fed her in the quiet privacy of her room. Face to face.  Daily outings of six miles and more. In a custom-made  wheelchair. Yes. Yes. It all added up. To what I call very functional good vibes therapy. Not only for Jeanne. But for myself. I went home. For my respite. Every night. After tucking Jeanne into bed. Ah, such sweet relief. And peace of mind. Everyone was reasonably functional again. Amazing. Amazing. Amazing. There's always a way. --Jim Broede

Unlike my father.

Growing up. In a dysfunctional family. Had long-term benefits. Helped me learn to cope with the setbacks of life.  I didn’t know. At the time. That my family was dysfunctional. Didn’t consciously learn that. Until I left. Went out into the world. And experienced normalcy. What a contrast! Taught me right from wrong. That it’s best to not be dysfunctional.  To find better ways. To live. To thrive. To be happy. My father was a habitual gambler. Lost lots of money. To unsavory characters. Debt collectors. My dad solved his problem. By committing suicide. The night he did it. He borrowed $2 from me. Makes me wonder. In a funny way. If he used the money to buy the rope. Doesn’t matter. Because long ago I learned to cope. With adversity. With the dysfunction around me. I’ve become very functional. A romantic idealist. A spiritual free-thinker.  A political liberal. A lover. A dreamer. A writer. Unlike my father. I’m in love. With life. I want to live forever. --Jim Broede

Not as dumb as I pretend.

I need supervision. Guidance. Coaching. Mentoring. Because I don’t know it all. Though I may act like I do. But in my most honest moments. I have to confess. I’m so stupid. That I don’t even have a clue. About so very many things. I need to be educated. One good thing. I have the ability to learn. Much more than I’ve learned so far. But still, there’s stuff I’ll never learn. Because I’m downright stupid. I have only so much brain power. That annoys me. Wish I had more. But I’ve come to the conclusion. That some people are smarter than me. That’s a blow to my ego. But I’ll find a way to adjust. By telling myself. I’m not as dumb as I pretend. --Jim Broede